Category: Mental Health

Before the Train Hits

I’m going to paint a picture for you, and I want you to really immerse yourself in it.

Imagine standing in the middle of a train track, with a rope almost cutting into each arm as it’s pulled taught and tied to a column on each side. You’re in the middle of no where.
You have no where to go, no one to hear your cries – no white knight to save the day as we’re so often told in fairytales. None of that, because this is real life.

You stand there, dread settling in your stomach, your mind racing as your fight or flight response kicks in. Wanting, NEEDING, to live, to be okay, to be safe.

Then you hear the distant sound of a train approaching… Panic replaces dread. Your heart rate reaches inhuman speed, your breathing all but stops in your throat. You feel the need to escape, to do anything possible to get out of that situation. You cry, you want to throw up, pass out, or just crawl out of your skin.

You lose track of everything around you except the feelings your body is drowning you in. Taken over by an inane instinct to survive.

Now, the train becomes visible, heading straight towards you with no signs of stopping. That panic you were feeling? You are consumed by it ten fold. Your body is your enemy, your hostage… And you? It’s prisoner.

That feeling of terror right before the train reaches you? THAT is exactly what a full-blown panic attack feels like.

Anxiety is bad enough, but it’s not panic, it’s not the same. I’ve had many painful surgeries, I’ve suffered a lot of loss. But nothing can compare to that inescapable feeling of terror. Inescapable because your own mind is causing it, inescapable because you can’t detach from your mind or body.

It feels like every nightmare, every fear you’ve ever had, rolled into one moment of pure, crushing terror.

So, why do people panic? Why do we actually catastrophise everyday situations until we feel like we’re about to be hit by a train? Why does our fight or flight kick in with little-to-no apparent danger?

Because that’s what anxiety is. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, and it’s causes are different for everyone.

Does that make them weak for suffering through that? For needing medical intervention to treat this issue? No. Having experienced this panic first hand, I’d say with full conviction that those who suffer panic attacks are some of the absolute strongest I have ever known.

I witnessed my friend ride the waves of panic and anxiety for a full half hour on a boat. I saw her fear, I felt it… And I felt pride at what she was surviving. Her mind and body were fighting her to basically jump off that boat, to escape the situation… But she didn’t. She mentally fought the battle, survived it, conquered it, and rode an easy ferry ride home on the way back.

If you’ve been through that, you should never feel anything other than pride.

The different faces of anxiety are interesting, and the way people react when faced with panic. The fight, flight, or freeze response kicks in, and it’s like internal torture.

When I have a panic attack, it’s invisible. No one has ever been able to tell (unless I faint… Whoops!) I sit there quietly, desperate to catch my breath and slow my heart rate. And I fight the urge to run from the situation, knowing that running only feeds the panic. With my friend, her panic was utterly palpable. You could see it, feel it. The sobbing, the shaking, the hyperventilation. We’re feeling the same things, but wearing it completely differently.

So, before you call someone dramatic or weak, because they didn’t ‘look’ like they were having a panic attack, or because you don’t understand why they were having one in the first place. Stop. Take a look outside yourself, and realise that even if you can’t understand what they’re going through, your steady support is all they need in that moment.

Mr Puppeteer

One month – that’s all it took. Four weeks, thirty days, to see a new romance with a seemingly nice and normal guy sour to a tumultuous storm of intimidation, emotional manipulation, volatile emotions, and controlling behavior.

One month, and you became my puppeteer. And I, a slave to your emotions.

It happened quite suddenly. Once we were official, you visibly changed. I felt the strings tie around my wrists and feet, one by one, as you made me move and dance as you pleased, pulling the strings from your seat above me. My body became made of wood – not my own and completely out of my control. My face was a mask of a smile, of perfection, never letting my true emotions slip through my puppet facade for fear that Mr Puppeteer would come out to play again.

Today I feel raw, fearful… But mostly confused and sad. Sad because you were not who I thought you were, and I still like the guy you were before you became my puppeteer. I’ve made excuses for you that you didn’t deserve, because I couldn’t see you standing above me and pulling the strings in everything I said and did. I couldn’t see the little dance you had me doing until I took a step back.

My friend could, she could see it all. And she feared for me, for my safety. And I started to as well.

Things took a turn when you told me how you felt, that you were falling in love with me after only a few weeks. My response upset you, then angered you. Sitting up while I pretended to sleep as you talked to yourself and hit your bedroom wall. I felt scared, not completely sure if you were angry with me or with yourself. I wanted to hide under the blanket, under the bed… I just wanted to be anywhere but there with you in that moment.

