When I was asked yesterday to write a blog my initial response was,
“Oh no! What will people think when they read my story,”
and had I known that Paul had volunteered me at the top of Scafell Pike I might just have knocked him off with my walking poles. Well, walking poles do have their uses! Having given it some thought I concluded that in having the courage to share our stories we can knock down the walls of shame, embarrassment and isolation that comes with mental illness. I then picked my brains about what to share with you because I could actually
write a book that would give War and Peace a run for it's money.
I grew up in a large working class family where money and food was scarce at times and love and security was in short measure. That doesn’t mean to say that they didn’t care. My mum developed postnatal depression with the birth of myself and my twin sister and her mental health deteriorated drastically after the birth of my twin brothers. My father had to leave work to care for 6 children. Mum didn’t get any help other than sleeping tablets and thus became agarophobic and stopped communicating with the family. This inevitably meant that at a young age I had to take on quite a lot of the household chores. School life was ok because I was bright and very compliant (a goody two shoes) but was interspersed with bullying because of my family life, or how I looked, or the clothes that I wore. At that time my brother taught me that you had to stand up to bullies and that’s where my boxing skills were perfected and eventually, the bullying did stop. However, all these events had an effect on my self esteem, and confidence.
Although I did very well with my GCSE's I wasn’t allowed to continue with education as I was told I had to work. Thus eventually I trained to be a nurse, worked in ITU, then midwifery training, followed by health visitor training and eventually getting a specialist post as TB and meningitis liaison health visitor. Over that period my health deteriorated and I found it harder to cope with working and running a home. It wasn’t helped by the fact that my mum died a few months before my wedding and my dad died 9 days after my 1st daughter was born. My mental health worsened and I felt very lonely and isolated. I eventually was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome of which depression played a big part but wasn’t offered any medical help, so finished work to try to get better.
The good news is I did get better but I did it myself because I felt too ashamed to try medication. It took me 3 years but I’m sure my recovery would have been much quicker had I had the courage to try medication. Since then my life has been filled with raising 2 children, doing challenges such as a couple of marathons and cycling London to Paris, setting up and running childrens’ clubs, amongst other things. I’ve also learned to look after myself better.
If you have a story to tell I would urge you to share because not talking robbed me of so much. In a world that is obsessed with image and perfection, lets try to make it easier for this generation to be able to acknowledge their struggles and access help without judgement and criticism. The more we share the easier it will be for our children to do the same. I hear so often people say they would love to be normal. Let me challenge you! Who wants to be normal? It’s just a cycle on a washing machine. I’m a bit of a fruit cake but proud of it because fruit cakes are rich, fruity, delicious and goes well with a cup of tea.
Cuppa anyone?
Tracey x
Thank you to Tracey for sharing her story
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