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For those of you who have read my blog from the very beginning, know me well or follow me on Twitter you’ll know that I have suffered, more than once, from post-natal depression. It’s a debilitating illness that affects the entire family and I was painfully aware of this after the birth of my third child when I was at my most ill. I witnessed my older children, then three and eleven, look at me with confusion when I was crying again and asked me why I was so sad. I saw them shy away from me when I was irritable and tip-toe around me when I was locked in my own anxiety ridden hell. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t anything they’d done, yet I know they were affected by it. I know they were confused by what was happening to their mum who was once such a confident and lively person.

Reaching out to them, and anyone in fact, when I was ill was hard. I hate asking for help and for a while battled with the reality of the illness, refusing to believe it had taken me in it’s grasp. Yet I did want to reach out to them, I did want to explain what was happening to me and that it wouldn’t be like this forever. So I wrote the poem A Monster Ate My Mum which looks at post natal depression through the eyes of a child, and initially illustrated it as a PowerPoint presentation on my iPad. My children loved the story and it prompted some very honest and open discussions about the illness. It helped us so much and even my husband understood a little bit more about what I was going through after reading the poem. Here is a little bit from the poem;

“Excuse me, but have you eaten my mum?
I want her back I want some fun,
I want to see her smile, my mum,
Is she in your big, round tum?”

“No she’s not here I just ate her smile,
I’ll give it back after a while,
I’m sorry I was hungry you see,
I don’t know where your mum could be.”

When I first published the poem on my blog the response was overwhelming. It seemed there was nothing like this out there to help children and families and that’s when I first thought about contacting publishers and agents in the hope that the book would be real, would be in my hands and in those hands of many other sufferers. I met a literary agent this year at Britmums Live and she was wonderfully supportive. We’ve been in touch ever since and she has encouraged me to self-publish the book, as generally children’s publishers like books on slightly happier topics. (frustrating much?!) She believed the book to be a brilliant one and very well written and gave me the encouragement I needed to self-publish.

The next step was to find an illustrator; someone who believed in the book as much as I did; and someone who would be able to draw some monsters that weren’t too scary (it was for children after all!) I needed someone I could trust and when I saw Helen Braid from allatseascotland.blogspot.co.uk advertise her services as a graphic designer I knew she would be the lady to ask. She is so wonderfully talented and has exceeded all of my expectations for the illustrations. They are stunning and I’m so honoured that she agreed to work with me. The print-ready CD arrived in my hands this week and now it’s down to me.

I have extensively researched self-publishing, to the point where I thought my head would explode. It is an absolute minefield and for several days I felt totally overwhelmed. Should I employ the services of a company? Should it be published as an ebook or in print? And if I did decide to go down the DIY route what company should I use to do this? Thankfully, as if often the case, Twitter came to rescue along with some lovely people at the writing club I’ve recently joined. It would seem both ebooks and printed books are the way to go as then you get the best of both worlds. Kindle Direct Publishing was recommended to me by almost everyone I asked, however many have said that actually uploading the book onto the site is very challenging, even for the technically able. So this scares me a lot, I’m not the best technically, however since blogging and going self-hosted I have learnt so very much, but I’m far from being an expert.

With regards to print on demand books this was slightly more complicated. I downloaded ‘Choosing a Self-Publishing Service’ by The Alliance of Independent Authors, and so far it has proved very useful. It recommends several companies, but mainly CreateSpace and Lightening Source. The third it recommends is Lulu. These are all companies where you again upload the book yourself, order yourself a copy as a proof, and then when you’re happy scream about it from the rooftops! On chatting to the brilliantly helpful @wombat37 who has self published more than once, Lulu seemed like the best option as they print and distribute in the UK and many of the others do not, which could prove more costly.

So now I have decided which companies to go with the next step is to actually do it! Eeeeek! I have planned for this Friday to be completely child free all day and am intending to sit at my laptop and not move until the book has been uploaded on both Kindle Direct Publishing and Lulu. (or at least one of them!) If you would like to keep up to date with how I am getting on please follow me on Twitter as @MonsterAteMyMum and hopefully there will champagne corks popping and excited tweets on Friday at some point, celebrating that I’ve successfully self-published!

