Mental Health First Aid and Covid-19
I pushed open the door and walked out through the dining room and immediately burst into tears. I had reached the tipping point. The final straw, “the one that broke the camel’s back” had been placed upon me, and finally the events of the last year came tumultuously pouring from my heart. 11 months ago, I had endured an incredibly stressful time after my identical twin boys had been born 12 weeks early. We had all survived 78 days in intensive and special care. My two tiny boys that I had waited so long for, were finally discharged home and were declared fit for the big wide world.
After another 8 months of sleepless nights, nappies, night feeds and all things baby related, it was time to return back to work. I was apprehensive, yes, but also really excited to find the new normal for us all and to get back a part of me that I had worked so hard for. The problem was, without realising it, I was already suffering from a mild mental health disorder, one which I had pushed aside due to over a year of poor sleep and new mum nerves. But when I returned back to the workplace, the 200 mile an hour pace, high workload, high demand, with everyone still expecting the high standards I had set myself, I broke.
“I was excited to find the new normal.. but when I returned.. I broke”
Walking out of the canteen I had a breakdown. I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know what was wrong me. “So what” that I’d forgotten it was my turn to do detentions and had double booked myself? No one was going to die and very quickly colleagues stepped up, helped out and covered for me. The problem was, I had started crying. I felt that something within my brain had literally snapped. Something was wrong and I had no idea what it was. I couldn’t sleep. I felt hopeless as a mother, a wife, a teacher, a colleague and as a leader. I felt that I had let everyone down. I felt so, so stupid for being upset at seeing my lunch bag and at smelling hand sanitiser. What I still didn’t know at the time was that my mild anxiety had unleashed itself, 11 months after experiencing my boys’ premature birth as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, coupled with mild depression.
“My brain had stored those emotions, and they came out when I was least expecting it”
Why am I writing this now you might ask? Well, at the time of going to the hospital every day I didn’t realise that I was being affected by every event that I experienced. I also didn’t realise that our brain has a strange way of coping with things as I rarely got emotional whilst we were in hospital and I felt that I had “got through it” quite well. What my brain had done, was store those emotions, the anxiety, the fear and the events that I couldn’t quite make sense of, in a small box in my brain. I had coped amazingly for all that time, felt joy and happiness at bringing up my two young boys and knew I was extremely lucky to have had such a positive outcome. I know from seeing it in the hospital that many are not as lucky as we are. I could see first-hand that my boys were alive, and they were thriving! The problem was, those memories and experiences stored in that box needed to be dealt with. And they came out when I was least expecting it.
I remember sitting in a coffee shop in a shopping centre, googling “what is wrong with me” “Why am I crying when I look at my water bottle” “have I gone insane”?! The straight answer is, no, I wasn’t insane. What I was experiencing was a perfectly natural reaction to a very stressful and difficult situation and in reality, I was a bit broken, and needed time to be “fixed”, heal and get better. But I needed the help of the professionals to do that. I wasn’t able to just “snap out of it” and my “brave face” was stained with tears and puffy eyes. No matter what I did, nothing was helping me feel any better.
“I couldn’t just snap out of it… no matter what I did, nothing was helping me feel any better”
