Tag: PCOS

Free

A bright star glints in the dark sky, it doesn’t ask to be shrouded in nothingness; captured and released when and if it pleases at the night’s discretion. Yielding to the night isn’t easy, it kills the beacons’ will from within, every time twilight issues its call. Death is the same every time. Every single time. Like the scheduled appearance of the Sun, the night arrives with its indifference but isn’t always welcome. Make that never. Welcome to only a masochist, perhaps. The star’s will is weak. Its power diminishes with every passing second. Who knows whether the night intends to shroud the star in darkness, trapping it in all it has ever known. The pattern never changes, holding the star back from the world it wishes to shine into. It needs a chance. Just once. To explore other atmospheres. Release itself to others. Others who stand to watch the light flourish and survive its new surroundings. Growing in constant awe of its wish to move away from the known and into the life it always knew would outshine its former darkened self.

I was the light.

Anxiety is the darkness.

I burst from the grasp now and again, heading from nothing and into the unknown.

Finally free.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Drowning in prayers

Because there is no life without the wave. That was it. That’s all. Everything. A greatness that had engulfed her but not suffocated her in its depths, but pushed her to the surface with grace and adoration. Two working together to keep one another flowing. Their time together seemingly short but lasting a lifetime. Relying on each other for their strength and power. The hidden depths don’t frighten her and its power over her is forgotten in that brief but unending moment. Crashing her against the rocks unforgiving and endlessly painful the wave beats her. Its power once overlooked is the death of them both. She would have drowned in the idea, yet ‘the wave’ casts her aside with the other debris. The wave will keep coming back, and she playing in the surf mournfully remembers the time she had wanted to join its deafening silence, the crashing stillness. When it does come back she allows the ice cold thought to embrace her soul again before being thrown against the shore. She knows no other way than this. She could move to calmer waters but hears the call of waves breaking and knows…. only too well…. she will eventually drown in salty tears.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

The difference a day makes

Yesterday, after 4 hours of sleep, we forced ourselves out of the front door and into the car. The sun had been in the sky for less than 3 hours and it was shining brightly and extremely hot. Where we were heading called for little clothing but with the reward of being able to cool down.

Conversation was rapid fire as it often is with being over-tired and by the time we pulled into the car park we were raring to go.

As you may have gleaned from previous blogs I’m very uncomfortable in my own skin, hide my body away and this means I have not worn a swimming costume in the UK in over 23 years. Even abroad I’ve only worn one twice in the last 20 years. I usually wear a dress and roll down the straps. Or shorts and a t-shirt. Lately I’ve wanted to push myself to do things I’m scared of. So at 8am yesterday I took off my dress to reveal the swimming costume underneath and stepped onto the cool sand.

The tide was low but the water was cool. Not the gasp-inducing cool that takes your breath away, but the kind of cool that makes you say ‘ooo that’s nice’ and then venture on.

With a lot of slimy and slippery rocks in the water it was slow going and Mr W led me in one baby step at a time. The water felt amazing on my bare legs. Bare legs! Me!

The waves were gentle and before long we were thigh deep. We both agreed not being able to see the large rocks was disconcerting and took a moment to dip down in the water. I felt so free and happy. It was as if with each wave my fears were being cleansed away.

It helps that we were the only ones on the entire shoreline. I’m not naive to that exact fact. It was the reason we went so early. Crowded places, as you may have realised in ‘Panic at the concert’ (link below), are not something we take lightly. So if we can get up early enough to have a place to ourselves we will. It’s also wonderful to say you had a whole beach to yourself!

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/07/16/panic-at-the-concert/

We watched the waves roll the sunlight about for a while longer and turned to walk back to our bags. My body carried itself lighter than ever before. It wasn’t hidden. And I wasn’t ready to cover up just yet.

Mr W took the bags up to the dryer part of the beach while I found a shallow pool of water. At first I sat in its depths feeling it cool my legs. I looked up and saw the odd dog walker on the cliffs. I chided myself for wanting to hide my body again. I splashed the water over myself to shut the thoughts up.