Insomnia: Insomnia, or sleeplessness, is a sleep disorder in which there is an inability to fall asleep or to stay asleep as long as desired.

Darkness, silence,
Yet my brain screams noise.
Thoughts, words,
Never quiet.

Breathing becomes quicker,
Shoulders hunched.
Uncomfortable, restless.
Eyes wide open.

Anxiety awakens,
Panic begins.
Thoughts whirl, never stopping.
Heart beats out of time.

Stare at the ceiling,
Stare at the walls,
Need an escape,
Need rest, peace.

Tears well in my eyes,
Frustration, anger,
Inconsolable, wound up,
Tense, awkward.

Give up, get up.
Alone in the dark.
Peaceful house,
Hectic mind.

Brain at war with body,
Eventually shuts down.
Restless sleep,
Wake exhausted.

Trudge through the day,
Maybe tonight,
Sleep will greet me,
like an old friend.

Wish: A wish is a hope or desire for something. Fictionally, wishes can be used as plot devices. In folklore, opportunities for “making a wish” or for wishes to “come true” or “be granted” are themes that are sometimes used.

So if you’ve followed me on Twitter today you’ll know I’ve had a bad day, well afternoon really. And what does a blogger do when they’ve had a bad day…why blog all about it of course!

A few things that have happened recently have got me thinking (yes I do do that every now and again) and have made me realise how fragile my mental state can still be at times. It’s hard once you’ve suffered from depression (well it is for me anyway) to not think it’s always hovering not far away ready to come back and bite you on the ass. I forget sometimes that life with three children is going to be busy, stressful and hard work and that things are not always going to happen how I’d like them too or when I’d like them to. And I need constant reminding that I don’t necessarily feel overwhelmed because I’m depressed again, but simply because it’s life; and good days are often intermingled with bad ones. We all have them. I guess for me maybe the trick is to recognise that this is exactly what they are…just bad days, not a bad life. And sometimes even though those bad days do all appear to happen at once, hence the phrase ‘never rains but it pours,’ the good days are still there too, if not a bit few and far between at times.

Recently I’ve been feeling overwhelmed and a bit anxious again and it has got me worried I’m sinking back into the treacle I spent so much of last year trudging through. But if I look closely there have been so many reasons for me feeling out of sorts, not just PND…there has been a sickness bug in the house, my middle child has started school and routine is all out if the window thanks to a ridiculously long settling in period, my husband has had to work long hours and be away, my mum has been abroad, (this always unnerves me, I like it when she’s here even though she lives two hours away) it was my dad’s (who sadly passed away when I was 22) birthday last week, my 12 year old has been beyond hormonal and challenging, the toddler never ever sleeps (slight exaggeration!) and the weather has turned to pants to name just a few things. I know these things aren’t life threatening stuff. I know these things are not end of the world stuff and I know that these things are just stuff. Stuff that on a good day I can embrace with the fact that my life is never dull. Stuff that we all experience. But it is stuff that at the moment is slowly wearing me down and making me tired and emotional.

We all know parenting is relentless. The challenges and difficulties you face at one stage disappear only for a million other challenges to rear their ugly head. It’s never easy, the goalposts constantly change and a whole load of new crap comes our way. And yes I waffle on about instinctively we’re supposed to know how to deal with all of these challenges, and when I’m well and feeling rational my instincts do guide the way and I marvel at them all the time. But on days like today I’ll be honest, even I doubt them, even I doubt myself…and I hate self doubt. Deep down I know I can’t control my daughter’s hormones, just guide her through them. Deep down I know my toddler’s sleeping issues are not because of something I’ve done and that I have to be patient and know that this is how things are at the moment. Deep down I know I’m not ill again and my instincts are as strong as they ever were. But when I’m having a bad day all of that goes out of the window. I feel trapped. I feel useless. I desperately crave a break and a bit of time out. All it usually takes is half an hour. Time to say…let it all out in a blog post…and then I feel better. But sometimes it takes more than that. It needs a day away from it all and I’m starting to recognise when I need these days the most.

