Proud

There are many things I'm not proud of about myself; I'm great at feeling shame both in its place and when it's not appropriate. That does not exclude acknowledging the bits I'm happy about, though it's only sometimes I can do that.

Proud is something I don't want to be (connotations of boastfulness, egocentricity and rudeness?), and perhaps what I really mean is that I'm pleased about these things, and glad and grateful that they are so. But I think that proud is the word that is often used to convey those sentiments, and it acknowledges the work that I put in to make these things happen, so I'm going to stick with it for now. 

I am proud of myself for often asking for help when I need it.

I am proud of myself for managing many situations on my own (not because I feel that I must or should cope alone, but because in many situations I can).

I am proud of myself for learning the difference between those.

I am proud of myself for not obeying my head every time it tells me lies.

I am proud of myself for letting others help from mundane everyday things like "Mr Peggy please can you get me x from the supermarket on your way home" to calling or emailing for help when I can't fight my brain on my own.

I am proud of myself for letting my body grow a human.

I am proud of myself for starting to believe that it's OK to live softly, to allow more than the bare minimum I "should" have, and to live a life I enjoy.

I am proud of myself for talking about difficult things.

I am proud of myself for (mostly) looking after Baby Peggy well.

I am proud of myself for starting to vocalise my needs and wishes.

I am proud of myself for trying new things.

I am proud of myself for letting old things go.

I am proud of myself for keeping on keeping on with the things that serve me well.

I am proud of myself for learning from my experiences.

I am proud of myself for taking on challenges (ones that I want and are achievable).

I am proud of myself for making progress, even though my brain often tells me it's the wrong direction or that I shouldn't want most of these things.

I'm proud of myself for
resurrecting traditions I used
to enjoy

I'm proud of myself for using
coping skills

I am proud of myself for allowing myself to be proud. Meta.

Happy

I am happier than I have ever been.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am frequently exhausted, often irritable or grumpy, regularly overwhelmed and plenty of times just going through the motions. Our life is most definitely not Instagram-perfect even though I post some lovely stuff on social media (I don't even have Instagram - or TikTok or WhatsApp or whatever it is that the kool kidz have these days. I was firmly Generation Facebook and there I remain despite its problems, because one kind of social media is enough for me, that's what I'm used to and that's where my friends are. But anyway, I digress.).

But the fact remains that I am happier than ever. I feel as though I understand what "happy" is now. The deep joy that floods me so many times a day is inexpressible. I am constantly marvelling at this miracle of a tiny (or not so tiny...) being that grew in my tummy from almost nothing. My insides want to explode when he smiles and giggles or sucks his little fisty and snuggles his blanket, because I don't have words for how wonderful and amazing it is.

Five months in and the novelty hasn't worn off yet ;) 

I am beyond grateful for everything we have been given.

Relationship is Key to Communication

Checking for something on my GP record I came across the report from my recent psychiatrist review. I'm not normally under a psychiatrist but everyone under mental health services is offered a psychiatrist review after having a baby. This means the psychiatrist and I hadn't met before and didn't know each other other than them having read a brief summary of my medical notes.

At the time I was aware there had been some gaps in our communication but over all I had a neutral feeling about the experience - it happened and it wasn't particularly significant. 

When I read the report I realised the size of the discrepancy between what was received and my experience.

The more I think about it the more I realise how much less than optimal that appointment was. It wasn't anybody's fault, but it made what could have been a useful checkpoint into a box-ticking exercise.

I am aware that I wasn't doing my best communication on the day. My brain function was a bit compromised and my emotions were offline so I didn't even think of some of the things I could have expressed (like how the matter of what therapy I may or may not be getting has been going on for about a year and is driving me mad). 

Some things I might have wanted to say two weeks previously didn't seem important because they had faded as my priorities changed and my perspective skewed. Other things I tried to communicate but obviously didn't quite succeed at.

If I lived a few miles up the road I would have known the psychiatrist. I have practised communicating with that one. I have developed ways to tell her the most difficult of things and get round the troublesome bits of my brain. She is familiar with my idiosyncratic style of communication. And there's simply the fact that she knows me and would have been able to tell just by how I was presenting that I wasn't doing great.

I know that my situation is perhaps unusual in that I don't know my local psychiatrist and I do know the next-door one, but the point I'm getting at is the importance of relationship in communication. Especially for people whose communication is not "typical" or who appear to communicate fine but actually might not.

It wasn't anybody's fault - I could have communicated better but wasn't really in a state to do so, and the psychiatrist could have helped me more but she didn't know me so she didn't know there was anything to help with or how to help. 

But reading the report showed me that even what I thought I was communicating or tried to communicate hadn't reached its target effectively and that the gap between us was bigger than I had thought. Even things I had corrected on were still written wrongly. The group I mentioned in my previous post had a session on effective communication last week and one of the features highlighted was relationship. I've noticed it before in my post about continuity of care and here it pops up again. I think the frequency with which it appears means it's important. Not always possible, but important.

I'm a person too, and that's OK

Sorry this is a long one! Think I'm guilty here of trying to tell the whole story and wittering on about something that could be said succinctly. And doing that very clumsily at times. But I can't be bothered to edit any more to make it pretty and readable because I add more instead of editing out!

I had a good reflection today.

In a group we were talking about self-esteem and assertiveness and I had a bit of a warm fuzzy thinking about how much I have come on in this area over the past few years. 

One of my core ideals is to be kind to others, to help people when I can and to have a positive effect on those I come into contact with and so for me people thinking I'm unkind, self-centred, rude, greedy or lazy is one of the worst things that could happen. I know I shouldn't care so much what people think of me but I do. Because I communicate in a different way from the majority of people (eg. I don't always realise the truth may be offensive - if I state the truth it is simply that, without judgment, but I think others infer a judgment and are then upset because they think I'm saying something is bad when actually I'm just saying something is) and my face and body language don't always convey my true feelings in the way people would expect, I have many times been misinterpreted and this has resulted in my beliefs, thoughts, behaviour and emotions gradually becoming more and more skewed in order to stay safe from being viewed in those upsetting ways that are so against my values. (Perhaps it seems so intolerable because not only is it upsetting but it's not true. It doesn't line up with the facts of who I am?) 

But recently I've become less black and white and learnt that expressing my own needs, thoughts and opinions does not necessarily mean other people's are squashed and that I am acting against my values. "Both of these things can be true" is a phrase I frequently come back to that really has transformed how I approach some aspects of life (when I remember!).

