Frantic, pedantic

‘I am strong and healthy; I am made for birth and motherhood’. This was my birth mantra.

I am turning and tossing, tossing and turning. Thinking about the thoughts, but focusing really, on nothing. And everything. Swimming around in my head and it is almost midnight. Where did the evening go? Master X has been in bed since six o’clock, and I guess I am half waiting for him to wake up soon. Anytime.


There it is. The thoughts are running around in my head like the high spin on the wash cycle. It is going so fast that you can only see the clothes as stuck to the sides of the barrel. Looking down that barrel, waiting for the cycle to end.

But hang on; I am able to control my thoughts. I am not my thoughts (thanks Mind the Bump app). I am a blue sky, separate from my feelings and thoughts.








Luckily I had confirmed with Mr. A that changing my online identity from friends and family knowing me, to putting my face and reengaging my name in relation to my blog and musings.







I am a firm believer that mental illness thrives on secrecy. Although I have been focusing on my experience of postnatal depression and psychotic episode, I did NOT want to define my experience as a mother solely on this shitty beginning. But I also did not want to presume that ‘I am mum’, that I am not fumbling around for identity,



And around.


Mr. A assures me that it was the right decision. Why do I make these choices and changes at nighttime? It seems that my brain is more switched on to creativity at night or in the early morning. Great. No sleep at either end for me then. And I was so looking forward to that reverse lie-in.


The thing about thinking is that it is relentless. It comes and swarms and sticks. My head felt all gluey – almost like toffee, but also clean and fast like that spin cycle. Heightened. This feeling is the beginning of the anxiety, self-doubt about choices.


Become mum.


‘I am strong and healthy; I am made for birth and motherhood’.



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