A while ago I wrote a blog post about a letter I had written to myself with wishes and hopes for the future and I thought that maybe it was time to write another one. I’m a firm believer in having things to look forward to, plus I’m a list lover, so writing a letter detailing all of the things I’d love for myself and my family in the near future seemed like a productive way of working through my current not-so-great-mood. It goes as follows…

1. A date night with my husband. Oh this is a big one on my list. We still have not had an evening or a night to ourselves since February. Lack of a babysitter seems to be the main problem. When you’ve got three children it can (shock horror) put some people off babysitting. And with the toddler not sleeping too great I’d probably worry he was being troublesome whilst we were out. But nevertheless my husband and I need some time so I need to make it happen.
2. A mother/daughter evening…or several! These have really worked wonders in the past and made our, at times tested, relationship stronger. Sometimes I forget that she had me all to herself for so long and that living in a step-family situation possibly isn’t always easy on her. It’s good for us to have some time together.
3. A day for me. To just be me and not a mum and all of the things that brings with it. I’d love to go to a spa, or sit in a cafe all day writing, or go for a swim where I can actually swim. You get the idea. I’d just, selfishly, like a ‘day off.’
4. Family walks and Sunday roasts. We got into the habit when I was ill with PND of not venturing out too far. Of just going for lunch and then coming home again with the excuse that the baby needed to nap. I love autumn and the run up to Christmas and have very fond memories of family walks as a child. collecting conkers and jumping in piles of fallen leaves. So I’ve joined the National Trust and would like to go on many a winter walk, coming home to cook a wonderfully warming roast. Thankfully the rest of the family would like to do this too! 😉
5. Self-publish A Monster Ate My Mum. This excites me…a lot! So far I have asked the wonderful Helen Braid to do the artwork for me and the sample pages have brought tears to my eyes they are so perfect. I have no idea how to go about self-publishing, but hopefully I will learn as I go through the process and the poem will be brought to life.

So that’s my list for now. I think it’s only fair to stop at five things for fear of writing down too much and becoming disappointed when they are not all achieved. The things I have written above are all achievable (I hope!) and would benefit more people than just me…so watch this space and hopefully, fingers crossed, I will be writing a blog post at Christmas telling you all about it!

What would be on your wish list for the next few months?

Touch: Touch is one of the sensations processed by the somatosensory system. Touch may also refer to: Haptic perception, the ability to recognise objects through touch. Haptic communication, the study of human touching behaviour. Haptic technology, technology that interfaces to the user via the sense of touch

I’ve always been funny about personal space,
Don’t come near my body don’t be near my face.

I need room to breathe, room just to be,
I need to be independent, in control, free.

Don’t know how to dance, don’t know where to begin,
Not comfortable with my body, feel strange in my skin.

Asked to move, to copy each other,
Can’t make up new movements, work with one another.

Uncomfortable feelings, very self aware,
A need to escape, be alone, not there.

Trusting each other, hands and feet touch.
Going through the motions, but not liking it much.

Aches and pains, releases of tension,
Talking, understanding, receiving attention.

Easier with time, becoming more free.
Loosening my body, feeling more like me.

Helping, healing, team work and such.
The wonder of movement, the magic of touch.

This poem is a out a new dance therapy group I have been attending to help mums with post-natal depression. I have found it very challenging, but it is helping!

Recovery: Recovery or recover can refer to: Health; Healing; Cure; The Recovery model of mental distress/disorder; Recovery International, a self-help mental health program based on the work of the late Abraham A. Low, M.D.; Hair of the dog or “Recovery drinking”, the practice of drinking off a hangover, mainly amongst students; Addiction recovery groups.

Now I’ve not blogged about PND for a while. I took the last tablet and apparently was ‘recovered,’ if you ever can recover fully from the hideousness of the illness, it has certainly changed me forever. This time last year was hell, and I think about it daily. Just now, when tidying out a cupboard, I found my youngest’s first ever babygro. And I’m not ashamed to say it reduced me to tears. I remember him dressed in it, so small and helpless. It’s not the first time I’ve cried over that babygro, nor I imagine will it be the last as the memory of it all is very painful, but looking at where I am now, and remembering where I was last year has got me thinking about how far I’ve come, and how much better and more like my old self I really am. It has got me reflecting on what I’ve done and what has got me here and able to function without panic attacks and tears. I thought a post about the techniques and therapies I’ve had might help others in the same situation, or at least comfort them that they are not alone, and that they can get better.

