At the beginning of my postnatal depression journey, it started quite contrary to the well-held ideas of being unable to bond with baby. Mine took hold with almost primitive levels of protective surges, passed off casually as the bonding process going ‘quite well’. I realised things were going awry when I had trouble even letting my partner hold him. When I became agoraphobic, refusing to leave the house in case I lost the baby, or he became ill from being outside, I realised I may have an issue far outwaying my ability to understand or cope. But I remained stoically firm. Rooted in my fear. I battled a blossoming frond of despair at my ability to shun from support. Nobody knew my secret. So it remained.
This is the first time I’ve actually verbalise my illness in any form. It remains hard to discuss even 11 years on. The collage I made to accompany this extract is how my head felt l. The blue flower growing from the cracks I believed were opening in my well being.
I’d love to write a book one day about this, If only I had the confidence.
Thanks for reading. ❤️
— Carmen Scott