With a devil may care attitude I lay back in the pool and felt the water lap at my shoulders and neck. I knew that half the sandy beach would end up in my hair but I didn’t care. I was laying here, vulnerable and yet enjoying every second.

After 30 or so minutes the cool waters had reduced my skin to goosebumps and the warm sand was calling to me.

Standing up I slowly sauntered to the waiting beach towel. Arms by my side. Not folded. Shoulders back. Not hunched. Head up. Not face down.

I sat on the sand letting the morning sun dry my hair and warm me slowly. Mr W showed me the basics of flying his new drone and we smiled, laughed and talked of our impending trip to Scotland.

The anxiety of the night before felt a million miles away and I high-fived myself mentally. It sounds like such a small victory I know but imagine denying yourself the right to feel the sea on your skin without the cover of clothing for over 20 years.

Mr W and I are already looking for a less rocky beach to continue my carefree activities!

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Blocked

I am sitting here frustrated. 

I can’t write. I’m wondering why. I am hitting the keys of my lovely laptop with such vigour Mr W is occasionally looking at me. I know he wants to calmly tell me to go easy. This is frustrating. So frustrating I am allowing the laptop to pick up the errors in my typing rather than sort them myself. I’m usually a good touch typist. I owe that to years of staying up late on MSN Messenger with my friends during my school years. 

I absolutely detest writer’s block. My last two blogs have come from my archive of past writings. It has been a busy month I’ll admit but when I’m stuck I’ll look to life as I know it or past trips and away I go. But today – nada!

Maybe today’s shopping experience has left a sour taste in my mouth and brain. I’d like to share with you one tidbit. Maybe you won’t have heard of it. Maybe it’s something you’ll relate to. Not ALL girls like shopping. I for one will find one staple and buy it in every colour rather than tour around a shopping hall. And I have. During my twenties I had every colour of one particular jumper going. And when the shop changed that jumper’s design I felt attacked! How very dare they. 

When I worked in London, the story was very similar, I would wear one staple dress in various colours, leggings and a jacket or cardigan to suit. I was a slave to Primark and its easy wear items. 

These days, I wear the same two pairs of jeans and choose from my faithful 6-7 tops out of a sea of clothing in my wardrobe. I will occasionally buy a dress for a wedding or a party and it’s the only time I take care in what I’m wearing. I suspect this is because there are other people around and I want to make sure I’m looking the part. Which part that is I’m not sure. Wedding guest. Cousins 30th attendee. Engagement celebrator extraordinaire. 

Last year, I did something completely out of character and bought a vivid yellow casual dress. Did I like it? Yes, enough to buy it. Do I like it now? Completely and unfathomably, I have no idea. It fits, it doesn’t need ironing (always a bonus) however I’ve come to the realisation I don’t even know what my style is.  

If you’re a returning reader you’ll know I’m a big girl. If you’re a first time guest, I’m a big girl. Small in stature. Curvy round the middle. It’s caused by emotional eating (hello poor mental health) and my life long struggle turned-fight with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. So growing up it didn’t really matter what I liked the look of in the shops, it wouldn’t fit anyway. And therein started the problem. Why try and find a style that didn’t cater for the plus size teenager?

Things are a lot better now for plus size peeps. You’ll find a lot online and have it delivered right to your door! Isn’t that swell! But… What if we want to venture out into the world and shop til we drop? To spend money on clothes instead of bills. To bring home pretty things after a long day with friends, shopping, chatting and enjoying it all. 

The last few days, Mr W has tried to push me, ever so gently, into buying new clothes. The vivid yellow dress is the one outfit I can wear without bursting into flames in the recent heatwave. While at home I am the queen of pyjamas and most recently a comfy jogging bottom. Which is fine when you have a fan whirring alongside you but out in the fanless real world, I need some clothes. I had a snoop around online and found a few dresses I liked the look of but I want to see them in person! I hate not being able to feel the fabric and check the length. I ordered a pair of trousers recently and they were definitely not designed for my 5’5 height. I think maybe a height of 6’5 would have worked well. I pulled them up to my bra and went on my merry way. 

