Baby steps.

Master X and myself are relaxing on my camp chair. His body is rested comfortably against mine, his back nestled into my chest and his legs are stretched out across the top of my thighs. He is quite taken by the bright, alluring colours in my trousers, and he keeps leaning forward to touch them, and presumably, to try and put them into his mouth. And everything these days is destined for exploration from his mouth. I am becoming a little concerned about the tenacity with which he is grasping at my trousers, and naturally begin to distract him. This takes no effort; no forethought; it just comes naturally. I start with moving his legs in a cycling action:

One o’clock,

two o’clock,

three o’clock


 Master X settles again, and begins to laugh.

This is life- this is love. And I realise that I am enjoying being with my son this morning, on this hot and delicious new day.

But it has not always been like this, and the scars need only bear a mere scrape before they begin to bleed profusely again; in the way that emotional damage that cannot be brushed away, cannot be forgotten and cannot be healed without truthful and meaningful forgiveness.

And I wonder if our ongoing pain would be the case if I had been in a major car accident and I were incapacitated, unable to function physically, my mental wellbeing subsequently diminishing from my inability to be part of society as I would normally. In this case, you would maybe inquire as to the progress of my injuries and beyond my physical state, you would perhaps ask about how I was coping with not being able to do the things I was able to previously engage without trouble. If my husband Mr. A and my mother were my carers because I was unable to perform simple physical tasks on my own. Ask about how they are coping with such demand on their time, you might ask about their wellbeing and their ability to live as normal. Inquire from your heart, rather than from your prejudices.

However when it comes to invisible illness, and especially with mental illness- you do not ask. On days when I feel strong enough to let you know that I have postnatal depression and that we are recovering from a psychotic episode, you change the topic. When Mr. A or my family asks you to join us on the recovery journey, you refuse the invite. You treat us as though our experience is not important. You ignore that we have suffered and that we are trying, collectively, to rebuild broken pieces of ourselves. You turn away from love. And we do not hear from you, or if you do get in touch, you do not ask about how we are, about how the recovery is going. You could possibly raise question and support about how we are coping with the damage of the psychotic episode, acknowledge that I did not always feel safe being around Master X, and ask how I am progressing with learning how to ‘walk’, or trusting my thoughts and emotions that are attached to experiences with him.

But today is a new day and the possibility of a new way of being is apparent by the feelings of love that I now have for our son. And although we feel emotionally hurt, damaged, at at time unable to breathe due to your inability to love, much like physical illness there is capacity for my brain to heal, and we need to focus on that. But know that we are pained, wounded devastated from your rejection. And that it is indeed clouding our ability to heal

because you are meant to be part of our family.

If you or someone you know is experiencing thoughts of suicide please contact Lifeline immediately 13 11 14

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