I inwardly cringe when I look at the photo attached to this blog. This was taken back in 2019. Noah hadn't even turned one, I think I was just about still breastfeeding, and taking much better care of myself than I am now.
It's bizarre to think how quietly it snuck up on me, before too long, my roots were down to my ears, my eyebrows went on for days, and my waistline was equivalent to when I was 9 months pregnant. Lockdown schmokdown, I was fat before comfort eating was a national pastime. Not only did I not recognise myself in the mirror anymore, but I also didn't recognise the girl inside either. My entire life had become looking after Noah, and fighting to get him a diagnosis and some help. I didn't (and still don't really) know who I was anymore. The person I was before I had a SEN child had packed her bags and disappeared.
Let me make it clear, I love being a mum. It's all I've ever known for sure that I wanted to do. I longed for Noah for so long that he was actually named about four years before he was conceived, and my husband and I decided very early on that where possible, I would stay home and raise him. I had no issue with this, and I was prepared to go a little bit loopy like they say Stay-At-Home-Mums do. What I wasn't prepared for was all the extra baggage that comes with it when your child has a special need. It's okay to admit that this was part of the parenting journey that I didn't sign up for. I don't think there is a single person in the world that would welcome the struggle into their lives, but admitting that doesn't mean that any of us would love our children any less, nor would we throw the towel in at any point along the way.
In an effort to find some kind of support I joined a lot of parent-led groups on Facebook, and one thing that always stands out to me is parents that are new to this little world of ours feeling like they can't say: "Actually, I wasn't expecting to have to deal with this, and I need to be sad, or angry about it for just a minute." That's because the warrior parents are too quick to recommend poems and quotes that completely strip you of your right to complain. "Children are like popcorn, all the kernels pop at different times!" or "Welcome to Holland, we know you were expecting Rome but look how WONDERFUL Holland is!" Urgh, enough! It's unhelpful and invalidates the grieving process.
That's right, I call it grief because that's exactly what it is. You grieve for a child you never really got to have, for all the experiences you thought you would share with them, and for the parent you expected to be. Now imagine telling a widow about all the wonderful things she can get up to now she's on her own. You wouldn't. It's insensitive and cruel and invalidates her grief. So why do we do it to each other in the SEN world? The journey we're on might not be that terrible, but it's still not the one we set out for.
Before I really understood what I was feeling, I just assumed it was all normal. The constant worrying, chasing of appointments, and self doubt every time Noah wouldn't engage in any kind of therapy play with me. My self worth plummeted, and no matter how much I did for him, it never felt like enough.
I'd forgotten how to take care of myself, and my idea of self-care became sneaking a chocolate bar and a little iced coffee to myself in the car after doing a food shop on my own. That was it. No wonder the weight was piling on. It took me realising that I didn't feel any excitement about my impending birthday one year to realise that I was depressed. I've always loved my birthday and making a big fuss, it's an excuse to go out, see friends, let my hair down. That particular year I couldn't care less. I told myself that if I didn't feel any joy on the day, I would try and get an appointment with the doctor, but as luck and procrastination would have it, the day rolled around and I was quite content. I told myself I was fine, and for a few weeks, I was.
A few months later the constant self-doubt and fear of the future gradually set back in, so I decided to contact NHS talking therapies to try and get some counselling. That was the first time I started really looking after ME. I started relinquishing control a little bit more, letting my husband take over and getting out of the house. At the same time, I'd started to make SEN parent friends and we would go out without the kids and vent and take a load off our minds, and I started to be kinder to myself. I'm still working on the weight gain, and I know weight doesn't equate to value but I'm unhappy with the size that I am, and my end goal is to make myself happy. I've even tried a pole fitness class this week! Just an hour completely to myself, once a week can do wonders.
Ironically, this blog has helped me regain my sense of who I am and balanced my mental health more than anything else I've tried. Putting our experience and my feelings into words and sharing it with other parents has felt like exposing a nerve or photocopying my diary at times, but being raw and honest with people about what it's really been like has been the best kind of tonic. So for everyone who reads these little mini rants, thank you, you're helping me to find the girl trapped inside and bring her back to the surface... and a good job too because I'm still waiting for counselling!
If you're like me and you're struggling, please reach out, either through the blog or to a family member or friend. You matter as much as your child does, and if you won't do it for yourself, do it for them. They need you in tip-top shape. All my love.
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