Lesson learned.

Tonight, we headed out into the dreaded unknown to find the dresses I’d seen online. Only to find, on arrival, that the store was closed. Disappointed we spent the next hour scouring the shops for anything bigger than a UK size 16 and came away entirely empty handed. Oh wait, tell a lie I got some day cream, body scrub and bin bags! Wahey! 

It’s only now I truly understand that the highstreet does not cater to anyone above a size 16, who does not want gaudy prints or shapeless sacks to wear. What is interesting about this little conundrum is how the UK’s average dress size is a 16. And yet in all shops but 3 today the biggest size they stocked WAS a 16. I’m inclined to think that the only place my money is any good is online. I’ve heard this so many times on the ‘Go Love Yourself’ podcast (link below) but not yet realised it for myself. All this time I thought I was being picky or not knowing my own style but I’ve come to realise today that I’ve grown up not being given a chance to experience clothing like others. 

And that is a very sad situation.

I can hear a few people, there in my head, saying why not lose weight so you can fit into the high street clothes? And the simple answer is, why? Well, and how. My PCOS doesn’t like me thin, in fact it likes to add to my weight whenever it feels prudent to. And there are other women AND men out there who are big for a variety of physical and mental health reasons too. And even if they aren’t big for those reasons, it’s their life, their choice and is their money not good enough?

I came away today deflated, defeated and crying. It’s hard to feel good without being able to project that through clothing. It’s a form of expression. It’s hard to come to the realisation that when it comes to style I have been stifled. As other people have. I assume this is the same for people who don’t fit the ‘normal’ range of heights too. Something has to change. 

Well, would you look at that the writer’s blockage has come unstuck. Now if only the block in shops could be removed too!

Go Love Yourself

When you wish upon a star




Recently I have started to lose a lot of hope and am finding solace in my dreams. In my night-time escapades I am pregnant, we have a child, we are floating along a blissful highway of completeness and can travel anywhere in the world without flight cancellations and the threat of covid. There is a lot to stay asleep for. The stars shine outside in the night sky blinking on regardless.

With all our education into what is out there; even the most learned man, woman and child glances up at the night sky and projects their hopes and dreams into the big dark nothing. We cannot dictate our dreams, we cannot sleep and live forever in the playground of the night. So our second best bet is to send our wishes into the universe hoping the stars hear our calls and grant us their magic. For what are the lights in the darkness but hope and safety.

The facts say that millions upon millions of miles away there are balls of gases that burn so spectacularly bright that we can see them, even here. The light travels through space and time to us and even long after the gases have burnt out, the light continues on. Reaching out.

If we trace the night sky and find a star to wish upon it’ll become like an old friend you return to. And forever you’ll find your star out there. No dream dies as long as there is hope. No star dies without one final light in the sky. So as long as we continue to project hopes to the stars there is no hope to be lost. It is travelling through the big nothing to reach your star and when it does I like to think that light will fill your life and your belief will burn brighter than it ever did before. It’s believing in more than facts. It’s believing that one day your star will come through. It’s knowing that the simple things in life bring the brightest lights out.

All you need to do is reach right back to it. Don’t lose hope. The stars are always there. And in turn hope is always there.

And that ‘when you wish upon a star your dreams come true.’

Through the fire and the rain

Well we survived.

