Being a Mum with Birth Trauma Related PTSD

In a couple of weeks my son will turn six. It's a time of year that brings up mixed feelings for me. He got so big and he is growing so fast! I enjoy seeing and sharing in his birthday excitement: the joy of him opening gifts, eating cake, having parties with his friends and family, and being the centre of attention. But, it is also a time of sadness and reflection. It's normal, I think, to to be a little nostalgc on your child's birthday. I know people who do this; my Nana enjoys telling me each year about how she remembers the very first time she held me.

 

For me, it is different. My reflections are more specific: 

 

• Midnight: this time 6 years ago I was in hospital
• 11am: this time 6 years ago they took me to theatre
• 11.08am: this time 6 years ago he was born
• 11.12am: this time 6 years ago he took his first breath
• 1.45 pm: I made it out of theatre
• 24 hours later: I held him for the first time

 

Some years, the memories have been overwhelming, the nightmares in the build up to the event focusing on giving birth all over again but never getting my baby. Other years, I have obsessed over what I remember and what I have been told, and the gaps in my own memory terrify me. One year, I tried to hold my breath for the 4 and a half minutes it took him to breathe to see if it was possible (spoiler: is isn't). I can lose hours to just staring and remembering, or trying to; running the story over and over in my head until I make some sense out of it, or asking ridiculous questions of my husband. 

 

I suffer from birth trauma related PTSD. I promise that's a real thing. I've had many people suggest to me that PTSD isn't something you get from giving birth- after all childbirth is completely natural and wonderful and women do it every day. They do. But for some women it is horrific, terrifying and as far from natural as you could possibly imagine. I'm one of those women (if you want to read more about it, I've posted on my own blog here and here). 

 

I've been told that I shouldn't dwell on these things, as though it is entirely within my control. Being a mum with a mental health difficulty (particularly one surrounding your child's birth), seems to open you up to a lot of criticism and judgement (mainly from other mums). Because you are a mum you are supposed to be perfect, you are supposed to think all things related to your child are the best things to ever happen to you, and you are supposed to constantly feel #soblessed. 

 

I've had many people say to me:

 

• You'd do it all again though, wouldn't you?
• At least you're both alive.
• You have a child now, this isn't about you. 

 

To respond in order: no, I would not; that's great but it doesn't change my feelings; I complained about that particular midwife. 

 

Let me be clear: I don't want to dwell on these things. I want to enjoy being a mother without the upsetting memories. I want to celebrate my friends' pregnancies without fearing for them; I want to celebrate births without feeling a stab in the heart of envy and grief for the happiness we didn't get; I want to not feel guilty and second guess all the parenting decisions I made in the early days. I want to be completely okay and happy with the fact that I will only ever have my one child. I want to not care what other people think about this. 

 

My child is one of the best things to have happened in my life, but his birth is the worst.  

 

 

I am learning to separate these things, and I wish others would too. 

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I am Charlotte, Somewhere: wife, mother, cocker spaniel owner and someday Queen of the Universe. I can almost always be found with my face in a book and a coffee in hand. When I'm not reading, I also like writing, knitting, crafty things, baking, eating, walking, taking photos, watching traumatising medical dramas and nurturing a close relationship with my sofa and blankets.

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Guest Post: Emotional Baggage by Eve Ainsworth

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Ah, Damage.

How could a book be so difficult to write?

To be honest most ideas are pretty hard to get out on paper, but this one was particularly difficult - and I guess it was because it had so much of me in it. I know that sounds lame, and I’m sorry if it does, but that’s the truth.

Ok, I’ve written books before which were about subjects personal to me, so that alone wasn’t new. 7 Days was based loosely on experience and revisited some emotional baggage that I thought I had neatly packed away long ago (guess I was wrong there then!). It can be tough to touch on these things again, but I think it helps to make the writing feel more real. You can totally understand where the character is and how they might be feeling – you can tap into them, relive experiences with them, even if that’s something you don’t really want to do again.