Once I had finally admitted I had post natal depression (which took a few stubborn weeks I can tell you) the first thing I did was visit my doctor and start on a course of antidepressants. For me I viewed it very much as an illness, and if there was a medicine that could make me better then I would take it. I knew I couldn’t do it on my own and I was beyond the stage where exercise could help. As far as I was concerned nothing could help, and I didn’t even want it to. Permanent sleep seemed like a good option. So those tablets were a start, even though the doctor told me I would feel worse on them before I felt better (I did) and that it would take several weeks for the effects to fully kick in (it did.) I remember when they did start to work, I woke up and actually wanted to get out of bed. I got excited about putting my son in a gorgeous outfit for the first time. I smiled and looked forward to seeing my family. However I was still plagued by anxiety and panic attacks and cried most days. The tablets weren’t enough, I needed something more.

CBT was suggested and I thought it sounded perfect. I’ve always been a very anxious person, mainly centred around my mortality, at just five I had a screaming episode where I apparently told my parents I thought I was having a heart attack. So the thought that this talking therapy could help me re-train my brain to function in the correct part sounded easy. It wasn’t. I referred myself and luckily was seen relatively quickly in a face to face, one to one meeting. I was given booklets to work through, exercises to do and techniques to try out. I met with the CBT lady once a week for 6 weeks. She was lovely and always asked how I was, but it was very clear that these weren’t counselling sessions. I had to be focused and do all the hard work myself. By now the tablets had well and truly kicked in and so panic attacks during the daytime had reduced and I wasn’t able to practise ‘thought challenging’ them. I was still having terrible nightmares and problems with my sleep and had no idea how I could ‘thought challenge’ something that was happening when I was asleep! The CBT lady gave me suggestions, and they did slowly start to work. But it was hard work, and I had to muster up every ounce of energy to practise everything I’d be told and had read. I would recommend CBT, but only if you are prepared to work at it and commit fully to it. The techniques need to be practised continuously before it all becomes second nature.

I was also lucky enough to be referred through the health vision to an art therapy group which lasted for 12 weeks which I blogged about briefly in the post linked above. The other ladies on the course were by far more private than me and I promised to them that I would never blog in detail about the sessions, so all I will say is that if you ever get an opportunity to be a part of a ‘My Time My Space’ group then do, it was amazing.

Now, whilst everything I have mentioned above was helping, my main fear was that as soon as I stopped taking the tablets I would be back at square one. I was terrified that my brain would once again neglect to make the vital mix of things it needs to function without depression, so I knew I needed something else. One day whilst on Twitter I spotted a tweet from a lady called Viv Kenchington. She was a reflexologist near me who was looking for people to have free solution-focused hypnotherapy sessions whilst she was re-training. I tweeted her and asked if it worked for PND and the response ‘Yes!’ was immediate. We arranged a date for the following week to meet. As soon as I met Viv I felt relaxed, she has a wonderful calm and friendly manner. Keen to find out why I was interested in hypnotherapy I briefly explained my situation. I was reassured that this type of hypnotherapy wasn’t anything like the kind you see on the television and that I wouldn’t suddenly start milking cows when I heard a bell ring. Viv was wonderfully clear in her detailed explanation of how the brain works, and how it functions when a person has anxiety and depression. The penny dropped there and then for me and it all made perfect sense. I couldn’t wait to get started, our sessions were to be an hour long so not least the thought of lying down with my eyes closed and no small people demanding things from me was incentive enough! For the next 8 weeks I visited Viv for regular hypnotherapy sessions. They were amazing. Peaceful. Relaxing. And yet strangely exhausting, I always slept extremely well after a session. Viv’s voice was soothing and even now if I have trouble sleeping I ‘hear’ her in my head and am instantly more at peace. She’d ask me what had been good about my week, and then asked questions so that I would come up with solutions on how to make it better. Her enthusiasm and passion for helping people is infectious, she would listen to me intently and work so hard to help. My sessions have stopped now, but I know I can always go back if ever I need to. I credit Viv as being a huge part of my recovery. Whilst seeing her I stopped taking the tablets, and miraculously so far have not needed them again. She saved me. She helped me clear my brain of thoughts it didn’t need, creating space to be more creative (I started my blog whilst seeing her!) Hypnotherapy is amazing when you find someone who is passionate about it and and who you can trust and feel comfortable with, and I felt that with Viv. If you would like to know more about solution-focused hypnotherapy and look at her website you can do so here.