Our first fertility appointment is done. There were some expected moments. Weight, BMI etc. Other unexpected moments, like the explaining of certain things with diagrams and having read my history which the last guy didn’t bother doing. I’m having a procedure which I was not expecting but am taking it as another ruling out of any unseen problems. There were two moments that upset me. Or maybe, angered me, I’m not sure.  The Doctor asked me a question and while I was talking his mobile phone rang and he answered it. I continued talking to the nurse and when the Doctor had told the person on the phone he would call back later, he asked me to repeat what I’d said. No! How about you not take a personal call while your patient is in the room, talking and answering your question. But no obviously I didn’t say that, I just repeated myself. All he had to do was say, sorry excuse me one moment, answer the phone, tell them he would call them back. But he said nothing of the sort. To be honest, it is things like that I don’t accept from anyone so me feeling anxious and nervous about the appointment didn’t add to it. It’s just plain rude. I’m a person. Not a number on a sheet. ANYWAY! The other was when I asked for weight loss advice and he said I don’t know. Nice and blunt. Thanks buddy. So I’ve taken to the internet again and will call my GP because trying for 20 years has got me nowhere. 

But ya know what, I’d fed up with having all the research in the world and it still does not get me anywhere with the NHS. They have their criteria and I can either like it or lump it. I’m not a naturally rebellious person but it does feel like the criteria is old and unbefitting of the fertility problems people face. Especially those with PCOS. The thing is, I can sit, stand, stomp my foot screaming and shouting the actual facts of PCOS and it won’t make a difference. I’m one voice. The government does not care. The top dogs in the NHS who govern fertility funding do not care. And I’ve reached the point that its time to jump through their hoops. I have no fight left in me. I have to prepare for the fight of losing a substantial amount of weight if I ever have a chance of getting help. It may happen naturally if I lose weight. Who knows. There’s a chance. But if I dont fall naturally I still fit their stupid criteria and have a chance of ovulation and hormone drugs. Some would liken it to blackmail. We’ll do ‘this’ if you do ‘that’. It’s sad when you really think about it. Because PCOS isn’t caused by weight. If they treated the causes, treated what I’m deficient in I could be a happy, healthy curvy mum. Rather than unhappy, unhealthy, skinny tick on the criteria. 

Jumping through the hoop is the only way. Time to bite the bullet and play their game. 

And I’m coming to peace with it. It was driving home today in the rain when I looked in the mirror and saw the most beautiful colours in the sun setting sky. On the mirror were droplets from the weather, but in the mirror were the reds and purples that glowed between the rain clouds. I often look to the sky for guidance and a sense of calming. It’s my place of perspective. 

The sky tonight was no different. It told me that though the rain may be hard and make you want to turn back, scream or shout, wondering if you can carry on, it can also mean that something beautiful is waiting on the other side. That giving it time, to be cold and rough and tough to face, rain can also be what’s needed to make a better tomorrow. So I’m taking solace in the rain and the sunset tonight. Sometimes the journey will experience hard times, rain does that. Sometimes it’ll make things blurry and shift the focus. But it’s not forever. The appointment was hard, the journey seems harder but at least I’m on my journey now, with Mr W, and it’s on the way to something beautiful.

Pink hair do care

Tomorrow is a big day. 

Our first appointment with the fertility clinic after a 14 month wait. It’s been a long wait and after a rollercoaster of a week in terms of cancellations and getting a last minute appointment for tomorrow, I’m in a bit of shock. I feel sick with anxiety. I feel I already know what’s coming. I’ll be offered the tests I have already had and I’ll be told to lose weight. Doctors petrify me at the best of times but when it comes to my weight I’m really sensitive and know I’ll sit there like a child being told off. I almost feel the need to impress this Doctor to be treated like a human. It’s true, I’ve spoken to other people who are overweight recently and they feel like second rate humans because of their size. I used to think it was all in my head. 

Today I had a baby shower to go to. After yesterday’s 30+ degrees of hot weather and a rough night’s sleep I knew I needed to feel good about myself so I could relax and put on my happy face. Baby showers aren’t the hardest thing to deal with when you are struggling with your own fertility, usually it’s the baby announcements, but I can’t estimate how I’ll feel on the day. So getting ready today I wanted to wear something to keep cool but also not feel like this huge beast. I love a new pair of trousers I bought recently, but they are wide legged and therefore make me look bigger. Not good for confidence at all! They are so lightweight that I put them on and said to the mirror, you deserve to feel cooler like everyone else. I went to the wardrobe to get a cardigan and realised it was my go to ‘cover-up’. Not because the temperature may have changed during the day, but because it covered my arms, back, bum and body. I use it to hide away. I closed the cupboard door and left the house before I could change my mind. No safety cardigan in sight. I deserve to be cool on a hot day!