Back to self-esteem, thankfully I have never had the belief that I am a completely terrible, useless, rubbish person - I had some internal confidence in the things I had abilities in and in myself as a vaguely kind person. But... I did not esteem myself highly, or much at all. I didn't think I mattered. I would happily put myself in rejection or ridicule's way if it were a matter of someone else's wellbeing but if I needed something or felt hurt I would stay quiet. I downplayed abilities for fear of being rejected or ridiculed. I placed little to no importance on myself, my needs and my wishes. Although I didn't believe I was bad or useless, I somehow believed I was less important than others and that if there were any discrepancies the other person must be right. Put others first; don't presume upon anyone to put themselves out for you. I still think these are worthwhile values, but my brain is black and white and takes everything to its logical conclusion, so these become "your needs and wishes are not as important as others' and you must never inconvenience anyone." And then "you should be invisible and not need anything." 

Somewhere over the past few years I have moved on slightly. The therapy and support I've had has probably (definitely) helped! I'm not sure whether I have consciously tried to be more assertive in my communication (where previously I would have been passive because I was so worried that I would appear aggressive/awkward/obnoxious, offend somebody, inconvenience somebody or just that they would misinterpret and think I didn't care or didn't like them) or whether it has happened naturally as I have started to understand and accept myself more.

I was so scared of trampling on others that I daredn't exist. I still mitigate most requests with disclaimers and most refusals with apologies but I now place enough value on myself that I am more likely to express my needs or do what I need to. I don't (always) automatically feel guilty and that I am bad or wrong for stating honestly my perspective with respect and kindness towards the other party. 

And on reflection it's actually better for everyone if I am assertive (which doesn't mean trampling on others but expressing my needs and opinions clearly but kindly). Being assertive involves behaving with proper compassion (not just "niceness") to both myself and others, and gaining an understanding of this through therapy has definitely helped too. It's obviously better for my own wellbeing because I don't end up in burnout and resorting to unhelpful coping strategies (as much) - which would be reason enough to celebrate - but it can be helpful for others too. Looking at it the other way round, I feel much more settled amongst people who are assertive because I know I can ask them things because I know they will say no if it's not right for them. If I can't trust someone to say no then I can't ask them to help because I can't be sure they won't help me at their own expense. When I know people understand and are comfortable expressing their needs or opinions then I'm not worried that I will hurt them unwittingly. And so I can return the compliment by not giving people the extra work of trying to guess when and how to help me and whether my needs are being catered for. 

As we talked about what low self esteem can look like - including never saying no, always saying sorry, perfectionism, avoiding situations eg conflict or going out, not challenging self etc - I realised that I am much less like that than I used to be. Sometimes it's little things like saying "thank you" instead of "sorry" and other times it's bigger things like asking for help when I feel that I shouldn't need it, or saying "no" to something that will be detrimental to me. I have actually come a long way and that is great. Some of the things I have learnt have started to stick and although I still struggle with many thoughts and beliefs about myself and the world, some of those problematic areas have seen a shift. And the fact that I'm more comfortable with that says a lot in itself about how I value myself. Other things will be harder to change but it is helpful to notice that some movement has happened and that it is both acceptable and positive. Maybe other changes will eventually become acceptable too.

Edited to add: Searching for a title for this, I realised I am much better at referring to myself in the first person now - maybe I'm getting better at having a "me."

Fifty-Six Weeks

*Trigger warning: early pregnancy*

Feeding you at eleven fifteen I'm grateful. Changing your nappy and both our pyjamas at two I am thankful. Giving you Calpol at three I do not take for granted. Repeating it all at four, five and six AM is OK with me (for tonight at least!). 

A year ago today I found out about you: you were a bunch of cells the size of a poppy seed, two lines on a stick. I barely dared to believe you would stay around until I could meet you, and I tentatively told two people that I thought you were there. I couldn't even be certain and I knew how fragile your little life was and how unlikely to grow, and yet how amazing that it was there at all.

And here you are - here we are. Snuggling through the night with your bronchiolitis and post-immunisation fever, four months old in the morning. Four months after you joined us out here, eight months after we found out about you six months after I came home. One year of you - I can't begin to say how thankful I am for you, the you I didn't know whether could exist, or whether would stay and grow. Meeting you seemed too good to be true, yet here we are. You can never know all you have done for me, all you have taught me, all that you mean to me. I have all I could have asked for. 

Rambling

Probably my favourite walk I've been on since the teeny one came along. In the moment, mindful in the best sense of the word, and connected.

A dog has had a happy time here too!

Cool air on my face, muted quietness dulling the country sounds under a layer of cloud, and the contrast between the angular scrunchy stones waking up each spot of my feet and the soft springy damp turf. 

The smell of damp earth and trees. The silent swoop of a buzzard. The warmth and gentle breath of the baby sleeping close against me in the sling. His coos and curious expression as he wakes up and looks around. The patterns of the spiralling straw in its bales that mirrors the perfect swirl of hair on the back of his head.

The shadows and changing light in the furrows of the ploughed fields as twilight falls. Relative freedom from memories as I stay present in the moment, walking in the more agricultural areas away from all the trees that carry the strongest reminders, and giving thanks for all the good things in my life, and for hope.

Reclaiming Autumn

Over the years I have often written about how being outside and spending time with nature helps my mental health, reduces my stress levels and keeps me better regulated. Closely observing the changes and small wonders of autumn, winter and spring has got me through some of the most difficult times I have had.

The only trouble is, because the things I was experiencing were so intense and the solace I found outside so important, the two became thoroughly entangled. Last year autumn no longer helped me but brought memories and emotions back that were overwhelming and distressing. I avoided spending optional time out and about this spring for the same reason. I am still only posting pictures from this year even though I have more beautiful ones from before. 

As summer once again turns to autumn my mind is spending a lot of time in the past, as I've come to expect. But I think that this time the emotions are a bit less overwhelming, and although the thoughts still intrude when I may not want them I am more able to think about things rather than just feeling overwhelmed and wanting to get away. 

Sure, it's still causing problems, but I decided to take little steps to reclaiming autumn. Change comes along naturally when there's a baby in the family so it seemed a good opportunity to jump on the bandwagon and try to get back some of the benefits I lost when my source of respite got tied up with the thing I needed respite from. The longer I left it the harder it would get.

So last week I took Baby Peggy for a walk to collect some autumn for him to play with. Doing things with a purpose and for his benefit helps to motivate me and to help me focus on now rather than then. There were and are memories and emotions and thoughts drawing me to the past, but there is also joy in what is happening now, and positive anticipation for his future and autumns to come, rather than just my brain's story about what autumn should be.

Switched up the
toys on his play mat

I jazzed up his
mobile with leav

Bringing some autumn into the house where I can't avoid it helps to disentangle the associations and make new connections. I can't delete things from the story and it probably wouldn't be wise to, but I can add to it and make some choices about how the new and old plot lines interact. 

