No time for drowning, life guru strikes again

I had coffee with one of the best today, the life guru who seems to be able to read my mind, who gives brutal life advice when it's needed, and who knows when I'm about to plummet off the cliff edge, before I realise it myself.

This week she replied to my message of “I'm drowning” by asking me to kindly refrain from doing so as the timing was inconvenient, what with work being so busy. You know you've got a good life guru when she knows you're just being dramatic and aren't actually drowning so she dismisses you... and then apologises.

Six months into my first year as an NQM and her brutal honesty and tough love are exactly what I need. Her standards are sky high, but she gets the best out of people in a way that I think she feels some people might construe as passive. If that's what they think, those people are mistaken: she's not passive, she just doesn't teach by humiliation or brute force. She's like the tide, drawing you along with her without you even realising it. She's one of the reasons that swapping from my midwifery-led to my obstetric-led rotation hasn't been awful. I've trained, qualified and graduated with her beside me, and I just assume she's still right there. Although she doesn't work on labour ward, she's at the heart of who I am as a midwife and hopefully that will always be there.

By and large, the midwives who are on shift are incredibly supportive, willing to help, teach, hug, laugh, but being newly-qualified is exhausting. I'm always on red alert, worrying what's going to hit me next. I feel out of my depth daily, which I can only compare to when you're swimming and you think you're about to place your feet on the bottom, only to find that you can barely put a tiptoe down without submerging half your face. You invariably look and feel as though you are simultaneously flapping, choking, and panicking, all while trying not to draw attention to yourself.

My aims for being an NQM felt relatively simple: practise safely, and do so with a smile. The life guru reassured me today that these were realistic aims. They felt as though they were the minimum I could expect to achieve. I also wanted to be able to get through most days without crying, although there was an incident regarding nail polish on shift at the weekend that threatened to open the flood gates. The first time I really cried was because of a clinical situation, the second time I had a complete meltdown because it felt as though I was actually drowning. Fortunately, the team scooped me up and gave me a bit of faith that I might be OK. They were the armbands that day, although they might be better described as a flamingo-shaped rubber ring rather than standard issue armbands due to their inimitable insanity and uniqueness.

As well as being exhausting, being an NQM is daunting and strangely quite liberating. When you're a third-year student, you're meant to be at the top of your game and midwives are quick to point out that you're soon to be let loose on your own as a midwife. You're graded and tested, and pushed every day to prove your worth. As an NQM, everyone knows you're back at the bottom and know very little. Knowing that you're very limited in your knowledge and your abilities, and knowing that everyone else knows this about you too is horrible, but it's almost a relief.

Decision-making and advocacy are tricky to balance as a new midwife. In the obstetric-led pathway there is an extra layer, another barricade to negotiate: doctors. There's a constant niggling fear in the back of my mind that I will automatically defer to a doctor's care plans, then turn round afterwards and wonder where the woman was in all of it. The language shift has smacked me in the face too, with the language of obligation seeping into everyday interactions: need, must, have to are scattered throughout some conversations. The language is divisive and jangles my nerves. It is the beginning of the realisation that this rotation is going to push me to my limits. Am I going to be able to care for women with courage and compassion when I feel as though I am drowning? Will I be able to stay committed to midwifery, my principles, the women? I hope so.

Outside of midwifery, the life guru shone a light on the big issue, “what do you enjoy doing?”, she asked me today. I have no idea. I've not got a clue who I am any more.

Girlfriend, mum, wife, student, midwife. I've had over a decade of having one or more of those labels assigned to me. I was approaching my 24th birthday the last time I was just me. The controlling boyfriend who raised his eyebrows and was less than impressed when I jumped on a plane to India at the drop of a hat turned into the controlling live-in boyfriend who wouldn't let me listen to music at home. He became the controlling husband who refused to take me as his plus one on nights out, the one who told me it was impossible to go away once we'd had the girls. Motherhood swallowed me whole, and being a student midwife was all-consuming. I barely knew which way was up, and keeping on top of placements, assignments, feeding the kids and helping with their homework was a constant assault on my time and my mental health.

Being a midwife should be different. I am getting paid, I can request shifts and annual leave, I have time off and I don't feel guilty if I'm not buried under a heap of journal articles. The kids are growing up, the challenges are still there but they're changing.

I've said before that I'm not a planner. I always assumed that the treacle of mental health I've been wading through for a long time would engulf me. The life guru sent me into a mini tailspin today. What do I enjoy doing? I've recently rejoined the gym because I like going and it keeps me focused. I can read for pleasure again – there are no essays vying for my time, and my addled brain is less addled these days and I don't read the same sentence 47 times before crying in despair and unhappiness.

I need to let go of the morbid and desperate assumption that planning is pointless as I'll be dead by the next milestone birthday. 20, 25, 30 have been and gone, and I'm still here. 35 is fast approaching and, rather than quaking in my boots at the prospect of 40 looming large over the brow of the hill, I'm actually happy to be alive and functioning. The bad days are so infrequent now that I barely even worry about them. Rather unhelpfully, today's life guru didn't offer any insights into what I might actually be interested in, although I'm pretty sure that her psychic abilities mean she'll figure it out before I do.

It seems that there's no time for drowning, so maybe some life planning is in order instead. All recommendations and offers gratefully received.