In Memory of My Auntie

Mother's Day was a sad day for two of my cousins this year.

On the 15th April, my Auntie Alison, who I visited in Adelaide nearly four years ago, lost her battle with lung cancer.  I was in hospital when I got the news.  I wanted to go to Adelaide for the funeral, but my mum advised me it wouldn't be a good idea when I was already so fragile.

I only met her a couple of times in my life, but she never failed to send me a card for my birthday.

She was my Nan's daughter-in-law and they were so much alike in personality, despite them not being blood relatives.  Even when my uncle passed away, they always kept in touch every fortnight by phone.

I will miss her.

Auntie Al and her dog, Max

With my mum and I

Reflections of a Mother

I read this years ago and thought it was appropriate seeing as I've just celebrated my first Mother's Day as a mum.  It's a great reminder of what I can control and what I must leave in God's hands.  This is for my son:

I gave you life,
But I cannot live it for you.

I can give you directions,
But I cannot be there to lead you.

I can take you to church,
But I cannot make you believe.

I can teach you right from wrong,
But I cannot always decide for you.

I can buy you beautiful clothes,
But I cannot make you beautiful inside.

I can offer you advice,
But I cannot accept it for you.

I can give you love,
But I cannot force it upon you.

I can teach you to share,
But I cannot make you unselfish.

I can teach you respect,
But I cannot force you to show honour.

I can advise you about friends,
But I cannot choose them for you.

I can advise you about sex,
But I cannot keep you pure.

I can tell you about alcohol and drugs,
But I cannot say "No" for you.

I can tell you about lofty goals,
But I cannot achieve them for you.

I can teach you about kindness,
But I cannot force you to be gracious.

I can pray for you,
But I cannot make you walk with God.

I can love you with unconditional love all of my life,
AND I WILL.

Prompted To Write: Rules To Live By

I've decided to take up Meredith's writing challenge with the topic Rules to live by.  Follow the link if you'd like to join in.

My recent stay in hospital revealed to me that I am much more of a rules person than I thought I was.  Rules are ok; they have their place.  But rules and small babies don't mix.

I've decided to ignore the baby books.  I partly blame those so-called 'baby whisperers' for the mess I've ended up in.  The nonsense they peddle to nervous first-time parents is criminal.  Have a strict schedule and your baby will sleep through the night at six weeks.  Let your child sleep in your bed and they will still be sleeping in your bed when they're in high school.  Don't let them suck their thumb or they'll still be sucking their thumb when they're 18.  Let them cry otherwise they'll manipulate you and will turn out to be a wuss.  You get the drift...  Of course I wanted to do things 'right'.  I'm a first-time mum.  I didn't have a clue.  Friends recommended these books.  Some were a bit more full-on by telling me I HAD to have a schedule otherwise I'd have a child hanging off my boob all day. Yep, those books combined with my ordered, structured personality were a ticking timebomb just waiting to explode.

What I learnt in the MBU is that when it comes to babies the only rules are good old-fashioned common sense, flexibility and love.  I drove myself mad trying to find the 'secret ingredient' to get Rory to sleep longer.  The only thing to do is resettle, resettle, resettle, and cuddle without the fear that I'm still going to have to cuddle him to sleep when he's a grown man!  I'm going to treasure these cuddles right now because they'll be over before I know it.

Many of those baby books treat all babies the same.  That the same routine etc will work for ALL babies!  What rubbish!  Babies are different just as all children and adults are different.  Before I had Rory I needed a good eight hours sleep a night to function, but I have friends who get by just fine with five.  I allowed myself to be convinced that there was something wrong with my beautiful son.  That just because he wasn't a good sleeper during the day that it erased all of the lovely things about him.  So he doesn't sleep for very long, so what?  He's got the best smile and laugh.  He loves people.  He's very handsome.  He loves to kick his little fat legs, especially in the bath.  I get annoyed when people ask me if he's a 'good baby'.  What's a 'good baby'?  One that sleeps all the time?  If that's the yardstick, then he'd be a 'bad baby'.  I was guilty of seeing him like that.  I wanted a robot instead of a son.  One that followed the rules perfectly.  I couldn't see what a gift I'd been given.

I came to hospital desperate that they 'fix' Rory's sleeping for me.  They gently showed me that I was the one who needed to be 'fixed'.  With a more settled mum, came a more settled bubba.  I needed to be freed from 'following the rules'.  When it comes to babies, the rule to live by is learning to be that patient, wiser, kinder person who helps them grow up in this world.

This was taken a few weeks back on the 12th April -
mine and Duncan's 5th wedding anniversary.

Home, Sweet Home

Rory and I are finally home!

I could never have imagined that when Duncan, Rory and I left on Good Friday for a long weekend in Dunsborough that I would also journey to Bunbury and Perth and wouldn't be home for over a month.  Yet, God in His loving wisdom knew that was what I needed.

I have mixed feelings about being home.  It is a place associated with unhappy memories over the past few months.  I just remember days of being unable to calm an unsettled baby, feeling like I just wanted to lie down and never wake up, that I was trapped in a nightmare.  Then there was the anxiety.  I felt like I was tiptoeing around, jumping at small noises and shaking randomly.  I just wanted to shut myself away from the world where nobody would be looking at me and Rory with curious smiles on their faces, wondering if I was going to sink or swim as a parent.