In Damage I had to deal with emotions that I hadn’t had time to pack away – this grim stuff, or more specifically, grief, was still cluttering up my mind. I guess grief never really goes away. I don’t think so anyway. I see it sitting under the skin like a persistent bruise, aching whenever you press on it. So of course writing about grief meant I was constantly pressing on that wound. Aching, hurting, remembering. Although I’d never experienced self-harm, a major theme of my book, I could relate to the build-up of pressure that a person could feel. The way that you can feel as if you would burst due the internal pain. The way you seek to relieve the pain the best way you can.

Even harder for me was writing about anxiety, something one of my characters suffers from. Anxiety has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I used to think that I was different from everyone else. Why else would I panic at the smallest thing, never sleep due to my constant fears and have a constant knot in my stomach? Why was my world filled with dark thoughts and worries? Why could I never be happy?

I’ve found that acceptance has been a great step forward for me. I know who I am now and all the parts that form me. I’m less ashamed of my anxious behaviours and try to be more up front about it. I try to see it not as a weakness but just as part of my character. I can’t hide away from me, I am who I am.

If depression is a black dog, anxiety is a grey wolf clawing at my insides, constantly chewing up my guts and howling at night, keeping me awake and haunting my dreams. It’s hard not to feed the wolf, but sometimes the wolf feeds me.

Damage is a small part of this.  I can use my experiences to write, to share to draw from my own knowledge. Although it can be a little difficult at times, I do think it’s good to get these things out there. Only by reading, by writing, by talking and sharing can we build our empathy and understanding – and then we can move forward, appreciating that every person is a wonderful unique emotional cocktail.

Eve Ainsworth is the author of Seven Days, Crush and Damage. All her books can be found on Goodreads. All her books are also available to purchase from all major book retailers.

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Guest Post: Empty Chairs by Amber Bensted

There's no right way to start this post. My story won't resonate with everyone, my experiences won't fit into other peoples ideas and the things I went through won't be the same as the stories you've heard before. Because that's the thing about grief, there's no cookie cutter process. . .

Imagine your average 18 year old girl. Working in a job she hates because she didn't want to deal with school anymore, living at home with her parents and spending her weekends doing normal 18 year old things (drinking, hanging out with her boyfriend, you know the deal). I was pretty sure I had life sorted. Sure my job was kind of rubbish but it paid enough for me to enjoy my plentiful free time and in short everything seemed to be going great. Then it changed.

No one tells you the extent to which your world will change when you lose someone close to you. So when my Dad, my superhero vanished from my life there was nothing that could prepare me for it all.

When someone dies it doesn't feel real for a while. I remember coming home from the hospital, I wasn't crying or screaming I was just walking. Putting one foot in front of the other with my family behind me, minus one person. To the people walking past me I probably looked like any other girl. Your brain doesn't always remember that you've lost someone. I would slip up, start to call out goodmorning to him before I remembered he wasn't going to reply. I would instinctively turn the radio to his favourite station then be confused as to why it made me cry. Things that were normal before turned bitter and it always took me a moment to figure out why.

You don't cry everyday. I always thought that if I lost someone I wouldn't be able to stop crying. In the films, it's all dramatic tears as you stare longingly out of windows but in reality grieving isn't necessarily tears, for me it was just an emptiness. It was an empty chair, a strangely quiet room and an inbox of unread text messages. It was thinking "I can't wait to tell Dad about this" then realising he wasn't there to tell. It wasn't a flood of tears it was a drout of all emotion.

One of the hardest things for me was hearing people say it'll be ok. Being told that it would make me stronger made me want to scream! I didn't want to get on with life, someone had hit pause in my world and I wasn't ready for it to start again.

The truth is yes the pain does fade and eventually you learn to keep going without the person you lost. One day you stop saying goodnight to an empty chair and as terrible as it sounds you might even go days without thinking about them. But it will still hurt sometimes, there will be days where it hits you like a wave and it's like you lost them yesterday. That's ok. It hits everyone differently; Dad died 2 years ago and there are still days where all I want to do is crawl into a hole and stay there or scream until my lungs run out of air. But there are days where I smile and laugh like any other 20 year old.

If there's one thing I've learned it's that you don't stop missing someone. There's no magic solution or time limit when it comes to grief. But as hard as it was to believe in the beginning it does get better. You'll learn to re-evaluate things, to prioritise your life in a way you couldn't before. You'll begin to accept the things that have changed and in a way create something good. It might not be what you imagined but it's life and that's pretty damn impressive.