I was scared for the rest of the weekend, scared to say anything or even move or breathe for fear that you would lash out again.

On Monday I brought it up, that your reaction concerned me… I was being polite. Again, not realising I was scared of you, not realising you had purposely made me feel that way with the pull of your strings.

You apologised, you said all the right things that you knew I needed to hear in order to forgive and forget. But I never forgot, I never really even forgave.

Yesterday things turned quicker and harder, your strings couldn’t control me any longer and things turned… Volatile. Mr Puppeteer, how did I not see what you were doing sooner? How did you make me feel SO trapped so quickly? I understand now, I understand how women get caught in abusive relationships, constantly making excuses for the man they used to love. To those women, I see you… You are not alone.

Yesterday I told you I was going to WA for a holiday, to visit my family friends. Your mood soured after that, with hidden demands of how long you wanted me to go for. “No longer than a month.” The next demands came with who you wanted me to stay with. “Stay with Jess, not with Andrew.” This required a two hour deep and meaningful conversation, leaving me feeling caged and drained. Like you had pulled your strings and put me back in my box and taped it up, trapped in the dark and unable to move until you decided to pull your strings again.

Then you became clingy, again asking me to tell you how I felt about you and us, wanting those words from me that I wasn’t ready to say. Making me feel like I couldn’t breathe as you leaned over me, my arms trapped underneath you, as you stared into my face. Leaving me vulnerable and exposed in so many ways.

The day worsened from there. I was ill, in pain, cramping (most ladies will understand this.) You wanted me to meet your family and I didn’t feel up to doing so, so asked if I could go home. (Yep, you heard me, I had to ASK.) You did not like this, not one bit. For I’d stepped out of line with the little string dance you had me doing. You became angry, then upset… You cried. Don’t get me wrong, men are allowed to cry – but in this situation, really?! You did and said everything you could to make me stay. I was scared, genuinely scared for my safety. As were my friends who were frantically trying to get in touch with me. But I couldn’t touch my phone, couldn’t respond unless you weren’t watching. You wanted, needed, to know everyone I was talking to and everything I was saying.

I was scared of you. That was hard to say at first, hard to admit, but it’s true. I felt the need to do and say everything you needed me to in order to keep your mood level, to prevent you from lashing out. Where volatile emotions come into play, so does violence.

I drove home in a numbed state, feeling completely drained of life, completely empty inside. I’d stopped doing your puppet dance, and finally my mood and body crashed.

This situation taught me a lot, it taught me I have some amazing people who have my back no matter what. That even though you made me feel trapped and intimidated, I still had my safety net of support. Willing to hide me safely if need be, willing to do whatever needed to save me from any potential emotional or physical abuse.

I’m safe from you, because I chose to be. Mr Puppeteer, I cut those strings the moment I left your puppet house. Your constant calls and messages tell me that you’re aware of this, tell me you fear that you’ve lost your hold on me. Because you have.

I don’t write this to put you down, to be mean. I write this for exposure, for awareness. I won’t be a slave to someone else’s emotions, and neither should you.

Please, I implore every woman to watch, to notice even the littlest of red flags in your relationship, in the relationships of your loved ones. Please watch for abuse before it happens. Please tell someone and get out. Be safe ladies, be loved. We all have your back. ❤

Fly Free

It happened gradually. So gradually, that I didn’t even realise it was happening until I was unwittingly set free.

Cages – used to keep animals and people controlled. These days you can find beautiful ornate bird cages, with intricate detailing so beautiful that you forget its original purpose.

That’s the kind of cage I imagine that I was in. It seemed so beautiful from the outside, that I barely knew it for what it really was.

I used to be a dreamer… I wanted so much from the world. I wanted to try everything, do everything, go everywhere. I wanted to travel to ancient and foreign lands, have hundreds of different careers, move to the other side of the country – I wanted to continue to learn and grow. I wanted to experience everything that this beautiful world had to offer.

So, why couldn’t I follow my whims?

I’ll start with a broader reason… Relationships. Now, before I go on, I’d like to point out that I’m not saying “I hate my ex – he trapped me in a bubble.” Not in the slightest. This isn’t a reflection on any one person, but a simple fact that relationships mean your decisions need to be made with consideration of another person…Duh! So, all those possibilities become smaller, especially for me as someone who has always put my partner first. I’m not sure that I’ll ever grow out of that. I would sacrifice what I wanted if I knew it would make them happy. I wouldn’t speak up – and that was the beginning of my gilded cage, a beautiful cage I built for myself. I got myself to a stage that I hardly even knew what I wanted.

