CBT

posted on March 10, 2019 by elizabeth

Isn’t it time to spring clean toxic people?

A few years ago I wrote a blog post about my experience with CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) and after it was live I got an angry text from someone really close to me telling me to contact them ‘urgently’.
They were furious. Furious that I had written honestly about my depressive episode and needing therapy.

“You made it sound like no one around you gave a f*ck.”

I didn’t.

“You have to be careful what you put on the internet, people will think you’re crazy.”

What?

“Someone could report you and then social services will take your children away because you’re crazy.”

Are you kidding me?

“You can be angry at me all you want, but I’m trying to look out for you.”

No, they weren’t.

This conversation haunts me still. Not because there was truth to anything they said – to this day I’ve had nothing but positive comments and messages about sharing the realities of coping with depression in motherhood – but because I let it scare me to the point where I shut down the blog for almost a year because I was worried about how other people viewed me.

I eventually came back to writing and this person went back to being supportive, but I stayed away from anything that would cause that reaction again.
Now I know that their reaction to the piece was more about their insecurities than my willingness to be open about mental health.
It took time and A LOT of work on myself to be able to push through the fear of their opinion (or anyone else’s)so I could write truthfully again.
I’m basically at a place now where I refuse to let my journey with mental health define me but I’m far from ashamed of it.
I believe everything happens for a reason. We go through the bad stuff for the lessons and to grow; and without my experiences with depression I wouldn’t have been able to write the Amy Cole series.
This weekend a book of mine reached #1 in two Amazon best-seller categories and #2 in another.
I would never have been able to achieve this had I stayed silent and crushed by this person’s opinion.

It was because of this incident that I will never let another person’s opinion stop me from doing something I love – no matter how close they are to me.

The best part of releasing these books and making this dream a reality were the countless messages I received from strangers who read them and saw themselves in Amy’s struggle. The most commonly used word people chose in their messages or reviews was ‘relatable’.

I can’t stress this enough:
You are not alone in this. You never have to be and this season of struggle doesn’t have to define your life.

There are people, resources and support out there and if you still feel you can’t reach out to family and friends to talk about it, then click on the message icon of this page and vent to a rambling stranger who writes overly long pieces about mental health on a Sunday morning because her kids were up too early.

Do whatever it takes to break free from the fear that depression thrives on but especially: don’t let the bastards get you down, you never know what your life can become once you spring clean the toxic arseholes from your life.

😘

The final part of the Amy Cole series: Amy Cole has it all figured out, is available NOW!

Find out where it all began and read Amy Cole has lost her mind FOR FREE on Kindle Unlimited here

posted on November 12, 2017 by elizabeth

Accepting help for my wonky brain

Funny story – well, it’s funny now and my sister doesn’t come across too well but fuck it (sorry, Rachael).

On St Patrick’s Day, this year I was in the local shopping centre to watch my niece do some Irish dancing. It was packed, as it always is on that day and I was boiling. It was a long wait and after the first watch of the performance I told my sister I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave. She was not pleased. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I had to wait until the next performance to take a video of my niece dancing – because apparently Rachael had lost the use of her hands. I mean, she hadn’t but I blame her for my humiliation so let’s pretend she’s as mean as I’m letting on here.

After that I can remember thinking: “Oh, God I’m going to vomit in the middle of the shopping centre and this is going to be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Oh, how wrong I was.

As I struggled to find my sister’s handbag to vomit in, as retribution for making me stay in this hell hole, I started to get dizzy and that’s the last thing I remember. I woke up to the sound of a very loud Belfast accent asking me about drugs.

I was completely and utterly confused as to where I was and why the hell there was a man asking me for drugs. He wasn’t of course, it was a paramedic asking was I on any (I wasn’t, mum). I hadn’t vomited; I had fainted in the middle of the damn shopping centre and now was being wheeled out of the place on one of the busiest days of the year in Newry. This was a whole new level of embarrassment and I wholeheartedly blame my sister for this and will do until my dying day.

Turns out, I’m anaemic. No big deal, I have to take an iron tablet every day or I’ll end up on my ass again. It’s necessary and not something I’m remotely ashamed about, although I could stand to eat more spinach now and again. So, why is it that, up until about a week ago, I was still very ashamed to admit that I was taking daily antidepressants?