And then finally onto my current therapy! (Yes I filled in that delightful form recently which we all know and love, and it showed that I’m still not quite there apparently) Dance therapy. Feeling that I’d worked enough on my brain and not enough on my body, when I was referred for this by my health visitor I agreed. I’d always said I’d do anything I could to get better and stay well. I have issues with personal space, touch and dancing in public all of which the course entails, so needless to say I am finding it challenging. I have written a poem about those challenges here. The thought behind this therapy is that the body and the brain are closely linked and that we hold areas of pain and anxiety in parts of our bodies that needs to be released. It definitely seems to be helping so far, but only time will tell so I shall blog about it in more detail when the course is finished, watch this space!

I know that some people reading this may have not been as lucky as I am in everything I have been offered and I know how privileged I have been. I have had wonderful health visitors and doctors and am blessed to have been able to take part in so many wonderful things. I’m also aware that many of you reading this may feel like you will never get better, that there is no hope, and have been struggling with the illness for many years, I hope with all of my heart that you feel better soon. Recovery is possible, I promise.

Mountains: A mountain is a large landform that stretches above the surrounding land in a limited area usually in the form of a peak. A mountain is generally steeper than a hill.

I lay cuddly and warm,
Relishing the calm before the storm.
Head burrowed deep,
Desperately wanting, needing more sleep.

The day stretches ominously ahead,
Too long, too difficult, must stay in bed.
A mountain so hard to climb,
Until sleep again an endless time.

Effort needed, no energy there.
Only panic, fear and despair.
From warmth and comfort, feeling at ease,
To noise and madness and children to please.

But then I force myself up, breathe air,
Rub eyes, stretch limbs, smooth hair.
See smiling children, hear ‘morning mum,’
Excited, hopeful for a day of fun.

Eternal optimists, boundless joy,
Infectious, comforting, my girl and my boys.
Cuddles, love, ‘mummy’s awake,’
All the sadness, fear, away they take.

Precious children, heal me with love,
Climbing the mountain I look down from above.
This day is a good day, isn’t tough.
I soon discover days aren’t long enough.

Above: a·bove, adv. On high; overhead: the clouds above. In heaven; heavenward. In or to a higher rank or position: the ranks of major and above. Superior to in rank, position, or number; greater than: put principles above expediency. Idiom: above all, over and above all other factors or considerations: Above all, tell the truth. (Free Dictionary)

Rise Above

I like to please.
Get knocked down easily.
Take thing personally.
Cry sometimes.

Always seeking approval.
Love,friendship.
Need to be needed,
Busy and useful.

Harsh words out of nowhere hurt me.
Make me doubt,
Question,
Mistrust myself.

Looking for reassurance.
Empathy and support.
But eyes roll and tongues wag,
Am an irritation.

Love to be liked.
Like to be loved.
Try my best, but,
Knocked down again.

Rise above, pain no more.
Move on.
Surround myself with loveliness,
kindness, honesty and openness.

Rise above it all.
And let it go.

Radio Shows and a Story.

Radio: Radio is the wireless transmission of signals through free space by electromagnetic radiation of a frequency significantly below that of visible light, in the radio frequency range, from about 30 kHz to 300 GHz.[1] These waves are called radio waves. Electromagnetic radiation travels by means of oscillating electromagnetic fields that pass through the air and the vacuum of space.

Where do I begin with my #magicmoments post this week?! Just too many wonderful things have been happening recently and I feel so incredibly lucky.