If you've ever lost somebody, I hope you're ok. But remember if you're struggling it's never too late to reach out for help. Speak to those around you, if you think you need it go and see a counsellor. You don't need to go through this alone.

Amber x

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Guest Post: Gender - That Thing We Made Up by C.M. Golding

Someone on twitter recently said that in fifty years we’re going to look back at binary concepts of gender and shake our heads at how silly we were. Well, I’ve been doing that for a while now and I’d be delighted if more folks would join me but I also get, to a degree, why that’s hard. The biggest reason it can be tough to understand is that we constantly conflate gender and sex. Sex is a medical, physical, biological state that has to do with hormones and genitals. Gender is a completely made up set of rules about what it means to be “feminine” or “masculine.” And it’s that made-up part so very many people refuse to accept.

A recent poll of people under the age of 25 in the UK conducted by The Guardian had nearly half say they didn’t care about labelling their sexuality, which is for many inseparable from gender identity because when you boil down gender politics what people seem to be really obsessed with are genitalia and what gets done with it - as though the physical act of sex is all there is to a human being and, as stated before, not seeing that sex does not equal gender.

As a young girl I was often called a tomboy and as a teen a number of people suspected I was a lesbian. Was it because I seemed interested in girls? Nope. It was because I never minded getting dirty, rarely wore skirts, and wasn’t into makeup. It never really bothered me that people thought I was homesexual, but it should have. Not because that’s a bad thing to be but because their reasons were incredibly gendered and sexist. As I got older, people asked less because I was involved in long-term cis relationships. But I was still often asked why I didn’t wear makeup or dress “nicer,” which is code for skirts. And I was told that if I wanted to be happy and also demonstrate my adulthood, I should start being more feminine. To which I rolled my eyes and bought some more jeans.

I started more deeply questioning society’s obsession with gender and sexuality when I was pregnant for the first time and virtually every person’s initial question was - is it a boy or girl? I asked around and every parent I knew had the same experience. Not only that, but if you said you weren’t finding out or you were but were not telling, people got offended, even angry. A friend who kept it quiet had an older relative aggressively pursue her to reveal her fetus’ sex because otherwise she’d “have no idea what present to get.” Blue or pink still dominate infant clothing choices. I had a woman scold me for putting my infant son in purple because she’d assumed he was a she - as though a mistake like that matters at all.

How can you explain to someone whose ideas of gender are rooted in a binary system that’s man-made and completely subjective? First, find a 13-year-old and explain to them why a flimsy, colored piece of paper with the number 20 inked onto it has value and can be exchanged for goods. The answer is that a long time ago a bunch of guys agreed to have papers represent their debts because it was easier to carry around than gold. Everyone went along with it because when men in power make those kinds of choices the rest of us are just stuck with it. This is my new go-to when discussing gender fluidity with people. I explain to them that the binary idea of male and female is a social construct just like money and it’s just as paper thin.

I believe and have personally experienced with myself and my two boys, who like fairy wings just as much a trucks, that gender is just this thing we made up to explain and separate humans based on physical differences. We did it because our brains like to be able to put things in boxes. We think men are all testosterone and women all estrogen when in reality we all have both of those hormones to varying degrees. Eddie Izzard recently said, in an interview with The Times, that he’s transgendered because he’s got some female genetics and he likes high heels. Well, I’m not trans but I imagine I’ve got some above average testosterone and I hate heeled shoes. Very few of us really fit completely comfortably in the man-box and woman-box; so why do we insist, when others make their own boxes, that they can’t or shouldn’t? Fear is no justification for hatred. In the dark, we look for the light - reach out and find a way.

Bottom line, and here I know Eddie agrees, let’s just all be free and equal people and what other people do with what may or may not be in their pants can be their business.

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Guest Post: The Femi-Net by Frances Moloney

In today’s blog post I wanted to write about the relationship between the internet and feminism, in short, the ‘femi-net’. The internet has fast become a space where everyone and anyone can have their voice heard, and whilst that has its negatives with the rise of cyber-bullying, trolling and articles inciting hatred and abuse, the message of togetherness coming from certain corners of the web couldn’t be more positive and has given rise of a wide range of female voices across a huge variety of genres.