Things have changed for the better since I've been away.  I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not the same person I was before.  I'm armed with medication, new skills and confidence to fight my depression.  Home seems eerily quiet after the hustle and bustle of the MBU.  Whereas before the noise, people and crying babies would have elevated my stress levels, I miss the staff, patients and babies, the full days and the parks, shops and activity of Subiaco.  I asked Duncan if we could move to Subi and he just laughed and asked me if I'd seen the price of houses there recently.  I think Rory might be a city bubba.  He loved the excitement and the noise and having lots of nurses to fuss over him.  He is now quite the little charmer!  Instead of being a hermit, I'm determined to get out more with him.

I'll be continuing therapy to help rid myself of unhelpful thinking styles.  I realised that the reason I was shutting myself away from people was that I feared they were judging me for having an unsettled baby.  I now realise that 'mind reading' is terribly unhelpful.  There is no way I can presume to know what people are thinking.

Today Rory and I had our first day alone together while Duncan was at work.  I enjoyed the time I spent with him.  We went for a lovely long walk with the dogs.  We had cuddles.  I loved seeing him look at his reflection in a mirror and smile and giggle.  Although I'm so very glad the newborn stage is over and I'm enjoying having a three-month-old, I can now see how stressed I was becoming because I worried too much about housework and resented Rory for keeping me from it.  I still buzz around doing a few things while he sleeps (he still catnaps a lot unfortunately), but I've drastically lowered the high bar I'd set for myself.  I might not have much to show for my day, but at least I will have some good memories.

The first time I brought Rory home from a hospital, things didn't go so well.  I'm sure there will be still be days that won't.  But I no longer wish the days away in despair.  I have new hope and I'm thankful for a new chance to grow in my role as Rory's mum.

Compassion Fatigue

Do you ever wonder if your friends will tire of your problems and give up on you?

I didn't know it had a name, but it does.  It's called 'compassion fatigue'.  One of the ladies who was here in hospital with me before she was discharged over a week ago, brought it up during one of our group sessions.  It's something that the carers of depressed people may be prone to.

Sometimes I worry that my friends may suffer from compassion fatigue as my struggle goes on.  While they have been an absolutely fantastic support so far, it's not easy giving and giving to someone who can't give much in return.  I've been guilty of having compassion fatigue with some friends.  I start off determined to be alongside them every step of the way, but as their battles go on, I become weary.  I realise I signed up for a marathon, not a sprint.  It's hard to keep being there for someone who is always sad.  It's hard to keep listening to someone who is obsessing over the same guy years after he told her he wasn't interested in her romantically.  It's hard dealing with broken people in a broken world, being a broken person yourself, and fighting the urge to just shout, "Oh, get over it!"

I don't want to suffer from compassion fatigue, nor do I want others to give up on me.  When I lose patience with friends for not taking steps forward in my time, I'm reminded that they are people, not projects.  Things happen in God's time and not mine.  I can't fix them, but I can be there for them.

To all the friends who've stood by me...thank you!  Thank you for labouring on day by day in supporting me, even when I can't offer much in return.

Quote of the Day

Trouble is a sieve through which we sift our acquaintances.  Those too big to pass through are our friends.
- Arlene Francis

The Pendulum: Depression and Anxiety

Since being officially diagnosed with postnatal depression I've done a fair bit of pondering over the past few weeks.  The main questions I keep rehashing in my mind are:

Am I sick?
Or am I sinning?
Or is it a bit of both?

If depression is an 'illness', am I responsible for my actions?
Or is it like cancer in that it solely needs to be treated by medication alone?
Do I have a part to play?

I've found the Christian and the secular approaches to depression and anxiety to be both helpful and unhelpful as I've been in recovery.  While many Christians do see depression as a mental illness, and I've had many Christian friends from church and elsewhere who've offered AMAZING support, Christians with depression are always going to encounter the, Anxiety is a sin, and, You need to have joy in the Lord responses.  These responses are truly shattering if you have depression.  Yes, there is truth that we are all guilty of not trusting God and giving way to fear and anxiety, but to say such blunt things to a fellow Christian who is suffering is cruel to say the least.  I do not want to be depressed and I do not want to be anxious.  I want to have joy in the Lord.  But I am also sick and need medication to help me think clearly.  I know some Christians are sceptical about mental illness, thinking that doctors hand out anti-depressants like they're lollies, but I can honestly say medication has been a real blessing for me.  I'm gradually starting to feel like myself for the first time in a long time.  I can see why it is tempting to be treated entirely by the secular approach.  Non-Christians tend to offer a lot more sympathy.

There are inevitably many secular approaches that I find unhelpful or limited in their helpfulness.  As great as psychologists can be, I find it hard to have conversations when we have such differing worldviews.  I need to be reminded that God is sovereign, not to 'believe in myself'.  I am not strong; I am weak, but I have a great God who wants to shoulder my burdens.  For this reason I'm hoping to see a Christian counsellor when I get discharged.  I need someone who sees depression as an illness, but reminds me that God is there and that He has paid the penalty for all my sin.

Having said all that, I do really appreciate the holistic approach that this place is offering me.  Obviously it is lacking in the spiritual sense, but I have found the practical nature of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy to be beneficial.  The staff here acknowledge that I am unwell and need medication to help me get well, but I also need to do some of the work.  I have to confront my anxiety about going out in public with Rory.  The medication helps stabilise my mood so I can then start examining and correcting negative thought patterns that have built up over time (and there are a lot of them).

Am I sick?  Yes.
Am I accountable?  Yes.

Satan knows that if he attacks the mind, then it is often more harmful than if he were to attack the body alone.  A man's spirit sustains him in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear? Proverbs 18:14.

I found this article, Double Dangers: Maximizing and Minimizing Mental Illness (via In All Honesty) to be very useful in pondering this subject.