My own 'normal'

This has been a difficult one.

This week has seen me supporting women with fear in their eyes and heaviness in their hearts. I have wanted to cry with them, and I have wanted to fix them. I did neither. I hugged them, supported them, encouraged them, and gave them the tools to help themselves once they left my company.

I also turned 34. My own birthday passes by largely ignored because I hate it. Gone are the days when I'd go out and celebrate, or wear a birthday crown. This year, thanks to social media reminding the masses that it was my birthday, I endured a day of lovely messages and kind words. It has taken its toll. I am exhausted. Holding a fixed grin in place while I tell people how my birthday was is tiring, as is feeling panicked at the prospect of having to open cards or presents in front of people. A day of accepting compliments graciously (true to my word, I am trying to accept a compliment) is soul-destroying. I cried because my brother paid for Pinard stethoscopes for midwives in other countries. Firstly it was the sentiment, then it was the pressure that made me cry. There are expectations and social norms to which we are expected to adhere, and when you don't play ball people are unsure how to take you. Apparently it's not OK to want to stay in your pyjamas all day on your birthday. And please don't tell people that that's what you'd rather be doing because (quite rightly) it appears rude and it makes people feel uncomfortable. My birthday weighs me down with guilt and gratitude – I am grateful to have seen another year roll by and to have a life full of people who don't find me repulsive, but I feel guilty because I have 'let' my mental health have a detrimental effect on my quality of life.

My brain seems to work in mysterious ways. My own mental health is a shadow that I drag behind me ad kick into touch or is an entity that threatens to envelop me, depending on how the day is going. Waves of despair can crash over me all too quickly, even in the middle of a good day. A day full of positivity can leave me devastated as I try to reconcile how I feel about myself with how other people feel about me. Often I live in fear that the darkness is coming. I can feel it build and I used to run away from it, keep busy, move, drown myself in caffeine, avoid sleep because that's where my mind is at its most vulnerable. Intrusive thoughts, anxiety, bad memories flash across my mind at night. Last year I stopped running, hiding from the darkness wasn't working so I started to stand still and let the awfulness hit me in the face. I sat and I cried a lot, usually locked in the bathroom, often with the shower pummelling piping hot water onto my head. I laid my trusty blade on the windowsill, defying it to draw me in again, and it lost some of its power over me.

I can feel the darkness lurking today, threatening to topple me. I am sitting still because I am bad company when I feel this way, and because running away doesn't make me address why I feel like this. Running doesn't let me consider that maybe I have caused this moment by always trying to prove I am enough. A new job, changing relationships, a wedding anniversary uncelebrated, mother's day without my girls, long shifts, the pressure of looking after other people leaves its mark. And I haven't been practising self-care at all. I am spent. I am also a hypocrite. I expect other people to rely on me, I openly encourage women to seek help, to tell their loved ones when they are struggling, and I keep it largely bottled up. I stow away my feelings because it feels easier that way, and because I do not wish to burden others by tipping the contents of my tumultuous brain onto their laps.

I've spent such a significant amount of time battling my brain and trying to prove that my mental health doesn't define me, that I've lost sight of the fact that my mental health makes me who I am. This is my 'normal'. My brain gives me little respite, apparently I was born without an off switch and some nights I am awake into the early hours because my mind is whirring. The skin around my thumb is raw where I have stripped it away, minor punishment for being me. Recently, I've rediscovered writing and drawing as mechanisms to help me cope, these rustic scribblings allow me to focus, vent, make sense of life, express myself.

Today that darkness is simmering and I would give anything to not feel it, but if I didn't feel it then maybe I would also miss out on all of the highs that life has thrown in my direction. There is an unexplained and unanticipated sadness creeping in. I know that I can ride it out, that tomorrow is another day and that if I can get through this afternoon and tonight then I will be fine. I also know that I have been ignoring the triggers that always threaten to subsume me. I am burying my head in the sand and pretending that watching women become mums hasn't opened old wounds, that supporting a woman through a traumatic birth hasn't made me remember the day my girls were born, that saying goodbye doesn't hurt, that holding other women's hands while they sob hasn't left me feeling battle-scarred.

I also wonder whether I am just having a momentary panic because actually things aren't that bad. I am coping well at work, the kids have childcare arranged, they are happy, I haven't yet had to sell an internal organ to pay the bills, self-harm hasn't reared its ugly head for a while, I have friends, I am surviving, making plans, booking holidays. Maybe it feels as though I am losing the plot today because, having seen the darkness, I am not keen to schlep back there. I have missed nights out and shut friends out of my life, because I don't want the world to see what I have become. Maybe this wobble is more closely related to the fact that I am doing OK and I am scared because I don't want to go back to hoping not to wake up in the morning. Maybe the mood today stems from the fact that I am conscious of having to rejoin the world and make myself vulnerable again in order to enjoy life and let people in.

The lessons from this week are this: hide when you need to hide, ask for help when you need it, but do not retreat entirely. Practise self-care. Plan to spend my 35th birthday either on a tropical beach or in my pyjamas (or both). Do not panic if I feel happy. Stop punishing myself. Accept friendship, but do not suffer fools gladly. Easy.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow because today isn't a great day, but it is just one day. I know I will wake up tomorrow grateful for a good day.