Raw and Real

A baby is unfiltered, unrestrained and unapologetic. It is entirely authentic and neither hides nor tones down its emotions or needs. Its enthusiasm is unbridled, its sadness wholly embodied and its affection genuine and unmistakeable.

Baby Peggy does not stop to think about how his feelings or requirements might affect me and Mr Peggy and he is not worried about offending anybody or putting them out. He doesn't rein in his displays of emotion in concern that he's being annoying nor because he fears being overwhelmed by them: he simply is. When he is cross he is cross all over and when he is content he is blissfully relaxed. His smile and attempts at giggling are infectious when he is altogether engrossed in playing with Daddy. 

And do you know what? Yes, there are moments when I just want to be asleep or when I (strongly!) begrudge having to get off my backside to change yet another stinky hind quarter. When I literally want to bang my head on a wall because it's all too much. But I marvel every day at the beauty of this boy and his wholeheartedness.

There's no extra layer, no ulterior motive, no people pleasing or game playing. A baby is straightforward and unapologetic. You may take him or leave him, but what you see is what you get, and the things that you get are infinitely richer for their authenticity and un-self-conscious-ness (definitely a word).

It is refreshing and renewing to be with a person who is so generous and unconcerned in sharing of themselves.

I aspire to be more like my baby and I am infinitely grateful to have the honour of being with him and learning from him.

I think what he is missing is shame. The fear of rejection is what brings the feeling of shame, and how powerful that is. How sad that our longing for acceptance so often hinders us from fully embodying our broad range of states of being. May it be a long time until he experiences the rejection that hardens our shells.

He is also missing the fear of becoming overwhelmed by his emotions. Perhaps this is a less universal experience for adults than the feeling of shame, but it's no less important. At the moment Baby Peggy relies almost wholly on mutual regulation. Mr Peggy and I comfort him when he is sad, hurt or scared and he knows he is safe with us. He stops crying when we pick him up (well... not every time!) because he is secure in the knowledge that he is OK now. Hopefully he will learn that it's OK to fully experience his emotions and that they can be attended to and soothed in whatever way is applicable and that he will be OK afterwards. That way he will feel things at the time, deal with them and move on, just as he does now - no trying to squash them in case they get too big when all that does is means they come back later. 

Because Baby Peggy is so true and uncomplicated, I know how he is feeling and when he has a need, and I can meet that need. He depends on me and that's fine. He is not meant to exist in isolation or be self-sufficient. As he grows there will be more and more things that he manages independently, but perhaps we make a mistake when we try to live as though this is a phase that we completely outgrow as we age. Little steps can help to start to turn this view around, like saying "thank you for helping" instead of "sorry for being a pain."

Thanks little one, for showing me how rich and beautiful an authentic, vulnerable, dependent life can be.

Two Years

As I lie in bed trying to sleep, knowing I will be wakened in a few hours, I can't help my mind taking me back to another night two years ago today. I've kept busy all day but there's nothing between me and the memories now.

The hard mattress and yucky polyester sheets. The knowledge that I would be wakened in four hours, my lights turned on, my blood pressure, pulse, sats and temperature taken and my finger pricked. The terror of realising each and every time I regained consciousness that I was in this unknown place and I had to face the thing I was most scared of four times a day. Traumatic as the general hospital was, I had come to understand it and therefore feel some level of safety but now everything was new and overwhelming all over again. 

That morning as I stepped over the threshold with fear and hope, I had taken some of the most important steps towards my new life. Of course it's not actually clear cut like that, there is no line between old life and new life, I have not "arrived" anywhere and am very much just continuing to take steps every day, in varying directions.

But there are some things that were left at that door that I am endlessly grateful to be rid of. They had no place in my life and I never want them back. Others I have picked up to help me since, and many many more I still carry, for better or for worse.

It's always a difficult time of year for me: my brain works by making links and finding patterns, and so it is great at highlighting similarities and differences between experiences while it tries to organise and categorise everything in order to understand life and inform itself on what might happen next and how to deal with it.

And so it reminds me in my thoughts about events that happened on certain days (like today), and it reminds me in my body of experiences I sensed or emotions I felt (like the leaves turning orange and falling from the trees, or the cold morning air or a particular timbre of beeping). The two often become entangled or the one prompts the other as well. The trouble is, my poor old Brian can't decide whether to categorise these things as good or bad (they were of course a mixture) and how they should inform my future actions. I don't know what I feel about them and my brain is so intent on trying to make a logical map from them that they just keep swilling around because they can't be filed.

Life is very different now from how it was two years ago. I've been trying to write this post for two weeks - this is the end of about six weeks of annual date-specific memories - and could never find quite the right words. My life is better. I am more independent. I am happier. I have more freedom. I share more about my wellbeing with Mr Peggy. I have better support. I am much more able to ask for help when I need it. I have better coping strategies. I live a more authentic life. I have Baby Peggy. 

That time was probably the hardest in my life. I certainly had most of the most traumatic single moments of my life so far (and hopefully ever!) during that time. My stress levels were permanently so high that meltdowns were routine. But I also found hope. I met some of my closest friends. I reclaimed parts of my life I thought were lost. I found out a bit of who I am when I'm not trying to hide (because there was nowhere to hide). I let people in and I let people help. It hurt and it helped. And so I don't know how I feel about it and I don't know how to write about it. 

A therapist I saw recently helped me make a little sense when I explained that I wasn't even sure whether it was even trauma I was dealing with: because the events, experiences and feelings all happened in one time span and space that definitely had some traumatic events, it all gets lumped together by my brain, and so even parts that I wouldn't think should be traumatic still inspire some of those feelings. The emotional response is so complex because all of the different emotions are related to things that happened at that time, and so whenever I am reminded of any part of it, I just get a big ball of unidentified emotional mash. (She didn't quite phrase it like that!) I wonder if it can also work the other way - that because some wonderful things came from it I can feel mistakenly positive about the bad bits.

So I don't know how I feel about it. And still the memories swill. Hopefully one day they'll just trickle by harmlessly. 

Until then? Just keep swimming...

And be grateful for what I have right now, which is more than I would have dared to hope for through my tears on the hard mattress in the middle of the night.

How close to crazy?

Note to self: be less crazy.

I've developed a habit when distressed of repeating a short calming phrase to myself and Baby Peggy. It's quite effective but I think it makes me sound more crazy than I am. Or maybe I am just more crazy than I think I am.

Pacing around repeating "It's ok, we're gonna fix it, it's ok. It's ok, we're gonna fix it, it's ok" (or similar) is not normal behaviour. But it does help! The rhythm of the words, and the reassurance of telling myself that it will be OK even if it's not now can help to stop me escalating further. The sameness of the repetition can eventually smooth the seam of transition between distress actions and problem-solving, de-escalation or "moving-on" actions.

