Time to be happy

I woke up this morning feeling supremely unsettled. Two hours later, languishing in the sunshine and sighing a contented sigh as I came to the end of a book that knocked me off my feet, I looked up and considered a new possibility. Maybe I'm happy, maybe all the good days are beginning to roll into one and are beginning to banish the soul-destroying darkness that used to lurk conspicuously in the wings, waiting to topple me.

This week midwifery has been kind to me. I've worked with some incredible student midwives who have their own demons to do battle with, but who bring such warmth and passion to the job that they are a breath of fresh air. I've been fortunate enough to have had the time to sit for an hour in clinic and try to calm a woman. I've visited a family at home that I cared for on the wards last week when life seemed bleak, and sadness inched in along with the shadows at nightfall. I've discharged one of my antenatal caseload and her baby from midwifery care, wishing them well as they approach their new life together. These are little things, seemingly inconsequential but, when I stop and think about it, they make me happy.

This week has been yet another whirlwind. I started the week in a post-nights daze and threw myself into the bank holiday on little sleep and a couple of glasses of wine with friends (not a combination to try). I've had a week of shining a light on how I view myself, of being fed a few brutal home truths by a friend, a week of regrets and no regrets, of giving women the tools they need to help themselves, a week of wondering what would happen if I stopped torturing myself and actually allowed myself to enjoy life. Guilt plagues me. I feel guilty that I was unhappy and unwell when my girls were little, guilty that I walked away from my marriage, guilty that I am alive and well and yet am chased daily by my own mind that sometimes seems set to destroy me. I feel guilty that I am alive because I should be doing more, being more, feeling more, experiencing more. I feel as though I am wasting my life some days, and guilt springs up when I consider that some people don't have this.

I've never been much of a planner because I've always assumed that mental health would eventually gobble me up like quicksand. I never saw the point of grand plans or big aspirations, and pre-children I would book a flight and be on the plane within a week or so. My family used to despair that I would never sit still or be content. My kids found some old photos today: me sat at the side of the road in India, me with friends in Italy, Barcelona, Paris, the South of France, with family in Canada, the list goes on. They started asking questions and I realised that I had been happy, and only occasionally blighted by the tendrils of depression creeping in. This week I have cared for brilliantly intelligent women who have been bowled over by motherhood, and that has helped me see my own experiences more objectively. What if it wasn't my fault?

This week has been about realising that guilt will corrode my very soul if I continue to let it. I am an adult and I deserve to be happy, and I need to take stock and recognise the little things that are actually very important to that happiness. Holding hands, making pizza from scratch, walking up big hills, friends, singing to very uncool music, crying at a good book, talking, laughing, taking photos, drawing, jumping on a trampoline, sitting in the park in the sunshine, laughing some more. What if they're the things that matter, what if it's OK to be manic one minute and a little bit sad the next, what if guilt is banished, what if it's OK to be OK, even if the landscape of your life has shifted? What if I stop longing for what I thought I wanted, what if I come to terms with the fact that I have two little people to brighten my days and that seeing the world through their eyes is brilliant, what if I forgive myself for the multitude of mistakes I have made? What if I enjoy the good moments, rather than living in fear that the bad ones are just around the corner? What if I accept that some people in my life aren't that great and won't give me what I need, what if I make even more of a concerted effort to let the good people in?

I think initially I'd spend a lot more mornings having conversations with myself like the one I had this morning...

Brain: hmm, I don't feel right

Other part of brain: maybe you're ill or tired?

Brain: nope, slept well, feel fine

Two hours later...

Brain: maybe this is happiness?

Other part of brain: (audible gulp) maybe

After that, my brain might just calm down and I might just enjoy life a bit more. I might let go of the guilt and be happy.