I suppose a good place to start would be: why am I writing this blog?
Well, I’ve struggled with anxiety my whole life. Literally. It started as selective mutism when I was 3 years old and never really got any better.
In the 23 years since I was 3 years old I’ve tried many coping strategies, some of which I still use, some of which are the worst decisions I have ever made.
I want to share them with you. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly.
If there is even a tiny chance I might be able to help someone who is suffering as I have then I have to take it. I just can’t bear the thought of leaving you in that dark hole, alone, with no hope.
I want you to learn from my mistakes so you don’t have to make them yourself, and join me on my quest to put it all in the past and keep moving forward.
Because the most important lesson I have learnt it is that dwelling on the past doesn’t change anything. It only ruins your present, and inhibits your future.
But I am not here to preach to you.
I am not a psychologist, psychiatrist, therapist, counsellor etc. I am just a Mummy, standing in front of other Mummies, asking them to love her.
Okay, I got a bit carried away with my Notting Hill quote (who doesn’t love a bit of Hugh Grant?), but the point stands. I am just like you, fighting a battle with my own head day in day out, and trying to be the best parent I can.
It wasn’t until I had my son that I realised how much of an impact my mental health would have on his life. It’s really made me re-evaluate everything. Given me a drive to really “get better”, for his sake, as well as my own.
There is no bigger motivator than huge brown eyes on a tiny body, looking up at you for guidance, learning from your every move.
I want to teach him how to be happy.
I want to teach him that he will have bad days, that he will get upset, angry, anxious, scared, lonely, jealous, but that he can still choose to do the right thing. Emotions are what he feels, not who he is. Negativity doesn’t have to define him.
And I can’t teach him that if I lose the plot every time he mildly inconveniences me.
So I searched for an outlet, and found that writing is therapeutic for me.
But not just writing a diary no one reads. I need people to read it. I need to connect with people. I need to not feel alone.
If I know someone is going to read it, I feel the need to end on a positive note. Not just rant and rave about how everything sucks. That only makes it worse. And brings others down.
That is the last thing I want to do.
So I figured that if my writing was going to help me, it might help others too.
So I’m doing it for you. For my son. My husband. Everyone who knows me and everyone who doesn’t.
I want you all to be happy.
So tell me, what do you need from a blog about parenting with anxiety (or other mental health problems)?