Friendships – a lot more freedom there than in a relationship, but your happiness in said friendships is based solely on who you actually decide to become friends with. “Friends are the family we choose.” Clique, but oh so true! I had toxic friendships for years… They were clipping my wings and caging me in, and I didn’t even know it. Meeting my ex was a blessing in more ways than one, because he taught me the importance of standing up for one’s self, and the importance of cutting people out of your life who are a type of poison for you. Cutting out those people (as harsh as it sounds,) cut out some of the bars to my cage.

The next reason is money. Yep, so many problems in the world are caused by money. But I never grew up to put value on it. Money is to live, nothing more. At my first job, I watched my boss (a small business owner) place his happiness on how much money he made that day. I saw his darker moods, his scary temper, but I also saw his kindness and generosity when things were going well. His moods affected all of ours. It made us feel anxious, like we were walking on eggshells. If we didn’t sell enough that day, his mood would visibly sour.

And I didn’t understand, not at all. I mean, to a certain extent I would understand the stress of running a small business and the worry that can cause, especially during times as difficult as these. But not when every dollar and cent defined your happiness. If any of my friends or family came up to me right now, struggling and desperate for money, I would give everything I could to them, every cent if I had to. Because those people are what I value most, not money. This became an issue in my previous relationship, right from the very beginning. His ambition was inspiring to me, I was always proud of that – but his value on money didn’t align with mine. And I found myself feeling smaller and smaller, actually shrinking and using my cage to hide the pain that I felt like I was only worth the money in my bank account.

Now, that’s a terrifying thought. What’s even more terrifying is that I let it happen. I got in my cage and shut the door, because that’s where I felt safe.

I always felt the need to apologise, often laid awake at night anxious about money – anxious that my partner would stop loving me if I didn’t earn enough. But the greatest and heaviest expectations came from myself, from my own insecurities. I can’t blame anyone but me. I jumped into my half-built cage and hid there willingly. Not wanting to voice my opinion, not wanting to cause confrontation… Simply not wanting to lose him. For that, I would have done anything.

The next issue became my health… This is probably the biggest reason, hence being the reason for this blog. Feeling trapped in my own body, like a bird being shoved into a shoe box. I couldn’t breathe, I was scared to move, for fear I’d hurt myself or make things worse. I was flailing in the dark, having no idea what was happening on when things would get better. At one stage, I even got a false positive for a rare type of tumour – a test that took an extra two weeks to complete to find out that it really was false. That was the longest and loneliest two weeks of my life – because I made it that way. I didn’t lean on those who cared about me the way I should have. I caged them out, at the same time as caging myself in.

My health has been a trip! What started as what seemed like a panic disorder, turned out to be dangerously high blood pressure and tachycardia. It developed from there – fatigue, muscle pain, joint pain, chronic daily migraines, dizziness, malaise. I would work all week and sleep all weekend. My world shrunk further, and my health continued to build my cage towards completion. What I could do on any given day, relied solely on how my body felt. That thought was utterly suffocating. I craved answers, I craved my choices back, I craved understanding. What I found was loneliness. The kind of loneliness I’d never experienced before – I believed this was my fight… Me against my body, me against the world. So, I shut out the world. I let my fatigue drag me down, let me physical capabilities define me, let me value diminish based on the lack of income I had coming in.

The next is mental health. This is a big one for many people, especially at the moment. Our mental well-being is so important, and so complicated, that it has a way of grabbing hold of us with both hands and not letting go. Feeling good, feeling happy, has it’s own way of making us feel free. But when we’re struggling, we’re trapped in the M5 tunnel at peak hour – seeing no light at the end and feeling like we’re moving in slow motion. That’s exactly how my anxiety makes me feel, and I know a hell of a lot of people could related to that. My anxiety hit me hardest with my health. Approximately six panic attacks a day – yep. That panic had gripped my heart and I never seemed to feel any relief.

The day that my doctors discovered that my then-current panic attacks were caused by a physiological response rather than psychological… Well, it was somewhat a relief – and yet, somehow made me feel even more caged in. I felt even more trapped in what my body was doing to me – because not only was it affecting me physically, but it had now gripped my mind too.

The final bar to my cage was the concept of moving out. I always thought I’d move to WA, live with my friend. Go where I wanted, when I wanted. But being in a relationship changes your priorities, means having to compromise (which I was more than happy to do! Not forced to.) However, I wasn’t the one fronting the money in our goal to move out – which I felt strongly limited my opinion in the matter. So, I shut down further. Stopped speaking up, went with the flow, pushed my unhappiness and claustrophobia in the situation way down until I didn’t feel a thing.

