Mental Health Awareness

To be honest, I've always been a fairly anxious creature. I have, in fact, perfected the art of worrying and I grow more adept at it as time passes, especially now that motherhood is in the mix. There are times when the walls of reality seem to be closing in on me and I have no idea how I will escape being crushed by circumstance. When I should be sleeping, I lay awake and think of scenario after scenario of failure and conjure up horrible what-ifs. Certainly not every night, but enough  to cause  a bit of concern. You see, no matter how tired I am, my brain refuses to rest ... and it's exhausting. Though it is hard to admit, I am afraid of what is, what could be, and perhaps a little of what was. I second-guess and doubt as effectively as any worrisome warrior or neurotic ninja. And truthfully, I know this obsessive worrying isn't healthy.  I tell myself to stop but I've always hated being told what to do.

So, why am I mentioning it?

May is mental health awareness month. And we should be talking about it.

See, it's hard to confront one's own demons, to put bare our troubles and seek help, but these matters of the mind are nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, they are more common than one might think. For we all struggle, even the most bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Why? Because life isn't easy. This society we've built and the rules we've created can make it impossible to see the light through the darkness.

It's easy to become trapped under the weight of our own neurosis, to allow our depression and anxiety to suffocate rational thinking. In this world we exist, it's easy to lose touch with those we love. And sometimes it is second nature to feel alone.

When we are stuck beneath the tar of self-hate and uncertainty it is easy to stop talking and withdrawal. It becomes normal to think no one is listening. So we turn ourselves inwards and allow that tiny voice in the back of our heads to fill our existence with irrational thoughts. All of a sudden simple things like going out or dialing a number is a mountain we have to climb.

And sometimes you don't have the energy to put your shoes on or change your underwear let alone scale a mountain.

Don't let that little voice dictate your world.

Allow conversations to happen for they can change an outcome. Communication is a luxury we don't always utilize because sometimes the simple act of sharing is terrifying. But without talking, without telling the truth about the monsters hiding under our beds and lurking in the closet, we will never touch the lives of anyone else.

If I can help someone feel a little less alone and perhaps a little closer to the light, then maybe the sleepless nights are worth something.

Screw You, Fitbit

Listen here, Fitbit.

You might be able to guilt me into getting my fat ass outside to do some laps around the neighbourhood every morning. You might have even been able to dupe me into walking until I hit ten thousand steps every day. Hell, I even fell for your badges and weekly step counter!

But there is no way in hell you will ever trick me into cleaning!

This Is Not A Mummy Blog

While the little one sleeps, I'm stealing a moment to update my very loved and completely neglected blog. But if I loved it so, would I neglect it in this fashion? Sure. I think of it like long lost friends - the ones who, no matter how long you are apart, act the same when they see you again. Some bonds you simply cannot break. This blog is one of those bonds. For crying out loud, I've had this damn thing since 2006. That's ten years!

Ten years of blogging. Someone get me a medal. No seriously. Do you know how many people start blogs and abandon them without care or concern? Thousands. There are literally thousands of lost blogs floating around the interweb with one or two posts and then - nothing. How tragic. And yet, here I am. Still plugging away on what use to be That Girl Tyson. Sure, I only posted a handful of times last year, but I posted 339 times in 2014. That's almost a blog a day, which is actually what I was going for.

Trust me when I say there is a lot of hidden content on here. After ten years, there are probably close to a hundred posts I've turned to drafts again in hopes of them being forever forgotten. Not simply because there were riddled with poor grammar, which they were, but because they are too private or silly. Either or. The others I've gone back and re-edited, hoping to clear away the errors.

In fact, I just edited my last post and found four errors. Unacceptable. I can't believe I hit publish without correcting 'excitement' and 'friendships'. I even misspelled 'will'. It's a four letter word, how the hell did I misspell it? Probably something to do with sleep deprivation and carb-overdosing. Yes, I don't sleep enough and I am eating too much food. Some will say I need the food to create the milk to feed the babe, but the truth is my breasts are a big dodgy and have issues sustaining life. Long story short, this isn't a mummy blog. So we will end that right here. 