But it is disturbing for others to see (or rather, to hear), particularly if preceded or accompanied by an even more dysregulated presentation of crying, flapping, shaking, self harm, being a ball in a corner etc.

I don't know where the balance lies between helping myself and not being a nuisance. Sometimes it feels as though I can do little about it even if I wanted to and that these are ways to stop anything worse from happening. I have had to accept that being inconspicuous as I would like to be is just not always realistic.

I don't know whether it was the repetitive phrases or the general presentation or the fact I had a baby with me but I obviously went one step too crazy this time. 

It had already been a difficult day on a backdrop of raised stress levels. Meltdown 1 had been surfaced from after two and a half hours of recovery, and Meltdown 2a had avoided escalation by furiously (manically? desperately? absently?) continuing with my previous plan of action. I should have known (and probably did know) that Meltdown 2b was pretty much inevitable if anything even slightly untoward were to greet me.

Which of course it did in the car park of Aldi, in the form of a lady unloading a trolley in the back of the space I was reversing into.

The car was half in and half out of the space, waiting didn't fix it and instead the lady started to gesture to me (I was too stressed out from earlier to process that her signals meant she needed me to move out of the way so she could get the trolley out of my way), the baby started to cry, and I was expecting an important phone call at any moment.

Executive function swanned off entirely so I just could not work out what to prioritise or in what order things needed to happen. Or even what things needed to happen! Luckily having a baby makes it simpler in some ways as they trump all else on a fundamental level that can usually penetrate even the depths of my problems. Start with the baby and hope the rest follows. 

Of course, starting with the baby meant getting out of the car, which meant the problem that involved another person put itself all over me while my brain was still offline and in basic "comfort the baby" mode. It could only do one job at that moment - language was pretty much absent other than repeating a comforting phrase. Responsive language, problem solving and social interaction were way down my brain's priority pathways and out of reach. So I was largely ignoring the other lady in order to do the thing I needed to do first.

I would have got through, and indeed did get through, all the other jobs eventually, it just took longer than for other people and I looked more unusual whilst doing it.

And so I worked through the backlog of tasks and got onto the supermarket shop about fifteen minutes later. (The lady solved the problem that involved both of us in the meantime, which took a job off my list!) Order restored after a really difficult afternoon.

And then the bit that made me realise once again that I'm actually a crazy person. A couple of police officers wandering up the aisle opposite. Not hugely unusual in the town where I live so I carried on as normal. But it turned out it was me they wanted. The lady had been worried enough that she had sent the police to check on me. 

They were very calm and as discreet as they could be and we just had a little chat and they left me to it (although they did wait outside the shop and check on me again when I got to my car!) but it was a new experience for me and not entirely comfortable. I know I can be unusual and do become distressed at times, but generally I find my way through things and don't tend to cause others a problem. When this happened I felt even more conspicuous. I felt embarrassed being talked to by officers in public. And I felt acutely aware that I needed to present myself in a very "normal" manner or it would be so easy to suddenly find myself on the wrong side of crazy, popped into a van and detained for assessment. It's the second time I've had a possible close shave with the mental health act and it makes you feel suddenly very vulnerable.

I suppose I am grateful that somebody cared enough to make sure I was OK (I had assured her that I was, but clearly hadn't convinced her), but the whole thing left me unsettled. I realised when I went out the next day that I was really quite anxious. Anxious I would have another meltdown - they are not fun and because of the high distress of that day as well as the pre-existing background stress factors I am now feeling much more like I did eighteen months ago than how I've been feeling recently - and additionally anxious that if I did, someone would report it and I'd end up on the wrong side of crazy, with people saying I can't look after my baby or sectioning me. Until yesterday I felt less anxious in public than before having a baby: I know how to act with a baby, I know the conversations off by heart, I know how to behave with a baby, I have a purpose so am not occupied by trying not to be weird etc.  But now I feel more anxious instead, because of other people's responses to me doing what I need to do. And I also start to question the confidence I had in being able to look after a baby. If I can get that distressed around him then am I really fit? I hope I am, but it has shaken me and knocked my confidence. It has made me a little paranoid in public and much more likely to mask, which is widely recognised as being detrimental to wellbeing (also borne out by my personal experience).

So I guess I have to once more examine the balance of how much "me" is acceptable, and how close to crazy is too close.

But for the minute I'll just snuggle down with Baby Peggy, go for walks away from the people, and try to let my brain get back to "now" me instead of year-and-a-half-ago me.

Some "rest the brain" activities

The sensory delights and trials of parenting a newborn

There is a fundamental change when you first become a new parent. Your house becomes a different kind of house, and you become a different kind of person. I live in a House with Baby Toys, a House Where you Might Find a (clean) Nappy on the Living Room Floor. A House with Baby Clothes on the Line. I am a Person with a Car Seat in Their Car, a Person who uses the Lift Because of the Pram, A Person Who is Late Because the Baby Needed Feeding. 

I like being a Person With Baby Feet On Their Leg!

Of course not everything changes (See my previous post! Although things are very different now from when I wrote that), but the shift is pretty major and there is a lot of re-categorisation work for the brain to do as it tries to make sense of what life is now.

Along with this shift come many new or changed sensory experiences. These must be different for everybody and must affect everybody differently but I think I would have found it interesting to read some examples before I gave birth. In fact I'd still be interested to read others' experiences now! And different experiences of the sensory aspects of pregnancy for that matter.

A few of the notable sensory specialities of having a new baby for me:

Smell experiences. 

You'll be able to think of plenty of smells associated with babies, I'm sure. But I have a super strong awareness of some of the less obvious ones. I smell different. I don't know if it's the hormones or just from being so close to each other, but my body smell has changed. In the early days I definitely smelt like him; now it could be either or both. 

There is also a pervasive aroma of dried milk and our mixed sweats. Thankfully I actually like this smell, possibly because I'm all full of hormones, or possibly because as a bodily smell it is easier to process and therefore calming as an early developmental experience.

(Note, on checking and finishing this post six weeks after I started it, so just about three months into Baby Peggy, these experiences are much less intense. I guess he smells much less like a newborn, we are all a bit better at feeding so a bit less dried milk and skin to skin, and it isn't so hot so we aren't as sweaty!!)

Touch experiences.

One of the biggest difficulties I encountered and potential barriers to me breastfeeding was the wetness. I discovered I really hate being wet, and even worse, wet fabric. If makes me uncomfortable and miserable and irritable. There is a lot of wetness involved in feeding a baby. Leaking milk from the side you're not using, fountains when baby gets overwhelmed and comes off mid-let-down, dribbles when the latch isn't good, and of course spitting up after feeds. It might seem disproportionate but the constant getting wet really affected my mood, to the extent that even though feeding was going well I questioned whether I could continue. Thankfully I was able to problem-solve with a little help and with a never-ending supply of muslins, and milk collection shells and reusable breast pads I can stay happily dry when feeding and in between. What a relief!