My cage was finished – complete with a beautiful brass padlock. And I couldn’t blame anyone but myself.

Now, this isn’t meant to make me sound like a victim, this isn’t meant to say that I wasn’t happy in my relationships or friendships, or in my career, or in life. This isn’t meant to say that I have any regrets. Because I don’t – not one.

It’s meant to be about choice.

We all have it, whether we choose to admit it. We have freedom – we just need to actively choose to fly towards it, not hide in our seemingly beautiful cages. That’s where I went wrong – my choices, or rather ignoring my choices, had ultimately locked me away.

This year has been a shit storm – for everyone in the world. But during this time, I’ve found strength in sorrow, forgiveness in anger, empathy in pain. Most importantly, I found my freedom again. Because, ironic as this sounds, choice was forced on me. I was put in a situation where I actually HAD to think about what I wanted, for the first time in a long time. I was forced to drop my own expectations of myself, step back, and see what I really wanted, where I was really meant to be, all along. This year I became a dreamer again. I became a bird soaring through the sky instead of hiding in a cage.

In loss, I found myself. Self-love, putting yourself first, isn’t ugly – it certainly isn’t selfish. It’s necessary. I know that now. I built a cage for myself, and I’ve spent the last year tearing down my beautiful self-made prison.

My final statement is this – the reason my self-built cage was so ‘beautiful…’ That’s easy – it was beautiful because I was still happy. Blissfully unaware, as they say, but never truly content.

And now…? Those obstacles are still there, but not holding me back.

Now I feel like I’m really starting to soar.

Photo by Guillaume TECHER on Unsplash

“I felt like I disappeared. Tired – like I wasn’t alive.”

Tonight I watched a movie on Netflix called ‘Brain on Fire,’ which is a movie based on a true story. A story that was written as a memoir by the girl herself.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea – this is not a movie review. This is about finding something that both terrified and intrigued me… Worse than that, something that made sense to me.

This is a movie about that fine line between a psychological and physiological disease. About doctors seeing a young patient, using the all-too-common line of “it’s all in their head,” and assuming it’s stress related, assuming it’s a mental health condition. Because young people never get sick, right? Because it’s normal to have seizures, right?

I have lost a lot from my own illness. The main one being that I lost who I was as a person – the energetic and bubbly woman in her late 20’s, living life while always assuming there was a tomorrow to live it again.

“I felt like I disappeared. Tired – like I wasn’t alive.”

Now, I’ve never experienced something so extreme like in this movie, not even close. In fact, aside from the chronic migraines, my brain is not an issue. But I think I can speak for a lot of people with chronic illnesses when I say that in that simple description was a sum of all our feelings about our illnesses.

“The tests are showing us that she is a healthy young woman.” Ha – we’ve all heard that before, right?

“I thought of all people, you doctors would be able to give us some hope. I mean, that’s your job, right?”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. However, doctors aren’t gods. They’re human beings, just like the rest of us. But, as human beings just like the rest of us, I’d expect a little more compassion when simple test results say one thing and that person sitting right in front of them is saying another.

All you need is one person, one doctor, that believes in you and sees through the test results, sees the true illness and beyond – to the person you were and can be again someday if they can find that answer and treat it.

The conclusion – the girl was suffering an autoimmune disease that targets her brain receptors called Anti-NMDA-Receptor Encephalitis. One doctor found it, by looking closer. By finding her.

“I’m the lucky one, because in a system that’s designed to lose people like me, thanks to that doctor, I was found. He found me.”

This was a powerful story to watch play out. One that truly touched me more than any movie ever has. Not in the way you blubber like a baby when a chick flick has a happy ending, but in a way that told me that movie had touched my soul – that I felt a little spark of hope that I haven’t felt in a long time.

I see myself as a burden, I truly do. But when I watched her friends and family, how they never gave up on her, I saw the truth. I saw how I would act if someone I loved was in that position, or in my position, and for the first time I truly saw and appreciated the people who have stuck my my side through it all.

I watched a story with similarities to my own from a different perspective. And many people without illnesses would benefit just as much, if in a different way, by watching the same story.

Unexpected Loss

All those years in school, no one really prepares you for what it’s going to be like when you have your heart broken. And I don’t mean 16 year old, “I just broke up with my boyfriend of 3 months,” kind of heartbreak. I mean the kind that leaves a profound impact on your soul. A mark that will never quite go away.

Now, my relationship wasn’t perfect. I don’t actually know why that word exists; nothing is perfect. But it was real. It was best friends who had fallen in love. It was trust, understanding, respect, support, and unconditional love… Or so I’d thought.

