The Virus Is Devastating But In Some Ways It's Healed Me

I’m three weeks into being holed up at home with my entire family. I’m sure most working mums would love the idea of more time with their kids, of being able to be present, of being able to relax and enjoy their children without any of the daily irritations that can so often cause stress. I’m not most working mums. When the realisation started to dawn that the Coronavirus pandemic could, legitimately leave me trapped in the house with my kids, I went into melt down and suffered my first panic attack in eighteen months.

When my eldest was born, I suffered from undiagnosed post-natal depression. You’ll know that if you read this blog regularly but what you won’t know is that, since then, I have done everything possible to avoid being left alone with my own kids. That sounds heartless and cruel but during that first year, when I was at rock bottom mentally, my husband was on tour for almost 7 months, none of my family lived near by and I spent day after day pushing a buggy around a park, tears silently streaming down my face and wondering if I could even face another day. It was a desperately dark time that not only destroyed my self-esteem and my confidence, but also nearly my marriage.

When my eldest turned one, I was finally diagnosed and the diagnosis meant that things had to change. We set up more support systems so that while Jimmy was touring I was rarely alone, the family were always on hand and Jimmy made an effort to be more present at home even if he was on the other side of the world. When we could, we hired an au pair to help us. I was working a lot more and it was a great way to get the childcare we needed at an affordable price and it meant there was another adult in the house with me when Jimmy was away.

Of course, there were still times when I was alone with the kids but if that happened, I’d never be in the house with them. I would always pack them up in the car and drive them to a soft play, a forest, a park, anything that would entertain them and take the onus off me - the thought of having to entertain the kids trapped in the house was too much for me. My PND had destroyed so much of my confidence, I’d been left with PTSD and it was hard when my husband was such an amazing father who, from where I was standing, seemed to have a much stronger connection, a tonne more patience and an affinity for interacting with them which I believed I never had nor was capable of possessing.

I took refuge in work. I worked a lot - any chance I got - and when I wasn’t working I was at the gym, or needed to do the laundry or clean the house so I’d put them in front of a screen. This was probably 75% subconscious but, in my most honest moments, I would admit to myself that I was avoiding significant alone time with my kids not because I didn’t love them but because I believed, that if I was to really try and connect and parent them, I’d be left exposed as the failure of a parent I was.

So, when the coronavirus outbreak happened and I realised what it meant, it was overwhelming. I was scared down to the deepest part of my soul. I couldn’t hide anymore. In the first week, I had three panic attacks which I know wasn’t unusual for anyone given the enormity of the global situation but for me it wasn’t about the virus. It was about knowing that I’d have to face my demons.

Fast forward three weeks and while the thought of being alone with my kids for three weeks while Jimmy tours doesn’t fill me with joy, nor does it fill me with fear. This time in the house as a family has started to repair the damage I mentally sustained in ways that I could never have dreamed possible. I have played with my kids, laughed with them, managed to teach them without losing my rag. I’ve stopped racing to do laundry, or change beds just to avoid direct parenting. We’ve eaten breakfast, lunch and dinner together almost every day and the absence of any other commitments has meant the weight of the emotional load has been so reduced that I feel like I have space to be present in a way that I never had before.

It’s not been that simple. I’ve been opening up about this in therapy in a way that I haven’t done before but now, confronted with the ugly truth of my mental scars, I’ve had to accept that it needs dealing with. I disclosed secrets about that first year to my husband that I’ve never voiced before. It was devastating and hard and ugly but what else are we to fill our time with if not real communication?

What I’ve found amazing is how quickly your relationship with your kids can recover. My relationship with my girls wasn’t bad just perhaps distant. They’d call for Jimmy if they were hurt, or in the middle of the night. I’d pretend it didn’t matter but it did and I knew why; I just couldn’t admit it. If they were adults, I’ve no doubt they would have held my shortcomings against me but because they are so young, they just seem pleased to have me - a full me - around and engaged. They hold no grudges at this point but I’m not naive. I know that there may be issues down the line; I know that if I’d left it much longer, the damage mightn’t have been so easily repaired and for that I’ll always be thankful to this situation we find ourselves in. There aren’t many silver linings, and of course, I wish it wasn’t this awful pandemic that had made this possible, but short of being on lockdown with my kids, I can’t imagine another scenario that would have forced me to confront this.

I’m sure many of you will read this and judge me as a terrible person and mother. Maybe not. Maybe that’s all in my head. Maybe that old voices that need silencing but whatever you think, I’m hopeful. I’m hopeful that this will mark the start of real change and when we do finally find ourselves freed, I believe I can emerge a healed mother.