Tummy to tummy 💗

Some of the most rewarding sensory aspects of having a baby are tactile for me. Having Baby Peggy's weight and warmth on me is super calming: worlds beyond a weighted blanket or even a squeeze vest I think. Having him in the sling when I do stressful things helps keep me calm. But the real trump card is the moments when I find us tummy to tummy. There is something primal, visceral, soul-filling, about that particular sensation that just transcends the words I have to describe it with! 

Those are the main ones which were huge for me but potential other considerations:

Sound experiences.

Babies cry. Some more than others, but all babies cry a certain amount. The sound is designed to be hard to tolerate. This can make it extra problematic for people who are particularly sensitive to certain sounds. Or perhaps some people with strong auditory sensitivities have found ways to cope (certain types of earplugs I have heard of, and I'm sure there may be other things that help) and so don't find it much worse than other sounds. Or perhaps the processing is different and so the emotion and the sound may be less strong (or indeed stronger) in some people.

Luckily we like his favourite
singing hedgehog too!

For me another one to note is changes to the soundscape of the house. Someone will undoubtedly give you noisy toys. We have a baby gym that makes noises but thankfully they are noises I don't mind hearing repeatedly (some I would struggle to cope with so we may be "losing" a lot of batteries if we acquire too many electronic toys in future!), but it can still be surprising if the baby is not on the mat and one of us sets hedgehog off unexpectedly!

The sounds of his shuffling and snuffling at night are also new, the washing machine is on more often, I tend to listen to music more because he likes it (and the types of music he likes, especially in the car!). When he was tiny he made a funny sound at the end of a yawn that inexplicably infuriated me for a moment every time, but then it also used to sound like we were on a pirate ship at night as he snored, which was actually quite soothing and very cute.

And of course his cooing and early vocalisation practice. Which melts my heart every time. And with that grin...

I've had to rethink my
whole laundry-hanging
system!

Visual experiences.

As I mentioned earlier, the house looks different. Baby toys, baby clothes, nappy buckets, baby bath, baby sleeping places (we even had to move our bed slightly to accommodate his bedside crib, which is not only a visual adjustment but can affect the proprioceptive and other senses as you navigate the room!). General baby paraphernalia all over the place! I know of one friend who very slowly made these adjustments throughout her pregnancy - perhaps a helpful tip.

But also, you get to look at a really cute baby.

Taste experiences.

I didn't think there was anything to write here, but as I come to check over and finish this post a few weeks on, I have had to trial a dairy free diet for his digestion, so am having to adjust to new tastes as well! Thankfully there is a lot available these days so it has been easier than I feared. NB cashew milk is the closest I've found to cow's so far, oat is nice too, coconut yoghurts are not nice but coconut ice cream is (well, Aldi's chocolate brownie ice cream, anyway...). I don't reckon vegan cheese would be worth trying...

Other senses.

Getting back on these
bad boys!

My proprioceptive and vestibular senses are a bit sad since having a baby as they become rather neglected when permanently glued to another being who can't control the movement of their body. I use these two senses to keep myself regulated and feeling well, so I really notice it when I haven't been able to stretch or move in ways that feel good for a while. When my body isn't happy, I'm less happy. So recently, now that I've become aware of this and now that Baby Peggy is sleeping and playing a little more independently at times, I try and prioritise moving my body even if just for a few minutes each time he is somewhere that's not me. It really helps. 

Sometimes you can
sneak a bit of vestibular
input even with a baby...

Interoception-wise, I have to try and be extra conscious because I am not super-sensitive in this area. I often realise fairly late on that I need the toilet, or am thirsty or too hot, so now I try and intentionally attend to all these needs before I sit down to feed - go to the toilet, make sure I have a drink nearby (although I think breastfeeding actually makes me more conscious of thirst) and am dressed right for the temperature. Thankfully on the evenings and weekends Mr Peggy is great at refilling my water whenever it is empty, bringing me the food I need, putting my fuzzy socks on for me etc!

So there are my thoughts on the sensory aspects of having a baby. Please let me know your experiences and thoughts - I'd be really interested!

Always Be Prepared

I never take my clothes off inside out, because that means I would have to turn them the right way again, either when putting in the wash, hanging up to dry, putting away or getting out to wear. That would be annoying. It's much easier to just take them off the right way.

My routines and preferences and "correct" ways of doing things generally have an important reason behind them, and I have usually formed them through experience in order to avoid anything from minor inconvenience to high distress. I prefer to wash up as I go along when cooking so there's not a big pile waiting later when we want to relax. I make sure I have everything I want to hand before I start feeding Baby Peggy. I write emails before appointments so we know what to talk about. I always put things in the same places so I don't have to look for them - I know where everything is. I always have my rucksack with me with a gazillion things I occasionally or frequently need (blanket, notebook, headphones, diary etc etc etc). 

I wasn't quite sure what to title this post or what my main point is, but I want to write something about being prepared, or being informed, or being in control.

I invest a lot of energy on being prepared in life and thinking ahead to anticipate problems and head them off before they happen. This often looks to others like being pessimistic, wasting time and energy (I don't always do things the quickest way; I do them the best way for me that makes them easier in the end) and being fussy, awkward, controlling, paranoid or pedantic.

One of my major concerns right from early pregnancy was how I would cope with being in the hospital due to the intense emotions I have surrounding the memories of my past experiences there.

I could have tried for a home birth but found the uncertainty around this difficult to manage. If staffing was short on the day or if I had complications I would have had to go in anyway, and then I would have had the additional stresses of it being a change to plan and of not having worked on accessing the hospital. And there was no way of avoiding a small number of visits antenatally - any visits to triage for concerns about movements had to be made there and although they were very accommodating about trying to get my scans at the local hospital one or two had to be in the hospital where I have the main issues. 

So I decided early on that I needed to tackle the issue rather than trying to avoid it and we embarked on a Grand Preparation Scheme.

In the end I was advised to give birth in hospital for medical reasons and had to be induced a week early, so I was glad of this decision.

