Sadly, I was well equipped to share this story.
Having already lived with the darkness and daily battle of anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, and depression for more than 15 years prior, I fell instantly into the high-risk category during my pregnancy. In a way, I was grateful for that, as I was closely monitored and well supported throughout and beyond those 9 months. It is a complex story to tell, even more so as time passes and the crispness of the memories continue to fade.
It is the year 2020.
A new decade arrived as we celebrated you reaching double digits. It was a chance to reflect on a decade of us, a decade of motherhood for me, and a decade of growth, learning, joy, grief, pain, and everything in between. Reflecting on a decade of you being earthside reminds me that my own birth as a mother has been and always will be one of pure blessing, mixed with the constant grief of watching you slip away from my breast, my arms, my side, my embrace.
This weekend I needed solitude. I craved the slow, uncomplicated ritual of being home alone, it is here where I restore my energy and mend the daily strain of my mental illness.
I found solace in simple things like reading, photography, organising, and moments in the winter sunshine in the corners of our yard. Amidst the somewhat relentless pressure to be doing more, it has taken me many years to embrace the quiet and peace of doing less.