Time slows down when you’re living with an overwhelming sense of sadness, when getting through a single day of work with a smile on your face takes every ounce of your energy, when you’re simply trying to keep yourself above water and survive the day without crumbling into tiny little pieces. Time slows down when you feel your chest tighten at the sight of yet another baby announcement or worse, a scan picture that reminds you of the sight of your own baby, still and dead. Time slows down when you lose your baby, when you’re fighting infertility, going through IVF and when you’re just trying so damn hard to bring home your longed-for baby.

Time slows down when you’re depressed.

I spent many months in a dark space, not really understanding the complicated and uncomfortable feelings I was experiencing. I had gone through a trauma, I had suffered a miscarriage and lost my first baby, so I knew I was allowed to be sad but when would it end? Surely, I should have just gotten over it? There was no manual for me to follow, no guidance from anyone. I was just left to it, left to navigate my life that now felt empty and lonely. And it was really, really hard.

I thought the best thing for me to do to “get over” this would be to focus on my physical health. I kept myself busy with exercise and long walks through the parks, and I kept to a routine that never allowed me to stand still for too long. I made sure I ate a healthy diet and I stayed hydrated. Physically, I was very healthy but mentally I was no better.

I couldn’t shift the deep sadness that was hiding somewhere within me, that was choking me until I could no longer catch my breath. At night in bed, when all was still and quiet, my mind would take over and the memories of being told our baby hadn’t a heartbeat haunted me. I would cry myself to sleep hours on end, wanting that memory to fade and for my heart to heal.

I was terrified of what my mind was doing to me, making me believe that I would never see the light at the end of a very, very dark tunnel. I felt hopeless, worthless and exhausted. Nothing in my life at the time seemed important anymore, I lost my sense of purpose, I lost my energy and my self-esteem. I was just so lost in my grief and pain and I didn’t know how to find my way back.

And then one day, I just snapped.  All of the pain, the suffering, hurt, anger, frustration and hate just spilled out of me. It was that exact moment that I knew I was more than just sad, I was depressed.

Strangely, I felt lighter for acknowledging that I really wasn’t okay. It was as if I had given myself permission to break so that I could start to piece myself back together with the help and support of those around me. It was time for me to care for my mental health.  

As a first step, I stopped blaming myself for the baby we lost and for the hurt that we were feeling. I stopped focusing on what I didn’t have and instead on what I do have; a nice home, a loving husband and a supportive family to name a few things. I stopped waiting for a tomorrow of unknowns knowing it only caused me anxiety and instead started to focus on the moment in front of me. I stopped feeling guilty for what I was feeling and instead opened myself up to all of the uncomfortable emotions; I sat with them, I acknowledged them and then I put them away. I started to forgive myself, slowly, each new day at a time. I simply let go of trying to control everything that I was feeling, and I allowed my mind to slow down, to process the grief, the anger and the hurt.  

It has been one of my hardest struggles, intertwined with my fight to become a mummy. It’s not been easy for me to admit that I sometimes do struggle, I do hurt, and I do need help. It hasn’t been easy for me to forgive myself and to learn to trust and love myself again. It has been really difficult for me to believe that I will be okay, that I will get through this and that this is all worth something amazing in my future. To be honest, I’m not quite sure I’ve nailed that belief just yet, but I do have more hope than I’ve had in a long while, and that for me is progress.

What I do know for sure is that I will survive whatever this journey throws at me again and again because I have survived all of my other bad days so far.

So, in honour of Mental Health Awareness Week, this is my story of how I learned to care for myself again when everything once felt so dark and heavy.   

If you’re reading this and you’re where I was, then know that you will survive this. Wishing you lots of strength, hope and love.

Love, Sophie xx