You never really see it coming. That humiliation you feel when the things you thought were what made your relationship indestructible, were all in your head. That utter disappointment in the person you had so carefully trusted with your heart. That rejection.

The blow to your self esteem hits the hardest. Knowing that your life situation, your very being, doesn’t tick all the boxes for that person. Knowing that the unconditional love and support you so consistently offered… Simply wasn’t enough.

It leaves you thinking… What else is there? If I gave my everything and it wasn’t enough… What then?

Unloveable. Pathetic. Those are the feelings that crush the soul and leave an inexplicable darkness in your heart that was never there before. Even through all the trials you’d overcome in life, this hits home the hardest. And now you’re trapped behind a facade of strength and rationality, all the while feeling utterly broken intside.

The worst part – you can’t even hate them. They’re not actually a bad person, they simply didn’t want you. But there are three words you can’t seem to vocalise to anyone, because the humiliation and loss is too raw.

“I miss him.” Pure. Simple. Gut wrenching. Three words that wake you up at night with a physical ache. Three words that make you want to lash out and tear your room apart.

I do. I miss him. And no one, nothing, could have prepared me for that.

The Unexpected Side Effect of Chronic Illness

We often hear about the symptoms of chronic illness and chronic pain. Muscle fatigue, muscle pain, joint pain, headaches, nausea, stomach & bowel disturbances, skin issues, chest pain, fatigue, malaise, and many many more.

But what’s often not mentioned is the emotional toll any chronic illness takes on every person who suffers. In particular, the guilt that comes with it.

It seems strange to say – I mean, why would you feel guilty for something you had no say in? But it’s an unfortunate and common side effect of chronic illness or pain.

No one actually wants to be a burden. No one wants to hold other people back. So we do exactly what we shouldn’t do – we spend all day apologising to others for our illnesses and our limitations. For the reason we can’t work full time, or work at all. For the reason we need extra rest. For the reason we can’t do too many physical activities. For the reason we can’t get out of bed that day. Our illness, that we can’t help or control, makes us feel invalid and like we’ve lost all value – and ultimately makes us feel guilty.

Did we do something to deserve this? Could we have taken better care of our bodies before this happened? Is there something more we could be doing to feel better – to be better? Should we listen to all that unsolicited advice, spending every extra penny we have on controversial treatments and natural methods that may or may not work?

What’s the right answer for this predicament we didn’t see coming, the ‘sure thing’ cure we haven’t tried yet. I swear, if you just tell me what it is, I will do it!

But that desperation for an answer to ‘fix’ our bodies does nothing to ease our mind of the guilt, or the fear that maybe it really is all in our heads. We still feel bad every single time we have to cancel any social plans. We still feel bad when friends just start forgetting to invite you, because you rarely show up anyway. We still feel bad when we’re on date night and have to leave early when our bodies start to fail us, or planning a 5pm early bird dinner just so you can be in bed by 8pm. We still feel bad about all the limitations that come with any outing. We still feel bad making plans at all, knowing we may have to cancel. We still feel bad for all the extra responsibilities other people have to take on at work in our absence.

Our limitations, become their limitations.

I still feel bad when my close friends and family, or my boyfriend, says “it’s okay,” when I cancel or pull out of plans. And they mean it. It really is okay, they understand my reasons, they sympathise. So why does that just make me feel worse? More guilty. Like maybe I’m taking advantage of their love for me. Like I’m hurting these people that care for me so much that they have unlimited patience when it comes to my struggle for my health. I’ve just wasted their time and ruined their plans for the day, but somehow it’s okay. But it’s not okay… Not to me. Never to me.

Guilt. All consuming, occasionally debilitating, and most of all, unexplainable… And the symptom we often don’t talk about. But it’s there, devouring us from the inside and causing more conflict in our minds than we care to admit. Do we put our health first, or do we just push through that activity that we know will just cause us more harm afterwards? Am I being selfish for choosing rest when I need it?

I can answer that, confidently and surely…. No, you are not being selfish for looking after your health. I know that, yet I still question it daily. Maybe it’s time to stop apologising for something that we cannot help, that we did not ask for, and that we are doing everything and giving everything to try to fix. Maybe over time, that guilt will be a light shadow in the background of our minds, rather than consuming it. But most of all, the moment we stop apologising, is the moment we show others that we don’t care what they think. That we know we didn’t ask for this or want it, and that we will not continue to say sorry simply for being sick.

…Easier said than done, right?

How Do You Feel?

