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Wednesday 01 January 2025 00:02:48 GMT
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Well… Tomorrow at 6:30am I fly to Perth. Not for a holiday. Unfortunately my nervous system doesn’t accept frequent flyer points. I’m heading over for a voluntary inpatient stay at a women’s mental health facility to finally give my CPTSD the attention it’s been demanding for years. Turns out, ignoring it wasn’t the groundbreaking treatment plan I thought it was. The last few days have happened so fast. My doctor and I had agreed this morning that while I was waiting for a bed somewhere, I could still have day leave to go to the gym because moving my body has become one of the only places my brain stops acting like every loud noise, unexpected phone call or slight change of plans is a life-threatening emergency. I got back from the gym… “A bed’s available.” Righto then. Cue absolute chaos. I’ve spent the last few days trying to organise four kids, work, life and somehow convince myself that when this phone call eventually came, I’d actually be ready for it. Spoiler alert… I wasn’t. I’d already packed my suitcase three days ago to bring to hospital. Since then I’ve unpacked it. Packed it again. Added more stuff. Taken stuff out. Added it back in. It’s now absolutely bursting at the seams. Bit like my brain, really. I’m still convinced I’ve forgotten something. Maybe I have. Maybe it’s just the hypervigilance talking. CPTSD has this neat little party trick where it constantly whispers, “You forgot something.” Not just when you’re packing. All the time. Did you lock the door? Did you upset someone? Did you read too much into that text? Did you miss something? Are you safe? It’s like having a smoke alarm that goes off every time you make toast. Eventually you stop trusting the silence because your brain has convinced you danger is always just around the corner. It’s exhausting. People keep asking me if I’m scared. Yeah. Fucking shit scared! Not because I’m going to hospital. I’m scared because for the first time in years, I don’t get to distract myself by being busy. No work. No school runs. No lunches to make. No dinners to cook. No washing. No netball. No filling every minute of every day with things that stop me having to sit with what’s actually going on. Just me. And a nervous system that’s forgotten what feeling safe actually feels like. Leaving my kids is, without a doubt, the hardest part. The mum guilt is deafening. It keeps telling me I’m selfish. That I should just push through. That everyone else needs me more. But here’s the thing… CPTSD has already taken enough from me. It’s taken sleep. It’s taken peace. It’s taken memories. It’s taken relationships. It’s taken moments I can never get back because I was surviving instead of living. I’m not letting it take any more. My kids deserve a mum who isn’t just surviving every day. They deserve a mum who knows what peace feels like. So tomorrow I’ll get on that plane. Scared. Probably crying. Probably wondering whether I packed enough undies despite my suitcase weighing approximately the same as my emotional baggage. But I’m getting on it anyway. Because sometimes courage isn’t feeling brave. Sometimes courage looks like being absolutely shit scared… …and getting on the bloody plane anyway. So here’s not to just surviving, but thriving
Well… Tomorrow at 6:30am I fly to Perth. Not for a holiday. Unfortunately my nervous system doesn’t accept frequent flyer points. I’m heading over for a voluntary inpatient stay at a women’s mental health facility to finally give my CPTSD the attention it’s been demanding for years. Turns out, ignoring it wasn’t the groundbreaking treatment plan I thought it was. The last few days have happened so fast. My doctor and I had agreed this morning that while I was waiting for a bed somewhere, I could still have day leave to go to the gym because moving my body has become one of the only places my brain stops acting like every loud noise, unexpected phone call or slight change of plans is a life-threatening emergency. I got back from the gym… “A bed’s available.” Righto then. Cue absolute chaos. I’ve spent the last few days trying to organise four kids, work, life and somehow convince myself that when this phone call eventually came, I’d actually be ready for it. Spoiler alert… I wasn’t. I’d already packed my suitcase three days ago to bring to hospital. Since then I’ve unpacked it. Packed it again. Added more stuff. Taken stuff out. Added it back in. It’s now absolutely bursting at the seams. Bit like my brain, really. I’m still convinced I’ve forgotten something. Maybe I have. Maybe it’s just the hypervigilance talking. CPTSD has this neat little party trick where it constantly whispers, “You forgot something.” Not just when you’re packing. All the time. Did you lock the door? Did you upset someone? Did you read too much into that text? Did you miss something? Are you safe? It’s like having a smoke alarm that goes off every time you make toast. Eventually you stop trusting the silence because your brain has convinced you danger is always just around the corner. It’s exhausting. People keep asking me if I’m scared. Yeah. Fucking shit scared! Not because I’m going to hospital. I’m scared because for the first time in years, I don’t get to distract myself by being busy. No work. No school runs. No lunches to make. No dinners to cook. No washing. No netball. No filling every minute of every day with things that stop me having to sit with what’s actually going on. Just me. And a nervous system that’s forgotten what feeling safe actually feels like. Leaving my kids is, without a doubt, the hardest part. The mum guilt is deafening. It keeps telling me I’m selfish. That I should just push through. That everyone else needs me more. But here’s the thing… CPTSD has already taken enough from me. It’s taken sleep. It’s taken peace. It’s taken memories. It’s taken relationships. It’s taken moments I can never get back because I was surviving instead of living. I’m not letting it take any more. My kids deserve a mum who isn’t just surviving every day. They deserve a mum who knows what peace feels like. So tomorrow I’ll get on that plane. Scared. Probably crying. Probably wondering whether I packed enough undies despite my suitcase weighing approximately the same as my emotional baggage. But I’m getting on it anyway. Because sometimes courage isn’t feeling brave. Sometimes courage looks like being absolutely shit scared… …and getting on the bloody plane anyway. So here’s not to just surviving, but thriving
best place😭🇪🇸 #spain #spain🇪🇸
best place😭🇪🇸 #spain #spain🇪🇸


What should Kasongo’s next move be? 👇🐗#gazelle #kasongoyeyeyoriginal #kasongo #kasongoyeye #kasongoyeyey
What should Kasongo’s next move be? 👇🐗#gazelle #kasongoyeyeyoriginal #kasongo #kasongoyeye #kasongoyeyey
#creatorsearchinsights #المغرب🇲🇦تونس🇹🇳الجزائر🇩🇿 #الشعب_الصيني_ماله_حل😂😂 #fyp #foryou
#creatorsearchinsights #المغرب🇲🇦تونس🇹🇳الجزائر🇩🇿 #الشعب_الصيني_ماله_حل😂😂 #fyp #foryou


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