I also reasoned that having recently dyed my hair pink the focus would be on that and not on my chubby arms. Ironically, I did have a brief thought that this day was going to be about the mummy-to-be and no one would pay me a bit of attention! It’s funny, I’ve had pink hair for two weeks and as I’ve been out and about I get a few looks and I automatically think they’re staring at me for my weight. Or something else. It’s only when I catch my hair swishing around my face that I remember its pink. I forget all about it. Does it make me uglier? Prettier? I have had to remind myself recently that what I wear and how I look is the least interesting thing about me. It’s a mantra I’m really trying to live by. 

‘The way you look is the least interesting thing about you.’ 

A recent,  little quote I have acquired from the ‘Go Love Yourself’ podcast by the lovely Laura Adlington and Lauren Smith. If you need a boost, a different perspective on weight, appearance and everything in between, I highly recommend it! 

Go Love Yourself

As much as I’ve fought for this appointment I am so nervous and going back to my pink hair I’m actually wondering if it is going to work against me. These are the worries that plague my mind. Is this why I couldn’t sleep last night? Or was it really the incredible heat and hayfever symptoms? Maybe I won’t sleep tonight instead. The rain has taken away the pollen and the temperature has more than halved since this morning. So there’s only my anxieties left. Yay! What if they see me, my hair and write me off before even talking? I feel as if this will be an interview. That I’ll have ticks and crosses against my name. I have to remind myself over and over that I deserve the same as everyone else. 

Why should I regret the hair? It has been a shake up and a bit of fun. Something to mix things up a bit. Life has been a bit static recently for sure. My hayfever does prevent me from getting a full night’s sleep and therein lies the problem I believe. My anxiety gets a lot worse when I’m tired. And then I can’t sleep because I’m anxious. Hello, vicious circle! 

Isn’t this a fun post? 

As we are home now and my appointment is in 13 hours I feel my stomach tying itself in knots and my need to keep busy is ridiculously strong. I knew that keeping busy today would help. However going to a baby shower when you yourself are going to a fertility appointment isn’t the easiest thing to deal with. Usually, as I said, baby showers aren’t too hard to deal with. I think it’s because you have time to prepare. You know when the baby announcement is made, like the birth, a baby shower is part and parcel. I just think today caught me right in the heart. It reminded me of our journey and I did have to excuse myself for a quick cry in the toilets. These kinds of things just remind me of what we don’t have. 

Tomorrow is the first step of a journey that will be difficult. I’ve already been told that. One thing I’m glad of is Mr W. He has my back. He’s my fighter. He picks me up when I fall. He tells me to wear the trousers I love. To ditch the cardigan. And to dye my hair the colours of the rainbow if I need to. Because no matter what I wear or how I look. I am me. And that will always be enough. 

Pcos and the feelings of failure

Living with PCOS will always be challenging. 

There are the physical and mental effects that I’ve discussed in depth. The anxieties around both are often strangulating. One of my biggest anxieties in life is letting others down. So it is only natural when it comes to my health and having children that I feel a great sense of failure when it comes to other people. 

Since July 2021, I have been VERY open about my life with PCOS. I want the people in my life to feel comfortable asking me questions about the condition and how it affects me, Mr W and our life together. I also want to get to the point where I am comfortable enough to say, ‘Thank you for asking, but I am not in the frame of mind today to discuss that, can we talk about it when I am?’. I think that helps give me a mental  break from it all on particularly challenging days and also tells the other person their questioning is valid and welcome for another time. I am really trying to focus on boundaries. Before I met Mr W, I had boundaries often built on sarcasm and avoidance. Since he came along I am more open, probably too open. I often thought it was all or nothing. Now I know you can choose what walls to build. Ones with barbed wire and others with doors that can give others an insight at your choosing. It is liberating to have this control. It’s not easy. And it starts with one discussion at a time. One strong step at a time. Knowing you aren’t being rude but knowing your own limits and protecting how far you’ve come. 