I mean it’s very simple: the chemicals in my brain are a bit skewed and this sorts it out. I’ve been very forthcoming with my battle against depression. When it comes to the worst times I’ve been through because of this disease, you can find it rather quickly on this website but as for the day-to-day reality of living with it I shy away from admitting things.

I was getting into bed and taking the iron tablet and the Sertraline (my not-so-secret-shame drug of choice) and something just clicked. What’s the big deal here? I have been on these tablets for 15 months; I quite literally need them to keep things on the level and I’ve worked damn hard to get to a place where I can accept these ‘failings’ in my brain.

Don’t get me wrong, they don’t solve everything – not by a long shot – and that’s where CBT comes in. I still have depressive episodes but the difference is I know there’s an end to it and I can bounce back a lot quicker than I would be able to do if I was going without them. I want to have complete transparency with my children when it comes to all things mental health related, especially because I am terrified of the hereditary nature of the disease. I can’t do much about that, but I can be a positive role model on how they can deal with it.

The conversation about anxiety and depression is much more open one these days but I was still ashamed to admit that I needed help of the pharmaceutical variety. I’m not anymore. I’ve just accepted that I need a little help, be it medication or practising the skills I learned through CBT.

I’ve no intention of going off them anytime soon in order to prove to myself that I can do without the cushioning they provide, why would I?

My point is: if you’re reading this and are worried about having to take the step and get help for dealing with this disease, don’t be. Fuck it, nobody is getting any medals for doing without.

I’m not ashamed of being on prescribed antidepressants in a fight against a disease that is literally trying to kill me, should I let it get on top of me again.

I’m not ashamed of who I am, not anymore – and neither should you be.

posted on March 1, 2015 by elizabeth

Time to Say ‘Goodbye’

It’s a Sunday morning and instead of indulging in my hangover anxiety I’ve decided to make a change.

Anxiety goes hand-in-hand with depression for me. At it’s worst it can stop me functioning or even from putting my head above the covers, and this week I could feel its grubby little hands tightening around my throat.

My palms were getting sweaty at the thought of having to leave the house, I was getting stressed out being left in charge of two small children and with Conor working late I was allowing myself to indulge in the isolation and letting it breed and grow.

The only thing that can anchor me back to reality when I can feel it rising is to curl myself up onto Conor’s lap. It’s like a safety net and gives me the opportunity to slow my breathing down.

Anyway, this isn’t meant to be a post about anxiety. This is about me deciding to fight it.

I’m ready to take it all on. It’s the first time since all this has started that I finally believe I can do it. I can take it all on and, most importantly, win.

I’m ready to really put my all into CBT and properly see doctors to tame this once and for all (I’m not stupid enough to think this can be eradicated, but I will conquer it).

I went out last night and had a fantastic time laughing and dancing and drinking with my family. The morning after nights out are normally spent nursing a hangover and is loaded with the usual personal character assassination of the most brutal kind: you’re a horrible wife, a useless mother, a rubbish friend etc etc – but not this morning.

This morning, I went into my kitchen I put on some loud music (Sia – how freaking amazing is she?) and I danced barefoot around the table. I danced like no one was watching, because know one was. It was just me, letting go and being happy in the moment.

It was fantastic and inspiring and it helped me take this step. The veil dropped and I’m ready to be the best version of myself that I can be.

I know I can be a better wife, a fun mum and a supportive friend. I’m going to be a better runner, writer and housewife. I’m going to dance barefoot in my kitchen with my children and enjoy their childhood. I’m going to leave the toys on the living room floor because they’re not meant to live in a box. I’m going to kiss my husband just because I can. I’m going to hold his hand when we are sitting on the sofa doing nothing but looking at tv and enjoy it because we’re lucky to have each other. I’m going to enjoy spending time with my family and friends because I love them. Each and every annoying, mentally imbalanced one of them.

So right here and now I’m making a promise: I’m going to beat this.

It’s not for my husband, my children or my friends it’s simply for me.

I may fall, I may falter but I will not fail because in the words of my very wise friend Lasairiona: “I’m a fucking gladiator.”

Bring it on.

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