There seems to have been a renewed interest in feminism over the past few years with public figures such as Lena Dunham presenting alternative female role models onscreen and books like Caitlin Moran’s How to be a Women, Laura Bates’ Everyday Sexism and Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist taking the fore. There is now a Women’s Equality Party here in the UK and the debate surrounding equal pay has reached new heights of publicity with Hollywood stars such as Jennifer Lawrence getting involved. And that’s not to mention Emma Watson’s high-profile He for She campaign that prominent figures like Tom Hanks have gotten behind, with a recent Esquire magazine cover featuring the pair.

It seems that now is a great time for female voices, and the internet is creating a space for these voices to be heard, and to reach wider audiences than was possible before; not only women but men and young adults also. Online magazines such as The Vagenda and The Standard Issue create spaces for feminist voices and this has started to filter down into the everyday superstars of the moment; bloggers and vloggers.

The recent rise of the superstar blogger and vlogger has created a new voice for a new generation of consumers. There doesn’t even have to be an explicit feminist message in their content but just by occupying cyber space, females see a rise in airtime. Zoella has 10 million subscribers on Youtube, and popular blogger/vlogger Tanya Burr is educating an audience of 3.5 million about #globalgoals, a campaign to create equality around the globe. You don’t need someone else’s validation to be a successful female star anymore, you can create it yourself.

There are the fitness bloggers, such as Zanna Van Dijk who promotes healthy body image and strength to women everywhere through the #girlgains campaign. And the women talking about beauty and homeware and fashion? This may seem vapid to some but they are still occupying this space and getting more female voices into the mainstream. Never has there been a better time for speaking your mind, getting your voice heard and listened to, and promoting solidarity amongst your peers.

I feel as though the internet has created a great space for female voices, from Emma Gannon’s recent podcast series Ctrl Alt Delete which features a range of prominent women’s voices all with successful, non-traditional, creative careers. If the mainstream has a lack of space for female voices, the internet has given rise to a new area for women to be heard, and the range and scope of material is wide and prolific.

So it seems like now is a great time to get your voice heard on the internet. Why not try setting up your own blog or joining an online community of like-minded people, there really is space for everyone.

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Guest Post: Bullying in the Workplace by Anonymous

For a few weeks now, ever since the Safe Space team asked me to guest post on their wonderful site, I have been sitting here looking at a blank word document over and over again wondering where to start. I knew what I wanted to write about, but something inside me was holding me back and making me feel physically scared to write words onto the page.

You see, what I really want to talk about is bullying in the workplace. Whereas in reality I am too scared to open up the wounds that I have worked so hard on to heal over time.

This in itself makes me sad. No one should feel scared to write about what they want to write about because of a bully or even have to write a post anonymously. Ever. But sadly this is what has happened.

Sometimes it’s hard to know where to start so I’m starting with a definition.

What is a bully?

Mr Google tells me that a bully is a noun - a person who uses strength or influence to harm or intimidate those who are weaker. Or a verb - using superior strength or influence to intimidate (someone), typically to force them to do something. I define a bully as controlling, a coward and possibly quite insecure about themselves. But one thing I don’t believe can ever be defined is how a bully can make you feel inside.

Like school playground bullying, bullying in the work place can take on many different forms, but is classified as any intentional, repeated behaviour from a colleague, supervisor or manager often with the sole purpose of degrading, humiliating, undermining or embarrassing a work colleague. It is heart-breaking to go through and just as emotional watching someone going through the pain it causes.

When we leave school and venture into the adult way of life and work the last thing anyone should worry about is bullying. I always thought that all of that immaturity was left behind at school and people grow up and grow out of bullying I guess, but unfortunately some people seem to actually enjoy tormenting and causing others pain.

Let’s face it. We are never going to like or get along with every single person we meet through our long and winding road of life. That’s life I guess. That’s why I feel it’s important that if you feel that you are being bullied in the workplace or anywhere it’s always important to recognise the signs and understand the difference. Some signs I have experienced or witnessed myself with regards to work place bullying are:

• Shouting or swearing at another member of staff in front of others
• Disrespectful comments and behaviour including name-calling
• Nit-picking at someone’s work or overloading them with an unmanageable amount of work
• Purposefully withholding information needed to perform a job efficiently
• Exclusion or “the silent treatment” making some one feel unwelcome.