  • “Are your migraines gone yet? Maybe you’re just tense.
  • “Oh your struggling with fatigue? Man I’m tired too, it’s been a busy week!”
  • “Muscle pain? Probably from lack of exercise.”
  • “Have you tried NOT taking all those medications? Maybe they’re the issue.”
  • “How are you… Are you better yet?”
  • “Are you depressed?”

I hear a lot of questions in my day to day life that are based around my currently chronically ill body – some often accompanied by unsolicited advice. But I was asked a question today that really took be by surprise.

My doctor asked “how do you feel?” Yes, that’s a reasonably normal question to ask someone who is chronically sick, especially for a doctor. So I answered my standard “same old. Migraines have improved but still have good days and bad days health wise in general.”

“No, no. How do you FEEL? As in, how does all of this make you feel… Emotionally.”

Oh.

Well…

That’s actually a tough one to answer. I’m often asked how I feel, but physically, and usually followed by unsolicited and unhelpful advice or judgement. Like they’re asking out more out of habit than actually caring to hear the same thing day after day.

Is “I don’t know” a sufficient answer? If I think too hard about my actual feelings around my illness, my brain literally empties itself of all memories, knowledge and feelings. POOF! Gone.

I mean, for the last 10 years I’ve suffered chronic pain to some degree or another because of Endometriosis, while enduring 6 surgeries and countless traumatic treatments that were unsuccessful, all while having people ask me if I really NEED all those surgeries (because hey, I’m just doing it for fun right?) And then there’s the mystery illness that has taken over my life over the last two years that I like to call the WTF disease – which has caused no end of pain in probably every place on my body at some stage, caused fatigue so bad that I sometimes can’t even think past a brain full of fairy floss, hospitalised me in the ER twice because of suspected heart attack or stroke due to dangerously high blood pressure, caused me to have to resign from a job and a company that I loved… Oh and basically made me hate my body and everyone around me that asked stupid questions follow by useless and unsolicited advice.

So, I guess if you wanted me to really sum it up… I’d say I was pretty darn pissed off. And yet, also somehow grateful for the changes it has made in me.

Now there’s a mind-f**k for you!

But back to the point. My doctor bought about a very important issue that I constantly keep allowing myself to forget… my emotions and my mental health. I may not be mentally ill, but that doesn’t mean I should neglect my emotions and allow myself to become that way. But more than that, that not only myself, but also everyone around me, continue to overlook the profound effect these kinds of chronic illnesses can have on a person. After all, I’m not Super Woman… As much as I’d like to tell people that I am.

A person should always be viewed holistically – as a whole. Mind, body, and *insert your belief here*. I may be physically and chronically sick, but should I only be viewed that way? No, I really shouldn’t. And yet, I’m just as guilty of it. Sometimes when you’re drowning in one issue, and allowing everyone around you to drown in it with you, you forget to view someone as an entire human being.

I’m not just my pain or my illness, I am also my mind, my personality, my feelings. And having someone not only see that, but genuinely care about it, meant the world to me. I needed to be asked that, more than I often realise. People often tell me they’re frustrated for me, but don’t actually ask or realise that I am exactly ten million, five hundred sixty two thousand, seven hundred and one times MORE frustrated than they are… Because I’m the one living it.

I’m a happy, bubbly and always-smiling-too-much girl (to the point where I’ve got early onset crows feet,) but that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling other emotions on a deeper level, I just don’t always show it.

So, it’s time to be real. How do you feel?

To the Chronically Ill Mother

Yesterday I was babysitting my niece (1) and nephew (3) all day. I loved hanging out with them, but I got a new insight into what it’s like to have kids when you have a chronic illness.

Children never stop. Ever. They’re little balls of energy, addictive and adorable, but oh so exhausting after a while! I can honestly say that the longest and most stressful day at work never amounted to a full day looking after little kids. Not in the sense that it was stressful, but just how much it takes out of you.

Now, my glimpse at life as a mother was tiny, but told me so much. I probably managed to go to the bathroom once all day, and had to eat quickly while they were distracted with their own food. I cooked dinner with my niece in one arm while trying to allow my nephew to help prep the veggies without hurting himself and without actually letting the food burn. Then I gave them both a bubble bath after changing the nappy of my 1 year old niece, that was so full that I just couldn’t believe such a little human could produce so much poop!

The noise – they were ‘chatting’ and making noises all day, while constantly demanding attention and forever moving. They wanted to go outside, then inside, then outside. Then eat, poop, play, watch TV – rinse and repeat!

For all mothers out there – I have the utmost respect for you. I can’t wait to become a mother myself, but man I could see the struggle you all go through on a daily basis. Any man that says “you were at home all day, why didn’t you get anything done?” – I will personally kick you all in the balls.

