Work in progress

Yo! -not entirely sure why I opted to start this post in such manner, but here it is. In fact, I think its because I over use " hey guys" which also sounds like the intro that every "influencer" on youtube uses.

This morning I sent a voice note to my friend after having finished writing this post and I questioned whether I should post this or not. The reason being that I feel like I post a lot of heavy content, which focuses on key events that have happened in my life, but I felt like it was quite depressing. Yes, a lot of rubbish things have happened in my life, but equally there have been so many highs!

This wonderful friend of mine just reminded me that I started this blog as a form of self-therapy and processing some of the experiences I've had. Not for people's entertainment (although I would like to think it's somewhat entertaining for all 5 of my readers -ha!).

She's right, but we also came to the conclusion that actually it would be beneficial for myself to write about the good times too and I would want to share those with you all too. After all, this is literally like my online diary, so it would be an inaccurate representation of who I really am without all the good bits. I promise in real life, I'm not all doom and gloom...in fact, quite the opposite. If you were to ask any one of my close friends what I am really like in real life, I'm 99% sure they will tell you that I am always laughing and cracking jokes, so I feel like after this post I would like to focus more on some of the funnier and better times.

In fact if you were to ask my social media followers on my personal accounts what sort of content I post, I'm sure they would probably say I am annoying because I think I'm so funny and that they mute my stories, but I'd like to think they think I'm hilarious and that the majority of my followers have post notifications turned on because they're dying to see what jokes meme or video I will post next. Ok - this was definitely a reach. The reality is they're reading this like and laughing sarcastically like;

Back to the topic at hand. Naturally I often reflect on past experiences and events, so I end up analysing and having a real understanding of how these things shaped and affected me.

The more I do this, the more I realise that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Meh. I'm a work in progress.

If I’m going to be really honest here and lay it all on the table, one of the things I really struggle with, is when people say " you're such a good mum."

Firstly, I get really awkward because the minute someone says that I get a whole story-line flash across my mind of all the questionable things that I have done as a parent. I just don’t feel as though I am and it’s something I’ve struggled with over the years.

Now this isn’t about to be some weird confession about how my children aren’t looked after, so don’t worry 😅.

It’s more a feeling that I’ve just always felt deep down, which I think ties in to the post-natal depression I suffered with and me just being a young and in-experienced parent after I had Faith. I’m constantly critiquing myself and I sometimes feel regretful or bad about decisions I previously made in the past.

Becoming a mum at 15 was way more life changing than I actually thought at the time and sometimes I look back and cringe at some of the things I did.

An example of this; when I got my first flat back in 2007, I used to let my friends come over all the time. As though my home was some sort of youth club. I think back then I just didn’t want to be alone. Although I had friends, being a teen mum felt isolating at times. I also didn’t know how to say no, so if people wanted to come to mine- I would just go along with it...even if they would outstay their welcome 🙃.

Which is such a contrast to when I then had my son, Tate at 24. I just didn’t want visitors all the time. I wanted to enjoy quiet time and peace, rather than running around entertaining guests with a torn vagina as a result of pushing out my 9lb 10oz chunk-a-lunk of a son! 😅

Another example of something I feel regretful about; in June 2007 I went to J’s (Faith’s dad) prom after party. I was breast feeding at the time and had expressed some milk and left Faith with my mum. I drank and got tipsy and was out until the morning.

I had signed myself into the hostel the night of J’s prom after party then crept out without the receptionist knowing, however I got caught upon my return and was given a warning to not stay out again otherwise they would report me to the council and I would not be re-housed.

So a couple of nights later, when I then wanted to attend my prom after party (I wasn’t allowed to attend my previous school’s prom), I couldn’t stay late as I had to be back by the curfew, plus my nipples were sore and I had struggled to express enough milk to stay out long anyway. I also just felt weird being there as I had missed out on so much with my friends.