Any of these can lead to you bringing your work home with you. By this I mean maybe coming home physically upset or worried. Feeling ill from stress and/or not being able to sleep due to the worry you have about returning to work the next day. You may even blame yourself for the things that are happening or going on which in my experience brings on a whole other feeling of worthlessness and self-loathing that can be completely damaging to a person’s self-confidence and mental health.

In my experience, bullies rely on these feelings whether it be in the school playground or the workplace, but I do feel that workplace bullies have a slightly different agenda to that of the school playground bully.

The workplace bully does not tend to pick on a victim who they identify as alone or weak, but normally an employee who they consider threatening to themselves within that workplace environment and even their career. I have learnt over the years to take this as a kind of compliment. You are good enough at your job and brilliant enough for someone to actually feel threatened by you. Go you! You’re awesome! But that doesn’t make things right and it certainly does not make things better when you are the one being bullied.

When we have a job, we spend possibly eight hours a day if not more in that working environment and with our work colleagues so it is so important to be happy. Working in an environment where you do not want to be day in and day out is not good for you or your mental health.

It is so important that if you are suffering at the hands of a work place bully or any type of bully for that matter that you take steps to take action.

This can include –
• Telling the bully to stop in a calm and collected manner (which is sometimes way easier said than done)
• Talk to your line manager or if that is not possible another manager or HR manager. Even talking to a friend who you trust may put things straight in your mind and help you deal with the problem.
• Keep a record of bullying incidents including dates, times and what happened. A diary of sorts. You could also write down how that incident made you feel etc. This may actually help you take that step to talking to a manager as you can show them exactly what’s happening rather than worrying that they will dismiss your feelings as over reacting or not relevant.
• If you have someone you trust who you work with you could talk to them and ask them to listen out for incidents or anything that they feel is inappropriate or bullying behaviour and can be a support to you when it’s time to seek help about the matter.

It is important to note that workplace bullying does not happen within every workplace. Often companies have a strict no bullying policy just like schools and look out for their employee’s welfare as much as possible. Unfortunately, sometimes those bullies do just creep in through.

Bullying in the workplace can be a very upsetting and stressful situation and it is always advisable to try and stay as calm as possible. I admit myself that sometimes it is hard to have something constantly fired at you and let it just slide right off without a care in the world, but I have learnt that if that’s what it takes to beat a bully then so be it, but that doesn’t necessarily make it right.

It is not only important to tackle the problem, but also to look after number one which is you. It is not always easy to do this until the situation is maybe under control, but take some time to go for a walk in the fresh air after work, lose yourself in a fictional world and read, listen to music, cuddle loved ones and friends so tightly that you feel all your worry and stress lift from your body and float away or even write a blog post like this that you find therapeutic as you type away. If you feel it necessary, talk to your doctor or start looking for another job. A new challenge. A new start.

You do you. Be you. Enjoy being you. Never let a bully make you feel worthless or like you don’t belong. Always remember a bully is nobody compared to how awesome you are inside and out!

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Guest Post: The Rag Doll Disease by Hayley Steed

It was in my second year of university I started noticing my body struggling. The first thing was that I couldn’t use a straw, my mouth just wouldn’t close around it but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Then it was paralysis of my face – I’d be doing my makeup and I just couldn’t move my forehead or make my lips meet. It got worse when my speech started to slur and I began to choke on my food. I went to my university doctor about 5 times in 3 months, asking for help to be told it was stress, anxiety, migranes etc. It wasn’t until I went home to my local surgery that someone realised something was wrong. I was referred to a neurologist but the waiting list was 2 months – in that time I dropped to 6 stone from not being able to eat and I have vivid memories of having to leave restaurants with my boyfriend from everyone staring at me whilst I choked, to physically putting my fingers down my throat and picking out food I was choking on all whilst holding my breath.