Good old Stan

There were visits to the maternity unit, starting out very small with just what I could manage, with my familiar midwife. She used different routes to avoid the worst places and this was accommodated even when we had to make unplanned visits without anyone who knew me (after some very clumsy explaining by me, translated by good old Mr Peggy!). I had a summary of my needs and difficulties and how best to support me on the front of my notes, and worked on communication cards with my OT. We planned what distress tolerance techniques I could use and I practised them on visits (fidget toys, my weighted sloth Stanley, acknowledging my thoughts and feelings in speech or writing or just internally, acting opposite to the unhelpful urges that arise when trying to cope, distraction activities such as reading and puzzle books). I wrote down all the questions and worries I had (not all at once but as they came to me!) and took them to whomever could help so I knew exactly what to expect. People knew to ask me what I had written down for them, or to discuss whatever I had said in my pre-appointment email. I watched every episode of One Born Every Minute to give me an idea of scenarios that might come up or things that might trigger me in the delivery room. I carefully didn't make any rigid birth plans in case of need to change them and instead researched all options and practised telling myself that whatever I need is OK. I prepared myself to pay conscious attention to what I need and make it non-negotiable to communicate this to those around me. I thought about whether I needed to take my own soap that smells OK, prepared myself for the food situation in hospital and packed familiar snacks, and packed other familiar calming items such as my bedside sensory light.

Very brief explanation of
a safety behaviour

To some people all this extensive preparation might seem over the top or like a safety behaviour. Perhaps it is. But do you know what? For me it worked. I didn't need everything I had prepared but I had prepared everything I needed. Nothing took me by surprise, I had all the coping strategies I required, and I was able to communicate my needs. Neurotic safety behaviour that perpetuates anxiety or sensible anticipation and solving of problems? Perhaps a bit of both.

Either way, compared to my first hospital stay where I had no idea what was happening, felt very overwhelmed and ended up with a lot of unprocessed experiences that still trouble me now, this time was a world apart. I used past experience to inform me about what would be difficult and what would help, and it was worth every minute. My birth was a positive one and I have none of the overwhelming and complicated emotions attached to my memories this time. I am very grateful to everybody who supported me throughout the preparation process.

Continuity of Care: Inclusive Midwifery

I'd like to rave for a few minutes and sing the praises of my midwifery service. 

By a fortunate set of circumstances I ended up under a different service from the one that I should be under geographically. Because I am still registered with a GP in the city rather than the town near where I live (easier for me to access from work), I was assigned a midwife from the new pilot continuity of care team in our city. 

It has only been running a year and the hope is to expand this model of care across the city in future, returning to a more "Call the Midwife" type of scenario where the same small team of people look after women and their babies from the early days of pregnancy through the birth and the early days of baby's life. Each mother has a named midwife but there are opportunities to meet the other members of the team so that even if your midwife isn't in on the day you give birth you are likely to have somebody familiar come to the hospital or your home to support you. They have a weekly online Coffee and Chat where they cover all kinds of antenatal, birth and postnatal topics, signpost resources and facilitate getting to know other Mums and members of the team.

To begin with I was happy with the care and support I was receiving but I didn't completely realise how grateful I was until later in my pregnancy when I had appointments with people from outside the team (eg. my consultant) whom I had not got to know. 

It turns out I had struck gold with my midwife and her team. From the very first contact she listened to me and my needs, accommodating in every way possible and checking in regularly whether they were getting things right for me. She never failed to check whether I had any questions or worries written down and always asked verbally before we finished appointments too. She kept me on the caseload though I'm out of area because she recognised how important the continuity of care could be for me. Once she knew me a little she showed insight into what I might need and what might be difficult, taking care to communicate in ways that work for me.  She proactively liaised with my mental health team, making sure nothing fell through the cracks. She made sure I had regular in-person appointments at a slightly higher frequency than standard. She repeatedly reiterated to get in touch with any questions or concerns or to ask for help - so much so that I actually could do that if and when I needed to (something I tend to find difficult). She took me on visits to the hospital step by step and completely at my pace so that I could desensitise myself a bit to going there and so I could know what to expect. When I was in labour she stayed to personally take us from the induction room to labour ward and gave a really good handover to the midwife looking after us for the night, who after that also took great care and attention to meet my communication and physical needs. She continued this support after birth, taking nothing for granted, being clear with me and I with her, checking things out and making sure things were right for me. She always let me know who was on shift when, and introduced me personally to as many of the people I might come across as possible.

This approach made me feel safe and functional. It gave me confidence to voice my needs and worries and have these addressed. I never felt as though I were too much work, or awkward, or needy, or an inconvenience, and neither did I feel belittled or patronised despite the extra support I received; rather I felt respected and enabled in my journey towards parenthood. My pregnancy passed with as little drama as possible and with me feeling as stress-free as possible. My birth was a positive experience, despite being in the hospital. I carry no unprocessed difficulty from any of it - an increase in confidence and calmness if anything - and Baby Peggy and I are both as well or better physically and emotionally as we can expect to be.

The times I went in to see the consultant and the registrar without anybody I knew, I didn't really feel able to ask questions, I felt as though I might be judged and I did not feel safe or confident. This is nothing to do with the skill or manner of these professionals; simply that for me, the relationship built over time where I feel assured that I won't be misunderstood, is paramount to my effective engagement and therefore the outcomes of my care.

So thank you, continuity of care team and especially my wonderful named midwife, for your stellar example of best practice in patient-centred care. I hope to see continuity of care teams spread across the city and round the country.

I Need my People in the Right Place: Self Advocacy

Throughout my pregnancy I had fantastic support to navigate the changes and challenges I came across and to prepare me for the experience of giving birth in a hospital. We did a little work on what would happen post-birth, but not huge amounts because all I knew is that everything would be different, and you can't really prepare for something so unknown other than to be prepared for anything! 

Then just a couple of weeks before baby was due, I was told in passing that I would be having six weekly home visits once baby arrived. This is standard procedure to make sure that any support needed is given, and to monitor for signs of postpartum mental illness as the likelihood is much higher if you already have significant mental health issues.

This patch of trees is a
favourite place to regulate
 after stressful appointments

The trouble is, my care co-ordinator does not belong in my house. When I first had to access my support remotely it caused a lot of problems. I managed some of these by taking my calls on walks outside so I could have a transition between "home" and "with professionals." If I didn't do this it took me a long time to come down and regulate myself after appointments and any distress that I had experienced during the call remained with me in the house. For me, the act of leaving my house, going to the place where the professional belongs, doing the talking and then leaving that place, regulating (if stressed I will regulate by sitting or walking outside before I even get in the car) and then returning home in a "home" (relaxed/alone) state, is important. I need that transition to make distance and protect my own space so it can remain a place of low arousal.

Having people in my house who don't belong there is also just wrong. Wrong in an autistic way, which I can't explain to non-autistic people but seems to be understood when I talk about it with autistic people. Autistic "wrongness" is when something cannot be so. It is the same for things that are untrue: they become intolerable and I must do something to correct or acknowledge the wrongness and negate it. It's like it makes my brain explode, like when you come across a paradox. It is just not OK. I cannot tolerate its being.