The main part of feeling like a failure for me is when I’m surrounded by children. They could be my beautiful nieces, all 4 of them, kids at the park or children of my friends. Seeing children sets off this yearning inside my heart and when I see other people play out their parental role I can’t help but feel like my body has failed me. And I it. How is it that the most natural thing in the world is not coming natural to me? It’s hardest when I’m spending time with my nieces and cooking them dinner, tucking them into bed or cuddling up to me on the sofa. I never pull them in for a hug, I let them do what they want, so the cuddles they clamber onto my lap for are some of the most precious moments in my life so far. It’s a real bond that tugs at my heart strings. It’s when I’ve heard, ‘Oh, you’re so good with the girls.’ that I feel like I’ve failed my family the most. Please don’t get me wrong, it’s the most loveliest of compliments, but in my head I translate it to ‘You’d be a good mum.’ and it hurts my heart. 

Two of my nieces had a sleepover at our home last year. They are early birds, especially the youngest, and as they had slept a few more hours than us, I plonked the youngest down in our bed between Mr W and I, and snoozed the early morning hours away. It was a moment I could see happening if we have a baby. Gentle snores as the sky outside turned from night to day. Later that day, they had bathtime, fresh clothes and then ‘wrestling playtime’ with the giant panda in the bedroom. The perfect Sunday’s I dream of with our own children. Mr W took the lead and the room was filled with laughter and racing legs. Seeing him with the girls, so natural in the role, is so beautiful and yet a reminder of what my body is depriving him of. Failure shines like a beacon so strong at times it feels blinding. When we have my nieces here, any of the beautiful 4, I am their Auntie, the adult in charge, their protector and friend, I feel as though I’m playing the part of mum that is quickly taken away when they leave. To play pretend is not enough. It is fake and quite frankly painful when it ends.

In my 8 years of being an Auntie I have had many moments like this. From the beautiful laughter to the nasty stinking nappies, all add up to the memories I want with my own children. I often hate my body for its failures. 

Lately, I’ve learned more about PCOS and how my body is indeed in a state of disarray but there are ways to improve, fight back and repair. It isn’t easy, but if I don’t help my body I am failing it in turn. A big example of this can be found in my tears on a park bench 6 days ago. My evening run had ended abruptly when my body would not cooperate as I would have liked. Having completed the NHS Couch to 5k before, I honestly thought our reintroduction to it would be easier. And yet I have found it so much harder. Why, I do not know. But the end of week four has seen me stumbling along in absolute agony. Again, why is my body failing me? So as we sat there, Mr W said if this wasn’t working for me, we would find something that would work. Just because running was a failed attempt at getting healthy, didn’t mean every physical exercise would be. It’s a change in mindset, to stop being so derogatory to oneself and challenge your mindset everyday, but it really changes that ‘failure’ narrative.    

Something I am yet to do is challenge my PCOS so I can be physically healthy and that means not JUST to have a baby, but to live stronger, longer and feel better than I did the days and years before. Maybe this is a new failure on my part. It’s only lately that I’ve come to terms with the fact that this condition is not just problematic in terms of fertility but in how it affects my body as a whole. My body deserves more. Failing to recognise this is brought about by the learnings around the condition. The lack of learning that was and is available unless you go looking yourself. That is a failing of the education and health systems in place in this country. It is a success of mine to now look beyond this and learn for myself.