My neurologist, Dr A as we like to call him, sent me for MRIs and CAT scans immediately before I was diagnosed with Myasthenia Gravis, nicknamed the Rag Doll disease. It’s an auto immune illness meaning severe muscle weakness. Essentially my body’s immune system attacks itself and sends antibodies to kill the messages from my brain to my muscles, so they just don’t receive the message and don’t move. That’s anything from my eyes drooping, to not being able to smile, to my swallowing muscles failing, to my lungs struggling. Dr A wanted to admit me but only let me go home as my Mum is a registered nurse. He told me to cancel mine and my boyfriend’s first holiday together which was just 3 weeks later, and cancel the trip to America my family had planned for several months later in the year, which was when I knew how serious it was. One of the hardest parts still was sitting outside that hospital and ringing my boyfriend to tell him I was ill.

I started on medication and in December 2013 at the age of 20 I had a transsternal thymectomy (they cut open my chest and took out my thymus gland which had a tumour.) I was his youngest ever patient and they told me it had 1/3 chance of making me slightly better, but not curing, 1/3 chance I’d be exactly the same and 1/3 chance it’d make me worse. It’s such a rare disease, they know so little about it. They don’t know what causes it, or how to really fix it. Either way I’d have the scar which runs the length of my breastbone and three ‘bullet’ hole scars underneath from where they fed drains into my lungs, which they took out when I was awake two days later. The only thing I’m going to tell you about that operation is that because my illness is all about muscle weakness, they couldn’t let me have any painkillers before I woke up. Usually they’ve already hooked you up to a morphine drip so you wake up with painkillers inside you – I didn’t have that in case it meant I didn’t wake up. I woke up feeling the full effects of the operation, screaming.

A couple of months before my 21st birthday they found a blood clot in my leg so I was on more treatment for that, meaning I was not allowed to drink for my 21st. I nearly had to cancel my birthday trip to Rome but I pretty much told them that wasn’t happening unless I could die doing so. I went. I’ve had two relapses, one when my eye closed for about 2 months, I’ve no idea why. I had to cancel all my work experience and just stay at home for that time. The other was last summer. I had a week where I kept waking up in the night feeling very phlegmy, to the point I couldn’t lay on my back because I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Then one morning I woke up and I couldn’t breathe standing up. I went to A&E, was met by ICU and strapped up to IVIG, a drug which essentially restarts your immune system. I had that over a course of 5 days which left me exhausted but it worked. That’s the only time I’ve come close to dying from it. (I had to cancel another holiday me and my boyfriend were supposed to be going on).

Something that came alongside the physical illness, was the anxiety. It’s better now, but for the first couple of years of diagnosis, I just wouldn’t go out. I was terrified it would make me more ill, or if I went for a meal, I would choke and either everyone would stare or I’d die. I didn’t like people seeing me when they knew I was ill because I thought they’d be looking for signs of it and I didn’t want to see anyone who didn’t know I was ill and have to explain why I couldn’t speak properly all of a sudden. Now, even though most people know I’m ill and I rarely choke at meals, I still get panicky when I’m going to events or meeting an author that my speech or face will just drop and they’ll wonder why. It’s a vicious cycle because the anxiety and stress makes my symptoms worse. Sometimes I try to joke about it so if I’m with my friends for a special occasion I always take my pills and say ‘if we’re taking photos, let’s do it now whilst my face works’. My worst bout was after my second relapse – I’d wake up every morning in a hot sweat, panicking in fear of waking up and not being able to breathe again like before.

My friends now tell me how snappy I was after being diagnosed and I was – I was angry. I was angry at the hand I’d been dealt, angry that I wasn’t like them anymore, that I couldn’t be ‘normal’ and angry that none of them seemed to think it was a big deal. An illness like mine, one which can’t be cured, brings a lot of frustration with it. It dictates every moment of my life – I decided I still wanted to work, which I do, and to live my life, which I do. But if I have an event in the evening after work, it will tire me out for the next few days. I can’t go to a different bookish event each night like I wish I could, I have to carefully plan. I can’t go to bed late, because if I’m tired, my muscles will be so much weaker. Numerous times I’ll be mid-way up a flight of stairs and my legs will give way – I just have to sit and let everyone walk by me until I’ve rested enough to go again. Most of the day I can’t smile, because my cheeks aren’t strong enough. I frequently look liked I’m mid-stroke and my medication heavily increases my risk of cancer. Rest is the biggest word in my life and it’s so frustrating, as a 20-23 year old to be told you can’t when you have always been able to and that’s always what I’ve struggled with most. If someone who knew me in my pre-illness years saw me now they’d be shocked. I used to love going out, I loved drinking and clubbing, I was loud and brash. I’m still quite brash, but if I go out, which is rare, I don’t drink because it’s a depressant and makes my muscles weaker. Even without alcohol, I can’t do stuff every day like ‘normal’ people can, I always have to consider what will tire me out, what will be too much first. It’s constant.

