I’m not in the best place right now, in terms of my mental health. And my body image. And my stress levels. There are many factors at play here. When I was finishing my nursing degree, I was initially drawn to mental health nursing because I felt that I could potentially practice with the most empathy in this field, compared to others, due to my own experiences in coping with mental health (both mine, and that of my family’s). I don’t know if that’s true; if we can ever really entirely place ourselves in another’s mindframe without having grown the same way they have. People develop their own unique coping mechanisms based on who they are, and what they have experienced, Perhaps it was naive thinking on my part. Part of me feels that I belong in this field because in a way it helps me to better understand myself. Yet, another part of me knows that I will never truly understand the way my brain works. How do I go in, split myself six ways to provide emotional support for six adult people that are experiencing acute mental health crises, and still have enough left over for me at the end of the day? My partner bears the brunt of this, I am sure. A lot of the time I love my job so much that I can do it, no problem. But the last two weeks have been hard. I’ve been turning down call-ins and working my minimums. I know it will get better, because it always does. This feeling never lasts forever, and I feel lucky, because I know that for some of the people I work with, this is their baseline.
Thursday would have been her 59th birthday. Friday marks 13 years since I’ve lost her. Every spring brings sorrow, and grief, and crippling anxiety, almost like clockwork. I face challenges throughout the year, certainly; but this time of the year is always my lowest point.
Today I will take pictures. And paint. And play my guitar. And do my nails. These are the only ways I really know how to take care of myself. In the exact same ways that I did when I was half the age I am now.
I miss my mum.