Only briefly, I will touch on this most mentally challenging failure I feel from time to time. I know they will read this and I hope it comes as no shock to them that I feel I am failing my parents. Mr W’s too. My family. His family. Our family as a whole. But it is mostly my parents, who I see as amazing grandparents to my nieces, that I feel a huge pang of failure. I want to provide them with more grandchildren and to stop them worrying for me. I feel worry as a wife, a friend, a daughter and I can only imagine that the worry you have for your child is more than any other worry. I wish I could stop their worries for me. I do not like the idea of them being sad or concerned. Do I want to have children to make them happy? Yes, is it the sole reason? Heck no! It’s just part and parcel of the gift of having a child. I see in my mind my dad giving our child their first book. Maybe teaching them to read. I see my mum sneaking her grandchild a Cadbury button despite our pleas for no more sugar. There is a glint in her eye. Mr W’s mum holds her grandchild in her arms and exclaims that they look like her son. They have his eyes. I see all this in a loop in my head. How can I not feel like failure when I can’t bring this into existence? 

As I said before, having a child is one of the most natural things in the world, and I feel like I’m failing everyone around me who wants that for me. They see my sadness and want it to end. We all know how it ends. A baby. What I need to try and dismiss are the feelings of failure. They only add to what is already a pretty stressed out body. This body is coping with anxieties because of the physical effects, the mental health conditions that are tied to it and the very real physical stress in every cell of my body. It does not need any more. So I need to come to an agreement with myself. 

I am only failing if I give up. Some days it feels like a closer option than other days. It is like I am balancing on my toes on the failure line and a slight breeze will push me over. I just have to keep pushing back. Weakly or strongly. Whatever I have at the time. 

I do feel pride in how open I am about my life with PCOS because I no longer feel like I am hiding away and almost feel like I am spreading the word. The more people know, the less stigma other women out there may feel. This isn’t something we asked for. It is in our very make up. It’s not pretty. It’s not easy. Acknowledging this recently has changed how I feel when it comes to failing. There will always be harder days when I’m at my worst and I want to crawl into bed. I admit that does happen. I also admit that at this point, I just let it happen. I’m listening to what my body and head needs. Time to shut down to restart again the next day. Not failing, but learning. 

Please visit these blogs to find out more:

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/11/pcos-and-me/

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/19/pcos-fertility-and-me/

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/06/02/when-i-was-19-and-it-was-first-hinted-that-i-had-pcos-i-knew-nothing-of-the-condition-being-put-on-the-pill-by-a-doctor-made-me-think-it-was-going-to-help-i-trusted-it-was-for-the-best-it-was-when/

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

The mental health butterfly

I saw a butterfly fly past me towards the park today. Mr W and I were heading out for our evening run. Recent events have seen me a blubbering mess and frankly such a hideous sight should be locked away behind blinds, windows and panelled doors. But our evening plans to run were calling and I needed something positive to happen. The butterfly was quite large, its colours were so bright I stopped for a moment to watch its flight. 

I usually people-watch while I run, mostly to stop me from running into them, or to make sure they see me coming. There are many times in which I indulge in people-watching. On the beach, in restaurants and in shops to name a few. However, there are only ever a few times in my life that watching has turned to interaction. I remember leaving work one day, years ago, I was lost in thought and consequently a little old lady walked straight into me. No fault of either really, her eyes were on her misguided feet, mine were in the clouds. I apologised profusely, and she said “there are worse things dear” and tottered off.

I wasn’t sure if she meant that having her stocking gathered around her ankle was the worst thing or that an accident on a token sunny afternoon was really such a big deal. How often do we stress about the small stuff until it becomes this spewing volcano in our not so bad lives? I remember a visitor to my office during that time that had lost her husband recently.  She had two children. Both girls. The older one had graduated a few months after they lost him. Having been through University myself I know how much it meant to have my parents around when I graduated. Telling them the results, taking the photos in my cap and gown and simply being able to make them proud. The younger girl in that family faced moments without her dad. It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Tonight, and most of this week to be fair, I’ve had my fair share of wobbles. Emotionally I’m not where I would like to be. The world feels isolated from me. I couldn’t manage our run. It’s the first time I’ve physically not been able to move. My legs wouldn’t cooperate and my brain couldn’t force them on. Maybe because mentally I’m at a stalemate too. I sat on a bench staring at the trees wondering what the answer was. Mr W sat beside me and I felt so ashamed. To feel so lost and searching for an answer. I’m not unhappy. My life is so blessed in so many beautiful ways. But there are times when I can’t see the good, when I can’t find myself. This week has been one of those times. 