I would never have dreamed about leaving Tate and having a wild drunken night, then stumbling home early in the morning.

A final example of something I look back on and feel so horrible about, is being advised by any adult around to do the cry out method to get Faith to sleep through the night, otherwise she would be spoilt and that I would never get any sleep. I was told it was for the good of both of us.

For anyone who doesn’t know what it is, I’ve taken this little excerpt from google;

“Cry out method is a sleep training technique that involves putting your baby to bed and allowing her to fuss or cry until she falls asleep — without help from you. That means you won't go back into her room to comfort her until she goes to sleep on her own.”

When I had my son I read up a lot on the best ways to deal with certain challenges, such as sleep routines, or dealing with teething, because quite frankly, when I had Faith I didn’t do any of that. Since the time when I had her, there have been countless studies that have come to light that advise strongly against the cry it out method as it can cause serious psychological harm to babies brains in the form of stress and affect the attachment to the caregiver (me). Heartbreaking.

I had a magazine called Emma’s diary that at the time gave advice and tips on how to deal with some challenges faced with parenting. Which was really useful at times.

I also had taken child development as a GCSE (the school I attended for my last year at school made it compulsory for us to take it- which was a good idea). However, as useful as these things were from a technical point of view, you can’t learn how to be a parent from a textbook.

Google wasn’t what it is now back then. I winged it. Or would get told by an adult (J’s mum, my mum, someone’s mum) what I should do and I would listen. Even if I felt reluctant to do so, because they were the adults and I was a child.

I often felt like I didn’t have a lot of say or that I couldn’t speak up, as I felt my feelings were always disregarded/not valid because of my age.

Practising the cry it out method was awful. The sound of Faith’s cries have stayed with me until this day. I just wanted to pick her up and cuddle her, but even though the ‘adults’ weren’t around, I felt like I had to listen. I so wish I hadn’t and wish I had gone with my intuition. I should have cuddled her and comforted her when she cried out for me. Tears have come to my eyes as I write this, because I harbour so much guilt about this entire situation. I remember my friend’s being over sometimes and they would either be consoling me or wanting to go and console Faith. Ahh man. Those times were really difficult and I regret doing that SO much.

I think that’s why when I had Tate 9 years later, I was and am very attentive and I am very much aware of how I parent and tend to his needs. The same goes for Faith.

Anyway, I know I was young and I wasn’t intentionally harming Faith (with the cry out method), but these are very real things that I look back at in horror.

***

So last week I reposted a post I wrote back in 2017 called; being a teenage mum and I even talk about my homelessness in my post; homeless with a new born, but I’ve realised that upon reflection I have never really delved into my actual feelings in those first few months of being a mum. I’ve mostly discussed it in a general manner, so that’s why I thought I should expand a bit on that today.

As I write this section of my blog post it’s 4:30am on my first day back to work after having been on furlough since March. I’ve had about 5 hours sleep...I definitely should be sleeping, but when I get the urge to write, I do it. No matter what the time.

Back to June 2007. During my stay at the infamous Gilroy Court hostel, I was contacted by a mother and baby unit in Croydon (literally a 3 minute walk away from the hostel I was staying in). They arranged for me to go there and see it.

So for anyone who doesn’t know what a mother and baby unit is, they are designed with the view to

“support young parents or parents to be, to help them learn the skills needed to parent their baby successfully and to become more independent young adults.”

Basically it’s a house full of young mums and their babies and there are staff members there who are supposed to support and assist the young mums with their babies.

However, I had a cousin who was staying in one and knew of another young mum who had been placed in one and all I had heard from them was horror stories.

I heard tales of young mum’s getting into fights, bullying, unbothered and judgemental staff. As you can imagine, I had already experienced my fair share of judgement, so I was definitely not keen on going there.

Friday 22nd June 2007. I arrived at the baby unit to be shown around and introduced to some of the young mum’s. It was set in a huge house that had about 4 different levels.