Now, to the mother with chronic illness – that’s a whole other level of respect I have for you! To the mothers suffering with an autoimmune condition, chronic fatigue, diabetes, arthritis, even cancer – you are an absolute SUPER MUM! To suffer through daily fatigue, pain, nausea, digestive issues, chest pain, dizziness, insomnia, and a whole other gigantic list of issues, and STILL be able to push through all that and look after your children in the way they deserve. You deserve a god damn medal!

You don’t have time for yourself, not even a second. Not when your little babies are demanding all of it. You put yourself second ALWAYS, and I think that takes incredible strength. Self care has probably become a distant memory for you, but I still feel like it’s so important, no matter your circumstances. You need to look after yourself, to be able to look after your little ones.

For everyone else out there without children – I think it’s important to offer some support and have some more understanding on what mothers in general go through, let alone mothers who are chronically ill. Offer them an extra hand, watch their kids for half an hour while they shower and wash their hair – every little bit helps. Offer them the self care time they so desperately need. This goes for all mothers, not just the chronically ill.

But pay extra attention to those with chronic illness or pain. Extra attention to how they’re coping mentally as well as physically. I myself spent the entire day today in bed recovering, and my condition is no where near as severe as some others.

To the chronically ill mother – I see you. I think you’re incredible. Please don’t feel guilty for something you cannot help, please see that you’re doing an amazing job and pushing through so much more than anyone should have to. You’re a good mother and you’re a strong woman.

Feeding the Stigma

This is entirely my fault. For two years I have been suffering with health issues and chronic widespread pain, spending thousands of dollars on appointments, tests, medications, hospital visits and surgery. Unable to work full time or have a normal social life.

And apparantly unable to let my own family in on this huge life changing illness. Whoops! 🤦‍♀️

I made an assumption. A stupid one. You know what they say when you assume, right? I did that. I made an ass out of u & me. Or them and me, if you want to get technical.

My mum and dad knew most of the details, so I had just assumed they would have let everyone else know. I kept the details close to my heart, not wanting anyone to know how much I was really struggling, but hoping my parents would give them the general gist.

Apparently they didn’t. And so, two years after this all started, my brother and sister-in-law asked me why I had resigned from my job and what was going on with my health. When I mentioned my migraines, my possible Lupus diagnosis, my brother asked if that’s the reason I go to bed insanely early, like a light bulb just went off in his brain and everything suddenly made sense. Because guess what? Everything suddenly DID make sense! When you actually explain the facts to people, first hand, everything falls into place. Funny that!

Now, after that conversation, I realise that I’m guilty of exactly what I’ve been ‘preaching’ against! Not talking openly to my own family for fear of judgement and simply hoping someone else would do my dirty work hasn’t done me, or them, any favours. Sure, judgement is a part of life. So why are we so scared of it? I think that’s a hard one, because we don’t want to know the people we love the most don’t understand what we’re going through. That’s so damn isolating!

But they didn’t judge, even if they didn’t fully empathise with my situation. They just wanted to know, to understand. Because they’re my family, and they love and care for me. It seems so crazy to me now that I didn’t trust in that.

I’ve heard people say there’s no stigma with chronic illness, only with mental illness. But I disagree. There is a stigma, if there wasn’t I wouldn’t have been so scared of judgement. That fear had come from somewhere, and it caused me to hide what I should have been sharing as abundantly as possible. The stigma is based around chronic, invisible, undiagnosed illnesses. Am I making it up? Bunging it on?

Every time someone asks me how I am, genuinely wanting to know if I’m okay, my response is always “I’m okay. Same old.” I kick myself every time. What does that even mean?! Same old? REALLY? Just tell them the truth, that I’m struggling with migraines and I’m tired of pushing through. That I’m desperate for a break. That I’m trapped in a body that’s constantly in pain and all I want to do is live my life. That I HATE that I had to quit my job.

THAT’S the truth I should be telling. So why is it so difficult? My fear is damaging not only to myself, but to everyone else.

I’ve been totally honest with all these strangers via my blog – but not with my own flesh and blood. Maybe it’s easier to face being judged by strangers, than by those we love. Maybe it’s less scary – less hurtful. But I am causing harm nonetheless. I am unintentionally feeding a stigma.

