My baby was six months old, and I then fell pregnant with my second child. It wasn’t entirely planned, but we were happy about it. Everything had been going fine when I suddenly got insomnia that didn’t abate.
When I finally went to the hospital they weren’t sure what to do with me. Eventually, they checked me into the psychiatric ward. I was terrified to be in there. I was petrified to sleep although sleep was the thing I needed most. I was worried about the other people in my room, and I felt like I needed to sleep with one eye open. I couldn’t relax.
I stayed at Mum and Dad’s house for the next week, and everyone juggled the care of the baby. My husband just pulled his shoes on and kept walking through; doing what needed to be done. We’ve been together since I was 18 so he knew that I have had anxiety that I was medicated for in the past but I had been fine for six years before this.
I had become almost obsessed with checking in with myself to see how I felt, how sad I felt, and finally I started to notice that I’d go three whole hours without checking in. It felt like a victory.
I got a volunteer job at a Women’s Health Centre one day a week because I realised that much of my identity was wrapped into my work, and soon after I got a job two days a week at the Health Department.