My heart sank as I listened to the lady tell me about the place. The information I had gathered from her was that I was to stay there for a minimum of 9 months and that I would be assessed and they would make a recommendation to the council if they felt I was ready to move out and live on my own.

I took that as “you’re moving in here because we think you’re too young to actually know how to look after a baby or be a decent mum. We will watch your every movement and decide if we feel you’re a good mum or not. If you’re not a good mum, then you’re staying here until you improve or we will have your child taken away.” She didn’t actually say those exact words, but that’s how I interpreted it.

In hindsight, I definitely understand the ethos of the place and why they felt that was necessary. To be honest, the essence of what they were about would probably have been beneficial to a lot of young parents, but I automatically went into defence mode as I had heard soooo many bad things about the place, so to me it felt like a zoo. In fact, it felt like a prison sentence.

During the first 6 weeks of Faith’s life, I was still living at home with my mum. I felt like my mum was watching my every move and judging me. She probably was just hurt and disappointed and wanted to help me. However, I felt very judged.

So when my mum kicked me out, a part of me was relieved as I felt I had to put on a front when she was around.

I would never really cuddle and kiss Faith in the way I wanted to when my mum was around and I genuinely still do that to this day, but as soon as my mum left the room, I couldn’t stop cuddling and kissing Faith. I couldn’t believe she was mine. I used to just stare at her for hours.

Throughout my pregnancy I found it stressful being at home, I ended up staying at J’s house for the majority of the time. Even J couldn’t deal with his mum’s emotions and reaction to the pregnancy news, so he ended up moving in with his dad. This is where I spent most of my pregnancy. J’s dad was going though some sort of mid-life crisis, so we were pretty much left to our own devices.

Back to the mother and baby unit. When I got back to my hostel after the appointment, I remember feeling really glum. I did not want to move there. I didn’t want the drama of arguing with other girls and I didn’t want to be judged by staff members. They had decided that I would move in there on the following Monday. I was pissed.

Monday came and I was called to Reception. A letter had come for me. Long story cut short, it was a temporary housing offer from the Council.

I HAD JUST BEEN OFFERED MY FIRST FLAT!!!

I was over the moon. I could finally leave the sh*tty hostel and start a new life for me, Faith & J in a place that we could call home!

I talk about how it felt moving in there in my post: Homeless with a newborn.

Just to elaborate further on what I mentioned there. It was awful.

I remember J’s mum being really disappointed with the condition of the flat and she paid for us to have the flat decorated and have flooring put down in Faith’s room.

She also bought most of the furniture in that flat. A lot of the things we had in there were second hand/given to us by family members. I honestly still feel so appreciative of this, because I don't know how we would have been able to afford it all ourselves.

I hated the flat, but I was super grateful to have my own safe space and finally be out of that hostel.

The summer of 2007, J got a job working as a labourer doing 12+ hours a day, 6 days a week for £250. Not a lot of money, but he was 16.

I was grateful for this as it meant we were able to stay afloat that summer. However, it also meant I was often left alone all day on my own with Faith, which I really found difficult.

Every Sunday we would do a family trip, whether it was to the beach, or the farm, or to see his mum.

J would usually fall asleep really early as he was exhausted, so we were missing out on spending real quality time together. Or he would invite his friend’s over in the evening or my friends would stay until late. All of these things put strain on our already struggling relationship.

During those long days whilst he was at work, I would have my friends over just to not feel so alone or be left alone with my thoughts. Sometimes I would meet up with some of my other young mum friends and take the kids out. I would always try and stay out as late as possible, so that I wouldn’t have to be in the flat on my own.

In contrast, there were many days I would struggle to get out of bed, because I just didn't feel like it. On my low days, I would put her favourite movies/shows on and get all her toys out to keep her entertained.