Well… No more. I AM SICK. I am a barely functionally, chronically sick person. I go to bed at 5pm because I’m bone achingly tired and I’m trying to beat my migraine by going to bed before the pain gets too bad. I avoid social outings because I’m scared I’ll have to leave early which either forces my boyfriend to have to leave early with me or forces me to either explain the truth to everyone or make up a lie. I’m not sure which is worse. I can’t work full time because I’m physically and mentally exhausted from having to push through daily pain. I’m terrified of doctors visits because I’m tired of being told that they can’t figure out exactly what’s wrong, and I’m embarrassed every time I have to explain that fact to everyone else waiting to hear my diagnosis. I’m dead broke, partly because I can’t work enough and partly because doctors, medications and tests are SO expensive. I hide my pain and fatigue until it’s really bad simply because I’m tired of complaining. I hide pain from my own boyfriend who just recently said “how come you don’t get migraines on weekends?” Ha! Well, I do. I just medicate more and push through it more so that he won’t see the full extent of how broken his girlfriend is. Even though I know he’d understand, I’m scared that maybe one day he won’t anymore. I work every day to protect myself both physically and mentally.

I’m a sister, a girlfriend, a daughter, a friend. I’m a person – and I’m chronically ill. Welcome to Laura in real life.

The Importance of Mental Health in Chronic Illness

For most people with a chronic illness, there comes with it a care plan that includes multiple specialists. One of these specialists is a psychologist. This makes complete sense, given the toll it takes on the person, body and mind.

However, I hadn’t really been thinking much about it lately, just going along with the flow. Going to each doctors visit and every specialist like a good little patient, without really thinking about what each of them means in my care plan. I hadn’t received the answers I needed from any of them, so I stopped expecting anything from them, and in turn stopped reaping any benefits.

I just kept going to the appointments, adjusting my medications as instructed, doing whatever else they told me, in a numb like zombie state. I thought I had simply accepted my lack of diagnosis and was going on with life, but really I was avoiding feeling that constant frustration, disappointment and guilt.

With my health condition (which may or may not be Lupus) comes many symptoms and many obstacles – the latest being chronic (almost daily) migraines. Even if I don’t have a full blown migraine, I do have some degree of head pain or malaise. If you have never had a migraine, imagine something that caused you horrible pain… Like menstrual cramps or being kicked in the balls (sorry boys.) Now imagine feeling that pain on varying levels daily… It would become kind of hard to think about anything else, right?

That’s what I realised was happening to me as I sat in front of my psychologist after not having seen her for 3 months. I realised in all my effort to look after my physical health, I had actually forgotten something just as important – my mental health.

Now imagine this – I’m sitting in front of a highly experienced clinical psychologist, with 24 years of experience and a PhD. After approximately 40 minutes of her trying to find out what’s been going on in my life and how I’d been feeling, she actually laughed at how difficult it was to get an answer. She was so stumped that she actually laughed, in a very awkward way. I’d once been told many years ago by a different psychologist that getting information from me was like getting blood from a stone. In this moment, I finally understood her frustration.

Now, let me be clear, I wasn’t intentionally being difficult. I’m a very honest person. If I had known how I’d been feeling lately, I most definitely would have shared it with her. But the thing is, I hadn’t thought about it much. When she asked me how I’d been feeling, the only answer that came to mind was physical pain – which wasn’t actually what she was asking about. But when I tried to think about emotions in regards to any situation we had just been talking about, my mind actually went completely blank!

We did get somewhere in the end, she managed to get one emotion out of me and we managed to get to the root of it. All in the last 5 minutes – proving what a skilled doctor she is! But the entire session did actually highlight one major issue to me, and probably to her. That I was not looking after my mental health in the slightest. I was… I AM, so consumed by my physical health, and in my chronic pain, that I completely overlooked my mental health.

That is an incredible mistake – one I’ve never made before. I was genuinely shocked by this revelation.

This highlighted for me the importance of managing your mental health, even while in the midst of a physical health debacle – ESPECIALLY while in the midst of a physical health debacle. Both physical and mental health go hand in hand, and one most certainly can affect the other.

This brings me briefly to the topic of trauma. One would expect trauma to come in the form of a car accident or abuse – but it can also come in the form of an illness. During or after a trauma, people can experience a kind of ‘numbing’ effect (I don’t know the exact clinical term.) This is something I’ve experienced in the past, so I was deeply surprised that I had slipped up and forgotten to focus on something so important.

This is something that should be remembered not only for those suffering from any kind of chronic illness, but also for their loved ones. There is a VERY good reason why psychology plays a part in our care plans, and it’s not something we should be taking a part in just for the sake of it. If you’re going to look after your health, look after ALL of it. If you’re going to check in on someone suffering from a chronic illness, ask them how they’re feeling emotionally also. It may just be the reminder they need.