The last couple of weeks have been challenging in many ways, the antidepressants have clearly taken a while to completely leave my system and I’ve been like a toddler struggling to manage my emotions. I have effectively been learning to feel again and have gone from manic, uncontrollable laughter, to sobbing over something trivial. There have been panic attacks, sleepless nights and a lot of doubt over whether I could do it and live without the tablets. It was almost as if I felt like I had at the very beginning, the illness dealing one last cruel hand. One last challenge to be overcome. It’s horrible how your brain and body can play tricks on you. You can tense your body for a second because you’ve trodden on a piece of Lego and this can trigger your brain into entering full on fight or flight mode and spark off a gigantic panic attack. Thankfully I am learning to dismiss these attacks and carry on as if they’re not actually happening, thus hopefully convincing my brain that I am not in any serious danger and that there is no need to go quite so crazy with the release of adrenaline! It’s a work in progress!

One thing that has helped me immensely through this time, and has been an integral part of my recovery since January was having the opportunity to attend an art therapy group once a week, with other ladies also suffering from post natal depression. I was referred by my health visitor and as I have always enjoyed being creative, but recently haven’t been able to find the time or the motivation, I was looking forward to starting, and I hadn’t looked forward to anything in a very, very long while. It was called My Time My Space and was funded by a project called Creativity Works. ( http://www.creativityworks.org.uk ) It was to be held at the local Children’s centre for two hours every Friday morning, with a crèche provided. It really was going to be my time. The group ran for twelve weeks and finished just a coupe of weeks ago. The artist who attended had blogged about our sessions here: http://elementalanita.wordpress.com

Each week was magic. Time to be me. Time to be creative, to fill my brain with thoughts other than the dark ones that had plagued it for so long. We talked. We listened. We shared and empathised. (as well as drinking tea and eating A LOT of cake!) We made amazingly creative things, brooches, necklaces, paintings. It was during our last session that I was asked to go onto the radio by Philippa, who works for Creativity Works. It was to be an interview with Dr Phil Hammond on BBC Radio Bristol and I was to talk about my experience of PND and about My Time My Space. I jumped at the chance. Excitement obviously quickly turned into nervousness, but I knew that I desperately wanted to speak out, to be as honest as I could be about my experiences of PND and hopefully help others. I had also read my story ‘A Monster Ate My Mum’ http://instinctivemum.wordpress.com/2013/05/02/the-monster-story to Philippa and she thought we should try and have it read out on the air too.

So, skip forward to this past Saturday. I’d prepared, and I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Philippa picked me up and we drove into Bristol talking animatedly about the project and how amazing it is. She is clearly very passionate and enthusiastic about what she does and about helping women who are suffering. We parked at BBC Radio Bristol and sat just outside the studio, watching Dr Phil deliver his Saturday Surgery show. I’ve never been inside a radio station before and imagined endless hustle and bustle, however as it was a Saturday it was surprisingly quiet; a few workmen, a couple of people on their computers, a radio presenter and his producer.

Sitting there watching the show, listening to the guests that were on before us didn’t really help my nerves. I was so frightened I was going to bumble my words, sound stupid, or swear! We were asked to go in and Dr Phil asked me how honest I wanted to be, and I replied, ‘As honest as possible, ask me anything.’ I hoped that by being honest I would help others. So many women suffer in silence or find it hard to admit they are ill. I wanted to show that there was no shame in it, that it can happen to anyone, and that with time you can get better. Very honest questions were asked, and answered as openly and honestly as I could. The nerves went and I wished the interview could continue for longer, as there was so much more I wanted to say. And then the true magic moment happened, I was asked to read my story. The book I would love to be published to help raise funds for My Time My Space and help children whose mums suffer. The traffic report was read out and then it was back to me. Is it wrong that I got lost in my own writing? I could hear my voice shaking, I could see my hands trembling, but I was doing it…me, who one year ago had all of my confidence zapped out of me by this cruel illness. I was reading something I had written on the radio, to thousands of people. And in that moment my confidence came back! With a massive great big bang. And it felt amazing. It’s a little bit addictive being on the radio and already I’d love to do it again! It took a couple of hours for the shaking to stop, but the texts messages and phone calls I received from friends and family made me swell with pride. (Sorry if I’m going over the top a bit here, it’s not often I big myself up lol!)