J would come home and call me lazy and a slob, because I had spent the majority of the day in bed and hadn’t got any housework done. I struggled a lot to keep up with the housework. I just couldn’t motivate myself to do it. I was finding the tiniest of tasks so difficult to complete and I couldn’t comprehend or understand why. I struggled to process my thoughts and feelings in a way that made sense.

I had friends who would sometimes come over and help my clean and do the housework. I was grateful for those friends.

I recognise now, that those feelings were symptoms of post natal depression, but at the time I couldn’t explain why I was feeling this way.

J didn’t understand and I'm not surprised either. He was a 16 year old boy. We were both emotionally immature. In his mind, he just thought I was being super lazy and he would often get annoyed or complain as he was working long hours and coming home to a mess and no dinner. Which I completely understand, but what I struggled to get across to him was that I felt soooo low and couldn't help but feel that way.

I didn’t even know why it was happening, so how was I supposed to communicate my feelings when I could barely understand them myself. What I did know though, was that I was so unhappy. I wanted things to get done, but physically couldn’t motivate myself. I also felt ugly and unattractive as he had cheated on me previously in our relationship at a time when I thought everything was going well for us. It was alot.

We had both thought that moving into our place together would give our relationship the fresh start it needed, but it did the complete opposite.

I didn’t know how to ‘manage a household.’ Everything I did was trial and error. I wish I had more support in hindsight. I would really have benefited from a good support system. My only real support system, were my 16 year old friends, who were just as clueless as I was. (if not more- due to their lack of responsibilities)

I hadn’t achieved the GCSE results I wanted. My mum had kicked me out and then moved to Brighton, therefore I didn’t really get the support that I needed from her. I had relationship issues. I didn’t have a lot of the right support. I had no idea what I should do with my life next. I was bringing up a child at 16 and literally winging it.

I was doing the best I could in my situation, but I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me and I didn’t dare tell anyone that I had thoughts of committing suicide. I can’t tell you how many times I contemplated ending my life. Especially after the breakdown of my relationship with J months later.

I would just get on with things, but in my mind I knew something wasn’t right. I mean, who was I supposed to go to for support anyway? I didn’t have any adults that I was close enough with to tell how I was feeling. I was also scared that if I opened up to anyone about how I was feeling inside, Faith would be taken away from me.

To top off all of these feelings, I remember my friends coming to me and telling me that people were saying I had got pregnant just to get a flat and claim benefits. Which was so far from the truth. When I fell pregnant, I didn’t even know what benefits were. Nor did I plan on being made homeless. Believe me when I say, this was not the way I had planned for my life to turn out. If they only knew how I really felt, then they wouldn’t have said any of those things. When you’re that age, you genuinely do care about what people think of you.

Anyway, eventually a diagnosis of my depression came and I felt some relief. I was offered anti-depressants but I refused to take them. I knew the only way I could get out of how I was feeling was through myself. So I would make sure I kept myself occupied and focused on a goal. I applied and went to college and that helped me a lot.

It’s only now years later that I really understand all the confused thoughts and feelings I had and wish I hadn’t been so hard on myself.

During my darkest moments, Faith and the unconditional love I had for her was what kept me going and focused. I had to keep going!! As cliche as it sounds, she is the very reason I continued to strive. So I’m grateful for her because she literally saved my life.

Faith has always been such a polite, loving and intelligent girl. That’s mainly because of me, so it’s about time I stopped giving myself such a hard time about mistakes I made in the past and started congratulating myself on the things I succeeded on. Such as bringing up two beautiful children.

The thing is, we all make mistakes. We all have done things we are not proud of. We have all done things and cringed at the thought of it. Some things are just too dark to even discuss with anyone...and that's ok. We live and we learn.

I’m currently in the process of learning to let go of the feelings of guilt and writing this has made me feel a lot better already.

I feel like often we strive to become the best version of ourselves, but the reality is I don’t think we ever “arrive.” We will forever be a working progress until the day we die. So I’m trying to worry less about the past and instead enjoy each and every day.

All my love, Soph xoxo

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