In 2017, I finally made time to focus on myself.
This was after a year of working three jobs, running a business, and dealing with everything life was throwing at me. It was about time.
In my battle to ‘get by’, I’d abandoned any semblance of self-care, and things weren’t good.
I KNOW I needed to make time for myself and prioritise self-care. But I felt hamstrung, time-poor, and as if the world’s weight was on my shoulders.
My husband was in and out of work, and we were battling to pay the mortgage and other bills, my dog nearly died, and we lost a few people, including my stepdad, who died from suicide.
I was trying to keep my head up, maintain an external positive presence, and juggle those balls without dropping any.
But I was struggling.
EVERYTHING was too much.
It was only a matter of time until I dropped some balls.
My body was sending me strong signals and had to take action:
- I’d had thrush for 15 months, had taken numerous medications, and nothing was working. This messed with my confidence, sense of womanhood and sex life
- My stomach issues had returned, and I was permanently bloated
- I had developed cystic acne and eczema
- My sleep was erratic and broken by bad dreams, panic attacks and bouts of sleeplessness
- I was struggling with anxiety
- The brain fog was unbearable
- I’d put on a dress size and a half in weight, and
- My depression was coming back.
I was drinking three glasses of wine a night (and could easily drink a bottle). Additionally, I was drinking way too much coffee and not enough water, and I felt like shit.
Oh, and I couldn’t write anymore. It was gone (thus, no new blog posts for 12 months). That sucked.
Shame messes with your mind
…sometimes when we are beating ourselves up, we need to stop and say to that harassing voice inside, “Man, I’m doing the very best I can right now.”
Brené Brown, Rising Strong
I was doing my best at the time, BUT I struggled with guilt and shame.
And I was ashamed of my inability to cope. I was also in denial about a resurgence in my depression, which I had sworn I would never need to deal with again because I would look after myself properly (DAMN!).
And I didn’t want my husband to see me fall. He was dealing with his shit and didn’t need to see me not dealing with mine! I also didn’t want to bother my family as they were grieving.
And then there was work.
I tried telling them numerous times but quickly realised my mistake when I was micro-managed, and everything I did was questioned. That was not what I needed (if anything makes someone with anxiety more anxious, it’s micro-management!), so, in the end, I gave up!
Holding an intervention on myself
The big 4-0 slipped under the radar by choice, as I avoided the pressure to have a party. Nope, that wasn’t what I needed. Plus, my introverted nature was shining through. I just did not want to be around people – even close friends!
That is when I knew I needed to do something. I was increasingly irritable and sad and suspected the black dog was back nipping at my heels. And so I:
- approached my employer to work some allotted hours from home to decrease travel time and fatigue.
- found a new GP who listened to me and ordered me to take some tests. This led to a candida diagnosis and some proper treatment.
- registered for a program to focus on restoring my gut microbiome (as it was shit, sometimes literally!)
- stopped drinking coffee and alcohol.
- starting to drink more water.
- incorporated more movement into my days, such as yoga and walking.
- started opening up with people, telling them how I am and stuff (that included my hubby).
- started seeing a psychologist.
Six months later, I feel more mentally and physically healthy and more organised; I’ve dropped a dress size (not my intention) and have said goodbye to my acne.
Yep, I feel like an adult now.
Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing we’ll ever do.
Brené Brown, Rising Strong
