Alack, poor me...

Take a look at this news story. What, you don't have the time to read it? And why is that? Probably because, if you are anything like me and based mainly at home you are too busy fitting in a quick blog-tastic five minutes between unstacking the dishwasher, doing the school run, getting tomorrow's school uniform ready, setting out the breakfast things, hanging out the laundry, writing down and buying the contents of a shopping list, cooking dinner, tidying up your home, and, if you're lucky, having the odd cup of tea or coffee.


Once upon a time of course, it might have been different. Once upon a time pre-kids, that is...

But back to the article. The link will take you to a BBC piece discussing a radio programme called 'Am I Normal?' which this week is about the possible misdiagnosis of some - not all - women as having post-natal depression. It raised something that resonated with me, as it asks the question: 'Could it be that the medical profession is turning the normal - if difficult - psychological transition to motherhood into an illness?'

Now, I know something about depression. Various members of my family have suffered from it, and after Boy #2 was born the walls seemed to close in on me too. All I wanted was to go into the kitchen cupboard, shut the door, and turn off the light. There was too much static, too much white noise, just... too much. Thankfully, I wasn't so far gone that I wasn't able to pull myself as far as the doctor's surgery and mutter that I thought I might need a bit of help, and luckily that was exactly what I got. Not chemical help - which in any case I really didn't want - but counselling and support.

Now, 3 years on, I can look back at what happened a little more objectively. And I wonder if the suggestion above - of misdiagnosis - is right, when applied to me. I'm beginning to wonder if what I called 'post-natal depression' was not mislabelled. I have actually started to think of what I went through as less of a depression in the clinical sense, and more of a grieving process.

That's not to say that wasn't also depressed. But I think that the depression was less of the post-natal kind, and more of the 'I'm feeling sad because I have to say goodbye to a big part of who I am and how I identify myself, and yet I'm not supposed to show it' kind.

So before you throw up your hands in horror, I wasn't grieving at the fact of having given birth, no, not at all. I am eternally grateful that I have my two sons, that I did so easily and that they are happy and healthy. So 3 years ago, what on earth would I have been grieving at what was ostensibly such a joyful time? When I was in love with my new son and celebrating his birth?


Myself. I was grieving the loss of part of who I had been.

Let me explain. When I had Boy #1, I knew in advance that his arrival would change everything. I thought I was prepared for how much, but of course I wasn't, no-one really is. Nevertheless, some things carried on as before. When he was 7 months old I went back to work. It made me cry, but I did it. And there, despite the enormous guilt I felt at leaving my darling Boy in another's care, I rediscovered independance, and feeling a valued and respected individual. My job wasn't perfect, there were things about it that made my blood boil, but on the whole I enjoyed it.


When Boy #2 arrived, however, it very quickly became apparant - to me at least - that things were going to have to change. I firmly believe that for many people having one child doesn't need to slow you down too much. Your life won't be the same as it was before, but there will be some things that are pretty similar. Yes, you need to be more organised, and you need to be comfortable with the childcare you are using, but your career can probably carry on pretty much as before.


Child #2 arrives, though, and the wheels fall off, at least in my experience. There's not only a baby to deal with, but a demanding toddler as well. And in our case, the baby was sick, and the toddler was coming up with scary allergies. Plus, Husband was travelling, a lot. And if he wasn't travelling, he was working late.

Sure, I could have gone back to work, but it would have meant finding a different job since my role too entailed a limited amount of international flights; the nightmare scenario that kept playing through my head was of Husband being somewhere far-flung and my being stuck at some European airport with a cancelled flight as the hours ticked by towards the (shared) nanny's home time.


Before Boy #2 was many months old I had already started to consider the prospect of stopping my interesting and stimulating job and being at home with the children for an indefinite period. And what do you know; those thoughts co-incided with the advent of my 'post-natal depression'. So I'm wondering if the thrust of this article - in so far as it applies to me - is right. My life was changing, irrevocably. And whilst some parts of my new role were wonderful and marvellous, so too were some parts of what I was leaving behind.


I needed a period of readjustment, to take in my changed life and expectations.

It's ironic, I think, that whilst we are growing up, girls (or at least, I) were told 'You can do anything, be anything that you want to be.' And it's true, up to a point. But that freedom comes at a price. Whether you work full, part time, or not at all, your priorities alter once you become a mother; they have to. And it doesn't matter how much people warn you about this; you won't listen. Or not much. 'That won't be me' I remember thinking. 'Nothing will change...'

But suddenly staying late in the office to finish a presentation is no longer the easy call it once was. Putting yourself forward for a more responsible and demanding position that's going to be a drain on the time you spend with your family isn't the no-brainer it used to be. Popping out for a few drinks after work for a bit of team bonding rarely happens. Spending quality time with your partner or your girlfriends, just having fun, tends to get relegated to the 'once in a blue moon' pile.

I harp on about this, I know, in fact no doubt it's a recurrent theme through my blog. But I've come to realise that - whilst I don't want to go back to my pre-Boys life - it's perfectly acceptable to feel sad that parts of who I was, both good and bad, have gone. It's just that now I don't think of it as post-natal depression; it was 'a psychological transition'.

What was depressing was that nobody seemed to want to understand I was just bloody miserable that my days of going to the loo with the door shut were - for the forseeable future - at an end...

By the way? Totally over that now. Who needs privacy, a waistline, and a house without two small boys and a plethora of trains and dinosaurs, in any case?