My scar then and now

Most importantly I think we need to stop putting illnesses on a scale. I had so many comments after being diagnosed like ‘at least it isn’t cancer’ or ‘at least it isn’t a brain tumour’ and yes, I’m so thankful I haven’t had to go through either, but does that make mine any less valid or difficult to live with? My own friends thought my illness wasn’t a big deal, until they nearly saw me die from it. But people can die from depression, from cancer, from Crohn’s, from epilepsy, from anxiety. So many people have a story like mine, of struggle and pain and difficulty. Mental and physical health don’t need to be measured or met with judgment of how bad they are.

This has probably been a quite depressive post so I’m going to list some good bits:
• It’s been nearly 3 years since I was diagnosed and I’ve gone from 40 pills a day to 8. I’m stable and have no signs of relapsing anytime soon *fingers crossed*.
• This was all going on in my 2nd and 3rd year of uni. I’d get extra time to finish my work after my operation and blood clot in 3rd year, and I got a First. I’m damn proud of that.
• I’ve been on several fantastic holidays which I haven’t had to cancel including driving the coast of California with my family and Rome for my 21st birthday.
• My incredible boyfriend has been with me since day 1 and has stayed throughout the most difficult times, even when I was freaking out about my ‘ugly’ scar.
• I’ve never been so close to my family – I had to call my Mum at 3am from my bed after coming home from the op to come and spoon feed me morphine because it hurt too much to move. After an experience like ours, you value everything so much more and we’re pretty much best friends. • I’m really happy – I got a job in publishing and my illness is settled enough to live with. I’ve got used to my life being toned down.
• Since my op I have skydived and abseiled to raise money for our charity – Myaware. This year I’m taking part in an attempt to beat a world record of skydivers and my Mum is jumping with me. If you want to sponsor me you can find my page at www.justgiving.com/HayleySteed3

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Guest Post: Going Braless by Caitlin Lomas

I need to start this post with the disclaimer that I have small boobies. If you read this and think "what does she know sitting there with her B cups" I am aware this whole process has been easier because I have a small chest. And I am by no means saying everyone should stop wearing all kinds of bras, more asking you to consider WHY we wear underwired, padded, push-up, cleavage-boosting ones. Are we all on the same page? Good. Off we go, then.

My first ever bra was, I think, a 28AAA. Seriously. It wasn't even a bra; it was a bra-shaped crop top. My mum got it for me because, at 13, I really didn't have any breasts at all but felt self conscious about not wearing a bra in P.E; my crop tops felt childish. Like a lot of girls, I think, I grew up thinking breasts were the ultimate sign of femininity and that NOT having breasts meant I was less of a girl. Eventually I got enough in the breasticles department to fill a cup that wasn't a made up size and off I went and I never looked back.

 A few years ago I finally came to terms with how much I fucking hate bras. They've never fitted me properly even after being professionally measured, they always seemed to make my boobs hurt all the freaking time and despite being fairly thin I always got that weird mini fat roll between my bra-encased breasts and my arms that made me feel ugly and fat and self conscious. “But I can't stop wearing them!” I thought. “That would...just be WRONG. Everyone wears a bra! What would people THINK. What would they SAY.” I struggled on. Then, just over a year ago I decided I didn't give a rat’s ass what people think. I’m uncomfortable enough in my body from the pain of my chronic health condition, without voluntarily adding extra discomfort. So I took the plunge and I did not wear a bra. And no one said a goddamned thing.

Without a bra, I felt free. My boobs stopped hurting. The level of comfort I now experienced was just...indescribable. But more than that, I felt powerful. For so long I wore a bra because I thought that, as a woman, it was what was expected of me. It was part of the social contract. And going against that, and feeling better for it, made me feel strong. I started to wonder why I'd even started wearing one in the first place. I'd not needed the support because of back pain, so why had I bothered?