There is nothing quite like challenging yourself to do something that makes you step out of your comfort zone. And then there is nothing quite like achieving it…and enjoying it!

You can hear the interview through the link below until 11th May. Please have a listen, we are on about one hour and twenty minutes into the show.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01809qs

And thank you, as always, for reading x

I have now self-published this poem as a beautifully illustrated children’s book. You can purchase a copy at Lulu.com.

Thursdays are fast becoming one of my favourite days, not least because it means I get an opportunity to link up with VicWelton’s #Prose4T. I have always enjoyed writing poetry, but have not done so for many years. Recently I have found I can express so much in poetry, and often find it easier to write a poem than a blog post!

Today I am going to share something with you that I wrote a while ago and have tweaked many, many times! Finally I think it’s finished! It’s based on a poem I wrote when I first started blogging, and is a book aimed at children whose mums suffer from depression. I have often noticed in libraries and shops that there are a range of books written to help children cope with different situations; bereavement, the death of a pet, moving house, new babies and even potty training, but there was nothing which focused on depression or post natal depression. Ultimately I would love this poem to be published and money from it raised to help those with PND, but I know that could forever remain a dream, it is not easy to get published! I have read the book to my eldest two children and the reaction was instantaneous, my four year old now often asks for the monster story before bed, and my 11 year old understands a bit more about how I was feeling, it’s prompted some lovely, honest chats.

So, here is the story, please let me know what you think xx

A Monster Ate My Mum
By InstinctiveMum

A monster wandered far and wide,
No one walking by his side,
His mum seemed lost, not the mum he knew,
Would someone know just what to do?

She’d not been like herself at all,
Crying lots and feeling small,
Not wanting to go out, get dressed,
Feeling trapped and like a mess.

A monster must have gobbled her up,
Made her sad and feel unloved,
A monster must have eaten her joy,
“I’ll go and find it,” said the monster boy.

He found a monster big and tall,
A grumpy monster with no friends at all,
A monster that ate smiles and joy,
‘Did he eat my mum?’ thought this monster boy.

“Excuse me, but have you eaten my mum?
I want her back I want some fun,
I want to see her smile, my mum,
Is she in your big, round tum?”

“No she’s not here I just ate her smile,
I’ll give it back after a while,
I’m sorry I was hungry you see,
I don’t know where your mum could be.”

So the monster boy wandered on,
Knowing where his mum’s smile had gone,
He found another scary beast,
And wondered if he’d had a feast.

“Excuse me, but have you eaten my mum?
I want her back I want some fun,
I want to see her smile my mum,
Is she in your big, round tum?”

“No I just ate something that made her cry,
She won’t know how, she won’t know why,
I’m sorry I was hungry you see,
I don’t know where your mum could be.”

He wondered on and soon he knew,
That it wasn’t his fault, nothing he could do,
The monsters had eaten what made her happy,
It wasn’t him who made her snappy.

He carried on walking along the path,
Wondering who had eaten her laugh,
He saw a monster asleep on his tum,
Was he the one who had eaten his mum?

“Excuse me, but have you eaten my mum?
I want her back I want some fun,
I want to see her smile, my mum,
Is she in your big round tum?”

“No I just ate something that took her spark,
She can have it back, not feel in the dark,
I’m sorry I ate it, I was hungry you see,
I don’t know where your mum could be.”

All of these monsters had had their fill,
They had each been what had made his mum ill,
He wanted a cure to make her well,
He wanted to help her out of this spell.

He found a wise monster among the trees,
“Could you help me and my mum please?
She’s not been happy, she sleeps all day,
Can you help in any way?”

The monster turned and said to the boy,
“Those monsters will return her joy,
The monsters will return your mum,
She will be back you will have fun.”

“Time is what you need my friend,
Love and kisses and cuddles send.
It won’t be bad like this forever,
She can and will one day get better.”

So the monster boy walked home and knew,
He would be patient, see this through.
He’d rest his head upon her tum,
Hoped no more monsters would eat his mum.