As we left, well hobbled, out of the park, we saw a car with its hazard lights on pull over to the curb. The man jumped out of the car and looked as though he would throw up in the bushes. Seconds later, he was half kneeling half squatting and Mr W went to investigate. An unmarked police car sped by with his lights flashing as I crossed the road to see if I could do anything. I offered the man water and as quick as my banged up legs would take me I rushed home. I returned with fruit, biscuits and water as Mr W kept an eye out. We stayed until the man felt well enough to drive to work and quit for the night to go home and then we carried on our way. Mr W expressed shock that the police hadn’t pulled over to ask if everything was okay. I said they probably didn’t realise what was going on. It made me realise that mental health will never be addressed until we ask for help. If we had waved down the police I would think they would have stopped. If I wave down Mr W, family, friends, they will stop and help me. They just don’t know how. And neither do I. 

It’s only when I stop and think of the people who too are going through a difficult time and what I would do to help them that I realise I’m not so isolated from the world. Because I too have help when I need it. I just need to ask. Naturally there are going to be things in life and people in life that make us cry, push us down and make us question if we are the person we would like to be. Am I a bad person? Is my bad mental health my own fault?

I’ve suffered for so many years with questions. So many questions that make me doubt who I am to myself and to others. Because these questions are never answered I close myself off. Even when the questions are answered I don’t trust them. Why do I fail so hard when it comes to my own mental and physical health? Why can’t my body do what I tell it to?

More questions.

I want to believe one day I’ll break free of my cocoon, where I’ve spent so long growing and adapting, that I too will be able to rise above the questions and avoid bumping into the old ladies. I’ll have the ability to not sweat the small stuff, to view it from a higher perspective and be content just admiring the view. I just need to ask for help. And not feel ashamed for doing so. One day I’ll find my wings. 

Letter to our future baby

I wish you were here.

You just need to be here in my arms. Looking up at me. Me and you. Your dad is next to you. You are just sitting. Living. Breathing in this world where we are. I feel like I know your face. I know your noises. I can feel your touch. I have seen it in my mind a million times. You’re real. There are times I feel I’m starting to lose who I am because who I am doesn’t make sense without you. You are what we hope for everyday. There’s so much love just waiting for you. Love for you from everyone. You have no idea how much you will be loved when you are here. It just seems so hard. So impossible to think of you actually being here. I don’t know how long it will take and I’m scared of it never happening. 

This road, this journey we are on, just feels like it’s never going to start. That it’s never going to end. Such a long road with its twists and turns and u-turns that I’m just not strong enough to take for much longer. I’m not even worried about an announcement or a baby shower. It’s just holding you. I think once I hold you, I’ll never let go. I’d never want to give you up. And never let you down.

I feel like I’ve let your dad down. I feel like I’ve let everyone down. There is so much love for someone I’ve not even met. Someone who isn’t even alive. You are an idea. A wish. To be a mother is something I never ever wanted before and  now that I do it’s all I think about. My life is just one big distraction. 

I feel like I’m failing as a wife. That all the joy is just a mirage. A fake smile. 

I can see you growing up. Walking around this house. I see where your crib would be. Where your toys would lay on the floor. You’d be outside, where you’d run in the sun, playing.

I see you meeting your nan and your grandad for the first time. See Christmases and Birthdays. They all play out in my mind. I see that joy on your dad’s face. Nothing else compares. I wonder if this heartache will end. There’s such a small part of me that thinks it won’t and I’m scared. If our hopes don’t magic you into life what will happen? Wanting you is like no other feeling. Ever. I’m scared of what it means if you don’t become real.

I see your face in my dreams.