Because I felt like I was supposed to. Wearing a bra was a sign I was a woman, like starting my period or growing pubic hair, it was a sign that I had Made It. I was part of the club. And I started to feel like the only reason I ever wore a bra was, not because I needed to, but because everyone else needed me to. Because it was expected that my breasts sit at a certain place on my chest and be a certain shape and not move very much and, heavens forbid, never suggest I have nipples. And the more I thought about it the more I felt I'd been duped. I'd been wearing these godforsaken things for a decade and I really didn't need to.

Aside from this, there’s also the issue that the fashion industry expects your breasts to be within a certain size range, and if yours fall either side of this range, you’re punished by being offered bras that aren’t pretty, or sexy, or whatever it is you like to see in a bra, and instead are boring (or ugly) and often expensive, with limited options on offer in limited places. No fair.

Obviously, bras have many practical applications. I know many of us breast-bearers opt for bras for a range of reasons, and going totally braless is not necessarily an option for all. I do think that when we think 'bra' we think of the underwired variety, probs with a bit of padding for maximum boobage and to guarantee nipple coverage on even the coldest of days, and designed to hoist our breasts up to their socially desirable position about an inch below our chins. Boobies are not supposed to go this way. If they were, that's where they'd be already. The point of this post is more to get us to think about what we put our boobs in, rather than just reaching for what we've always reached for. There's bras without underwire, sports bras, camisoles with built-in support cups. Regular camisoles. And yes, going totally braless.

So next time you try on a totally amazing top or dress, but are going to leave it in the changing room because "I can't wear a bra with it" try it on without one. I bet you look bangin'.

For more from Caitlin follow her

 

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Guest Post: Suddenly a Grown Up by Sophie Waters

Within four months of graduating from university I had a job I hated, a house (plus the accompanying stress of rent and bills), a teenager and a cat after the loss of my mum. I went from being the happiest that I can remember while I was at uni to the usual freshly graduated stress to the most adult you can be, all at once, and at 21.


Now I’m a few months off of 24 and my mum has been gone for nearly two and a half years. I have a flat and a 19 year old and a cat – and they’re all my responsibility.

When mum passed away, everything sat on my shoulders. I organised, prepared for and paid for the funeral; I closed her accounts; switched everything into my name; took responsibility for Amy and Lily (sister and cat, respectively); and trudged on, trying to hold our lives together without letting myself grieve or acclimatise to the things that I lost.

Because, boy, did I lose. And I don’t just mean my mum. I lost my plans to move closer to London with my best friend, my freedom, financial freedom, ability to try for the career I want and being guilt-free when I do something for myself. It didn’t take long before I was in a really, really bad place. I was unhappy, lonely, comfort eating to a ridiculous degree (an ongoing battle in my life!) and I felt trapped and stuck. It was bleeding into every aspect of my days. I pushed people away, desperate to convince them that I was fine, that I could handle everything I had taken on. I couldn’t. There were people in my life that stepped back and left me to deal with everything when I needed that support, but there were also others that I couldn’t get rid of – neither was what I needed, but did I say so? Of course not.

But everything seemed to come down to my job. That was where is spent 9 hours a day, the thing that ruled my life and stopped me from being able to do the things I needed to do. So I left. It changed everything for me.

I went on holiday several times, spent time with my sister and my friends, went to book events and became a part of the UKYA community again. When I think of the possibility of not taking that terrifying step I shudder. I don’t know what would have happened, but it probably would have ended with me in hospital. I needed that time to settle myself again. To re-learn how to be a big sister (and a sort of mum, I guess). I needed to come to terms with what I'd lost, but also with the things I've gained. I have no doubts about who and what I want in my life now.

This horrible time of my life has taught me a few things: 
- You need time for yourself.
- Take the signals your mind and body are giving you seriously.
- Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
- Life is unbelievably short – go tell your mum you love her. I didn’t say it enough and you never know when you won't be able to anymore.
- There will be several days each year that even getting out of bed is unbearable: Mother’s day, her birthday, and the anniversary. Doing something you love on those days helps more than I could have imagined.

 For more from Sophie follow her 

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