These two factors (needing the transition and the wrong person in the wrong place) meant that I did NOT want my care co-ordinator coming to my house. My OT had to come for a home visit once, and it was wrong. I got through it but was very dysregulated afterwards, pacing up and down the house until I went for a walk to "reset." I did not want to experience this with a new baby, sleep deprivation, hormones etc to deal with on top. 

When my care co-ordinator first said what would be happening, not even considering that there might be an issue, I expressed my discomfort at the idea. I don't think I was very clear about just how much of a problem it would be and we had the conversation several more times, with me becoming more emphatic or clearer about my feelings each time. I was warned that if I refused there was the possibility that social services would get involved. When Baby Peggy had arrived, my care co asked to come round. I finally managed to say no. I wrote a message explaining why, and that I could cope with the OT coming instead - at least she has been in my house before. Thankfully, because of this and because I had been visited my the midwives and health visitor (they do belong in my house now - I found it difficult when they first came but we had practised it several times by that point) and I video call with one member of my team from my house, that was sufficient for me to be allowed to go to the CMHT building for the weekly appointments until the OT is back from annual leave to do the home visits. 

I understand that there is a duty of care to me and my child to make sure we are safe and well and that on a home visit it is much easier to assess how someone is coping at home. But I also strongly believe that I was right to advocate for myself and express that I was just not comfortable with this particular person visiting me at home. There is also a responsibility to adapt my care to my autistic needs and not act against my wellbeing. I am enormously glad of all the work done over the past couple of years on expressing my needs and asking for them to be met. I do not have to just go along with what someone else thinks is best. There is a way around it if I actually tell people.

A Perfectly Square Start to Parenting

When I was pregnant, I made sure to clear my diary for the first couple of weeks after baby was due. I was very aware that the first few weeks pass in a haze of feeding baby, changing baby and trying to catch a few minutes' sleep wherever possible. The general message from pretty much all directions was "You'll be so busy with baby and so exhausted, it will consume everything. After a couple to a few weeks you might feel up to starting to do a few things again."

This is not how it panned out for me. The reality was that my baby slept most of the time for the first week, and when he wasn't sleeping he was eating. After the initial couple of days of feeling more sore and more weak and wobbly and more exhausted than I could have imagined from the actual birth itself, and after the first relentless night which had to be survived in that state, the quiet of the following week quickly got to me. Once I'd recovered from the worst of the birth process itself and the sleep deprivation hadn't built up again, I didn't always feel like napping in the day even though I was exhausted at night. In the early days there were long spells where my baby was sleeping and I suddenly found myself at a loss. 

Because my body was still recovering I wasn't up to doing much physically but my brain wanted to be engaged and doing things. The trouble was, I hadn't been expecting that and somehow couldn't work out how to entertain myself. It was confusing!

Of course, once I realised what the problem was it made complete sense. I know that I thrive on routine and that although I need lots of down time, I start to struggle pretty quickly if I don't have one thing in my day to "do." It's usually best if that thing involves leaving the house. When I don't have a change of scenery or a focus to my day everything becomes a time-passing exercise and my mood and thoughts soon begin to deteriorate. I've done so much work on occupational balance over the past couple of years that I'm really not sure why it was a surprise that the same needs applied from one week to the next even with a baby in tow!

I suppose because having a baby is such a fundamental change to life. My life will literally never be the same as it was before (Neither in a positive or negative way, it is simply a fact that it is intrinsically different now. Although I have to say I think it's the best thing that could possibly have happened to me, but more on that another time!), and I fell into the natural assumption that because the change was so all-encompassing that meant that nothing would be the same. I prepared myself to have no expectations for how things would be, to know there would be challenges and to just take each day as it would come, and learn to build a new normal with my family. 

In truth, this is a helpful approach and many things do change, but what I had perhaps overlooked (despite one or two insightful people suggesting it to me!) is that I am still the same person underneath it all. I still need a variety of occupations throughout the day. I still need familiar routines. I still carry many of the same anxieties, thoughts, memories and emotions. This is all OK. It doesn't mean I'm some kind of substandard mother because I'm not completely enclosed in a baby haze. It means I am authentically myself as a parent, which is absolutely the best way I can be for my own wellbeing, for my child to learn how to be and accept himself and therefore promote his wellbeing, and for Mr Peggy to have a less stressed wife and open communication and a good gauge of how I am doing and what I need as well as my being able to meet his needs better because I am doing well.

I know I'm an OK Mum. I know the feeling of contentment and completeness when I cuddle my baby or when he stops crying at the sound of my voice, and I know the rush of love and awe when I catch sight of him after an hour of not seeing him. I am hugely thankful for this, being at an increased risk of perinatal mental health problems due to my history. For a few days I questioned myself because I differed from my expectations and my perception of how parenthood "should" begin, but not all brains are the same, and so I once again adjust my prejudices to accept who and how I am, knowing that listening to myself and honouring what's right for me, as long as it isn't at odds with what's right for my family, is the very best way I can parent.

Many Neurodivergent Returns of the Day!

I'm a bit cross about my birthday this year. I feel it has misfallen rather, at the end of a week where I've somewhat overdone it socially, and am dealing with some fairly hefty hammers to my mental health.

I often feel that there is a great expectation to enjoy one's birthday: a pressure to celebrate and be happy (hence "many happy returns!") and have a Special Day. I feel like if I don't have a lovely day I will be disappointing people, because they have expressed their wishes and hopes that I will have fun, or have a wonderful day etc, and I have not demonstrated this to be the case. I know this isn't what they intend - they are kindly expressing their hope that the day treats me well, and I do the same to others because I hope their birthday does treat them well. But somehow it makes me feel sad or guilty if I can't fulfil those wishes!

The points I want to make are twofold, I think.

One: "happiness" isn't everything, and neither can it be manufactured or conjured up on a whim. 

Please don't start CBT-ing me here or telling me how to create my own happiness. I know we can do things to shift our emotions but that isn't my point right now! What I'm trying to say is that why should emotions be in a heirarchy with happiness at the top? Are "good" emotions somehow more valuable than "bad" ones? Am I a better person if I'm always happy? 

Admittedly it is more pleasant to feel positive emotions, and for most people it is easier to be around somebody happy than somebody sad or angry (perhaps hence the general pressure to be happy, because then the other person doesn't feel obliged to feel bad that you're feeling bad/try and help you/invest time in being with you in your sadness where it is less pleasant). 

But that doesn't actually mean that it is objectively better to be happy all the time or at a specific time. I generally end up feeling better, calmer and more at peace if I acknowledge whichever emotion I happen to be feeling at a time and honour whatever message it is bringing me. I often experience problems if I ignore my emotions or mask them or pretend that I'm feeling something I'm not.