The point of this post is to tell you this isn't going to be all about my wee infant. I am not going to post photos and updates, and talk about the pros and cons of motherhood. There will be no tricks to putting a babe to sleep or ways to make the bitty one stop bawling, I don't know those types of things anyway. Isn't the best approach to simply repeat "please stop crying" and "please go to sleep" over and over? Or am I doing this wrong. 

So, this ins't a mummy blog, as the title states. Except, the problem is, he's currently my entire existence. Whenever I get to thinking about writing a little blip here, it's always about him. I have five drafts I simply didn't share with you because it's all about him and his perfect mouth and hands and bum and eyes. And then there are those times I want to write about the birth. Mostly, I think, because I still have PTSD from his entrance into the world and, well, I want to talk about all the gory details. Just to put them down somewhere. Because people always say you forget the details of the birth and, quite frankly, I don't want to. I want to remember everything, from the sound my waters made when they broke them to the poop I left behind on the floor. Too much information? Sorry not sorry. Birthing is beautiful. It's disgustingly beautiful. Horrifically beautiful. Batshit beautiful. 

Batshit beautiful. Now, that's a saying I can see catching on. I'm trademarking it. 

To clear things up, I don't have anything against mummy blogs, except for the fact that I don't think people really want to read them. I mean, I've read my fair share as I try to stumble through being a mom, but everything has already been said about parenting. I certainly don't have anything worthy to add. So, I promise I won't write about the Timbit all the time - but sometimes, yes, because I can't help myself! The thing is, just because he consumes my life right now doesn't mean I won't have other thoughts later. I suppose I am making a promise. Not just to you, but to myself as well. I promise to write again. Not only blogs but novels and stories too. I am determined to be creative. Maybe not right now, but it's coming. Big things are coming. I can feel it in my bones. And on that day, watch out.

Ten years and I am still toiling away. Labour of love, indeed. Actually, October is my true ten year anniversary here, according to my first posted blog. So, I suppose I'll throw a party then and someone will get me a tin gift. It's tin for ten years right? 

I'm sure I will have become a big, successful, household named author by then. Go ahead, laugh with me. 

What A Year

I'm still here,  even though it feels as though I've been floating outside myself for most of this year. Honestly,  I will never be able to top the sheer craziness and wonderment the past 12 months has brought. With all the changes, life is completely different and yet I am the same person even though my reason for existing has shifted and turned me into a bit of a mess.

The world itself is a bit scarier and bigger, while my personal bubble has shrunk down to a tiny being with an impish smirk. Though the scariness remains the same. Big and small, how can the world be both at the same time? An eternal mystery.

I am me. Who I've always been. A little broken and a bit childish.  And yet I am mother now. Mama. Mum. Even though I had 9 months to come to terms and understand this,  it is still wholey unexpected and I dare say new every morning.

I cannot say what 2016 will bring but I have hopes.

Hopes for more love and kindness and excitement. Hopes for old friendships and new. Hopes to perhaps return to writing. Hopes to continue adventuring through the woods and across the world with the Timbit wrapped up close to me. Hopes for cake and hot baths.

Hopes for happiness.

2015 saw me breathing life into new person, wise beyond his four months, and watching him come into the world is more magical and frightening and wonderful than any other  thing. For that, this year will go down in history. My history.

Huh. I have a history!

Happy New Year!

Magic

I believe in magic.

Today, I walked past the ocean and ventured into the woods. The earth was damp from the tears Mother Nature shed the night before, leaving behind a sodden pathway and the most invigorating scent. And as I walked, I noticed the raindrops hanging off the withered leaves and bare branches. They sparkled in the sunshine, reminding me of the white lights we adorn our trees with, and I stopped to take notice.

It's easy not to notice. Easy to keep walking. Have headphones in and our eyes on our shoes. It's easy to pass the magic right on by.

No one has to tell winter to come. No one has to tell the season to change. The cycle continues no matter what. It turns and the warmth leaves as the cold rushes in. The year goes by. Leaves fall, only to grow again when spring returns.

This is magic.

To smell a new day. To hear the birds playing in the underbrush. To see the life of fungi poking up among the decay of Fall and to hold leaves bigger than our heads in our hands. To exist and be a part of something out of our control, something that will continue no matter what we do or say.

Magic is all around me.