To another new year…


Not many hours left of 2017 and as each successive new year dawns, I feel a huge wave of sadness for the people I have loved and lost, followed by immense gratitude for the precious things I hold dear.

I give thanks for my beautiful son, a gift from heaven, who teaches me patience and empathy, and shows me unconditional love.

I give thanks for modern medicine, without which I would be living a nightmare of insanity.

I give thanks to those who love me despite all my little peculiarities and imperfections.

I give thanks that I have a home, food on the table, enough money to live a fairly comfortable lifestyle.

And I pray for the billions of people who do not have such luxuries. The children in warzones such as Syria who will be waking up in fear and  desperation. The children who are victims of abuse and suffer immensely at the hands of those who should keep them safe. Those who have been devastated by disaster and tragedy. The homeless, the hungry, the insane, the suffering.

I am indeed grateful for life. I am blessed.

I wish you all a happy new year and beautiful times in 2018!

That festive feeling?


So its almost here. Consumerism heaven. Sorry, I mean Christmas. That time of year which can make you or break you.

People fall into three categories at this time of year. The insanely enthusiastic, with their gaudy Christmas jumpers, dazzling cheer and houses bedecked with a million sparkling illuminations. The middle of the road, can’t really be arsed but plodding along as its what people do, or those who really wish it wasn’t Christmas at all, and are having a really hard time coping, without all the festive shenanigans.

I fall into the middle category. Years ago, before I got ill, Christmas was a magical time for me. I was a social butterfly. The holidays were all about the kids’ concerts, the breathtaking carol concerts with the Halle Orchestra and choir (I was a soprano) and the yearly performance of Handel’s Messiah. This would be topped off with a fun-filled, jollity laden Christmas with my good friends in their country home.

Now, life is very different. Friends are few and far between and I do not stand on a stage in the spotlight. The children don’t sing and I do not quaff champagne whilst dining around a table full of frolicsome company. I play along with the festivities for the sake of my son. Santa does come to the house but that magic will soon die as my son is only a half believer this year. The Christmas cards end up in the recycling bin as my son is Autistic and likes to tear them down during meltdowns. The Christmas music, so gaudy and commercial, that so intrusively invades my senses, falls on deaf ears. I have gone through the motions. The cards have all been dutifully written, presents beautifully wrapped. We will have dinner at mum’s with my family.

I have a good friend who is very depressed and struggling at this time of year. She has barely been out of the house in weeks, and is trying to cope with three young children. My heart goes out to her, and all the other people who are coping with mental illness, especially at this supposed festive time of year. I remember being hospitalised for many months due to a severe mania, and feeling very alone at a time when others were together. I truly hope that they have someone to look out for them, to reach out and care. There will be many people who are hurting inside, but putting on a face for the sake of their loved ones.

As I try and recapture some of the lost magic of Christmas by playing some soothing classical Christmas music on the radio, and maybe even listen to the Messiah, I will hold in my thoughts those who are suffering at this time of year. If you can hold them in your hearts, that would be wonderful, and if you can reach out, that would be even more beautiful.

Happy Christmas, everyone!

The challenge of parenthood when you have a mental illness


I happen to be a woman who became a mother later in life. A woman with a severe mental illness. A woman who is now, to add to the challenge, a widow. And whose son has Autism.

Although at times I have been terrible at it, motherhood has been the making of me. I spent my ‘prime’ years as a frequent inpatient at the local psychiatric hospitals, mania, depression, psychosis, suicidal ideation making life painful and seemingly impossible. All the medication in the world, and sixteen rounds of ECT didn’t fix me. It took an incredible man called John to do that. Soon after, I conceived my son. Many were horrified, most were incredulous. I could barely care for myself, let alone another tiny, dependent human life. But become a mother I did, and it was my job to prove the world wrong.

Caring for this beautiful bundle of babyhood had a therapeutic effect on me. My moods stabilised, I was calmer and more settled. I didn’t feel suicidal and my manias were minor in comparison to my pre-baby self.

Tragedy struck when my husband passed away, when my son was three years old. I was unable to cope with the loss and the traumatic circumstances, and ended up back in the psychiatric unit for a while.

There was one other occasion where hospitalisation was required, but that was due to a bout of severe mania with psychosis, and due to neglecting my lithium.

Motherhood has been the making of me, in many ways. My life is not easy. My son has Autism, which brings its challenges, and I am here coping all alone, my husband now hopefully watching down on us from his spirit realms!

Medication is my mainstay, I am rigid about taking the correct dose every night. The effects of not taking my medication are mania and psychosis. I minimise stress down to the least possible. In this house we have our routines, mostly due to my son’s Autism.

I made the huge decision to bring forth new life, and I have a great responsibility to remain well enough to care for my son and make sure all his needs are met. After spending many years at the centre of the psychiatric system, fighting against the regime, I am now calmly and willingly surrendering to a quiet, ordered, calmer life.

I have taken myself out of center stage and my son is there at the heart of everything we do. He knows I have a mental illness, and copes well with my fluctuating moods. He has separation anxiety and delayed emotional development as a result of his father’s death and my hospitalisations when he was young. But I have lots of support, my CPN (Community Psychiatric Nurse), psychologists from the education authority, his school and my family.

Being a parent with a mental illness can make you vulnerable to judgement and prejudice. I have even had dealings with social services after my last hospitalisation. That was traumatic but strengthened even more my resolve to be a stable parent.

My advice to parents who have a mental illness are this:

  • Take your meds!
  • Destress your life as much as possible
  • try and keep a routine to your day
  • Use all the support networks you can
  • Keep good relationships with school
  • keep a close check on how you are feeling. If you feel a slight shift in mood, or the slightest symptoms, take action as soon as possible.
  • Set aside time to have fun with your child. Laughter makes for happy parenting  and kids.
  • Try not to become isolated. Keep contact with friends and family.
  • If you are feeling unwell, talk to someone. Friends, family, or even a telephone support hotline.
  • Be kind to yourself! You are doing the best job you can!