Two: happiness looks different and is brought by different things for everybody, especially neurodivergent people.

Here's a sky to gaze at from yesterday

Today I will likely not be displaying any heightened emotion. Firstly, autistic people tend to display their emotions differently from non-autistic people, but also I generally feel at my best when I am not experiencing any heightened level of emotion, positive or negative. Many people enjoy extreme happiness or excitement, but these create disturbance in my physical and neurological systems which is unsettling and "stressful" in a body-brain way rather than a cognitive way (if I am very happy or excited they are good things but still create strain on my systems and require recovery, rather than replenishing me). So top of my emotional heirarchy would probably be "calm" or "peaceful" or "content."

When I am feeling at my absolute best, it is not astounding to see, nor necessarily apparent to others, but I am enjoying a state of non-happening, non-stress, just being how I am in that moment. This is why I like time to enjoy something that brings me happiness: I gaze at the birthday candles until they have nearly burnt away, drinking in the moment of glow and stillness, or I linger by the glorious sunset or majestic waves for longer than typical, bathing in every sensory aspect of the calm and awe it inspires. Stillness and calmness are when I feel at my true "happiest."

Visiting my Geordie Peggy
and tea at THE BEST Thai
Restaurant. And yes, we're
both autistic so we always
have the same thing! A
wonderful day, but exhasuting.

Today I stayed at home and watched my church service on YouTube. I have done too much people this week and it has been getting more and more imperative by the hour that I do something to sort this out. The peopling I have done has been so enjoyable, but I went overboard (being sociable on two consecutive days), being out of practice at scheduling because of lockdown! My brain is also trying to deal with some nasty stuff mental health-wise and that takes huge chunks out of my coping resources and notches my mood down and "negative" emotions up.

So today I was church at home, and that was just right. We managed to move this afternoon's appointment to yesterday. Basically I have managed to cancel nearly everything I would have been doing today. Mr Peggy's work day got extended slightly. I am wearing joggers and fuzzy socks. I came downstairs to balloons and pressies but no people. I have been alone for five hours and will be for two more. I have finished my jigsaw puzzle and now I'm writing a blog post. Next I will clean out the guinea pigs because hopefully then it will be Sunday (not going to church has made a confusing rift in my routine!). 

This would be a disaster of a birthday for many people, but for me it has worked out perfectly. Last night I was frustrated and upset that I was feeling so completely rubbish and that it was going to be my birthday just at that time so I wouldn't enjoy it properly. But now, I am decompressing. I am feeling better. I am looking forward to Mr Peggy coming home and to spending the evening with him, opening my presents and cards and quietly watching some unemotional TV. I have had a morning of stillness and I am several notches calmer than I was: the space I made for myself means that in spite of the week behind me, I am enjoying my birthday. It might not be the birthday you would want and it might not look how you expect a birthday to look, but my happy is not made the same way as your happy; my stress is not made the same way as your stress, and my most enjoyable day is not made the same way as yours. 

So no need to feel sad for me or judge the way I choose to spend my special day (generally, I prefer same to special, or my special in small doses amongst plenty of same!) - this is the one day of the year that I can jolly well do what I like, and this is what I liked today!

Birthday Bunting Banner 😍

Working from Home

I have never worked from home before. My job is not one you can do from home: it involves being with people in person. You cannot provide personal care for somebody who is 15 miles away. Video interaction is not accessible to the people I work with (and it is difficult for me!). Pretty much zero of my daily work activities can be undertaken remotely. 

And yet I find myself embarking on twelve weeks of working from home. Because of the government's pandemic guidance and my employer's duty of care to me I am no longer allowed to attend work in person other than to collect and drop off work. My duties completely change overnight. My work environment changes. My daily routine and weekly routine change. The amount of interaction I have with adults changes. 

Working three days a week was the perfect balance of people and isolation, productivity and relaxation, structure and freedom. I had learnt to manage my energy balance and mental wellbeing well enough to stay well and function in a way I am satisfied with more of the time than not (and using the support I have available), and to enjoy my life, on the whole. 

And now everything changes. Again. I know everything changes when baby comes anyway, but that is different: I am busy, I have a focus, things will naturally change and find their own rhythm, and I have had nine months to prepare for it. 

This change is not optional. I was in denial about it for a long time after the possibility was introduced to me, and naively thought I might be able to fight it, but it turned out to be one of those "choices" a bit like the "if I don't make this 'choice' they're going to section me" ones. So I didn't pick it, I am not enormously prepared for it, it is a big unknown, and despite the fact that I will still be working it involves a lot of time at home, which is well documented as being a stumbling block for my mental health. 

On an autistic level the change to routine and to nature of my work is problematic. I like my life to be in boxes, and different ways of spending my time are contextualised by environment so to have work and home in the same place without a transition time is difficult. Work is a large part of the rhythm of my week and helps me mark the passage of time. There will be more time in my day to fill as I won't be travelling. I struggle to transition between activities when I'm at home (autistic inertia) so I can get stuck doing one thing which turns out not to always be great for my body or mind. 

On a general human being level the change to interaction levels is problematic. I need people and I need not people. At the moment that balance works pretty well. My need for people is fulfilled by work and Mr Peggy and the odd one-to-one socialisation but I will lose out on the best kind of interaction for me: where I am parallel with others: engaged in the same task and just interacting between ourselves as and when we choose.

On a more personal mental health level the associations of not being at work are problematic.

Almost exactly this time last year I came back to live at home and due to covid thwarting my original plan to return to work before coming home, I had a month not working before I began a very phased return. The time of year is already difficult with memories (see my previous post), and being at home feels like a replication of that time. Driving home after my last day of school brought memories of the drive home from hospital, and of previous ends of year that were full of sadness and anxiety. 

I also worry that the combination of being of work, not feeling great and waiting for a change to come will take me back to September 2019 when I was home from work unwell. I wouldn't have thought of this except that my first trimester felt very much like that indeed, and I was still working then. I struggled immensely with those mental effects of the first 13 weeks of pregnancy (although it took me a while to pinpoint exactly what it was!) so it does now occur to me that I am again entering a similar situation.

I am trying hard to focus on the positives of being at home. I can be flexible with my time and arrange my support throughout the week to help me cope. I can conserve my energy for things that I want to do - as the exhaustion of being in the third trimester increases I won't have to save all my energy for the physical demands of my job and I will likely be able to work for longer. As lockdown eases I will be able to get out and about more, to meet with friends, to join my in person yoga classes and gain interaction in those ways (although this also brings some unease because it doesn't feel right to be out enjoying myself in person when I'm not allowed to work in person). I will have more time and energy for preparing for baby as my travel times will be gained back. I have a great support network who will do everything they can to help me cope with this time and maximise its benefits.

Let's see what happens.