My story began with the birth of my daughter in January 2009. At that time I also had an eighteen month old son who I adored and was the centre of my world. He had been a relaxed baby and I assumed that motherhood the second time round would not present any great shocks. My second pregnancy was a surprise. I had conceived my son via IVF and been advised that we had been very fortunate that it had been a success. It had been a real shock to discover when he was just nine months old that I was pregnant again.

It seemed like from the moment she was born my daughter screamed and screamed. She was diagnosed much later with reflux but a lot of damage to our relationship and my confidence around her had been done. She would often scream from 7pm to 3am and my son would be up to start the day at 6am. She would cat nap in the day so I did not have the chance to catch up on any sleep, I felt exhausted. She would only really sleep in the buggy or the car, as soon as I would stop her eyes would open wide and she would scream again. I used to walk for miles with her because I wanted her to sleep and I could not bear to be in the house with her while she screamed. I became increasingly agitated and anxious. When she was just twelve weeks old I sent her to nursery a couple of days a week because I felt I could not cope with her. Increasingly I did not want to be involved in her care and felt I could not look after her. My parents and partner were so supportive and they took over more and more of her care while I tried to continue looking after my son.

The trouble was the more I avoided being with her, the more I dreaded any time where we would have to be together. By avoiding contact with my daughter I realise with hindsight that this probably made things worse for me. It reached a point where I could not stay in the house with her overnight. I would put my son to bed and drive half an hour to my parents’ house leaving my partner to manage the nights with her. I would come back at 6am to take over when he went to work. I would dread walking in the door because I did not want to see her and I felt that my home no longer offered any sense of peace or sanctuary.

Things rapidly got worse, I could not bear to be near my daughter, I experienced intense anxiety when I was anywhere near her, I did not even want my husband to sit on the sofa beside me if he was holding her. I just kept thinking she was an awful baby and would grow up to be an awful child, I felt that I had ruined our lives by having her. I also felt incredibly guilty that my son who had previously had 100% of my attention now had to share my affections. I resented my daughter because I felt that caring for her took away from time I could spend with my son. I also felt no bond with her because I could not comfort her or stop her crying. I don’t know if she sensed my anxiety but I felt that she would cry if I was anywhere near her and I was quite convinced that on some level she did not like me.

My husband and I even discussed him moving out of our home with our daughter, because I did not feel that I would ever be able to care for her. For some time I had been having suicidal thoughts and they were increasing. I felt as though something had to give and the only future I could see was one where I was no longer in the way. I had in my mind that siblings needed to stay together but this meant that I could not stay with my son. In my deeply depressed state, this was too much to contemplate and I decided that life was no longer worth living.

I ran away early one morning, I drove to the coast and sat on a quiet beach. It was an unseasonably hot day for the time of year, and the water was very calm. I remember wishing that it was rough so that if I waded in it would just take me away. I walked up to a cliff top and sat there for almost six hours staring at the water and trying to find the courage to jump in. Eventually in a hysterical state I called my sons godmother who took me in. I found out afterwards that the police had been called and had been searching for me. I was admitted to hospital for three weeks and the process of recovery began.

Concurrent with this I had started to attend the Cedar House Group. I had already met Liz and I remember saying to her that I felt ashamed to say to anyone that I did not want to care for my daughter. She said that it was the last place that anyone would be judged but that I could say as little or as much as I wanted to. There was a crèche facility at the group but in the early days I could not take my daughter because I was terrified she would scream for the entire session and I would be in the group listening to her. Surprisingly at the first meeting I told the others in the group exactly where I was and what was happening for me. Others were just as open and there were plenty of tears in that first session, I think for me and some of the others it was just a relief to be able to talk about our feelings without having to be mindful of what we were saying. It was as though there was an implicit trust in the room and it felt supportive from the outset. Liz and Barbara were both wonderful and kept in touch with me outside of the group while I was in hospital.

I had my medication adjusted and in time I started to spend increased amounts of time with my daughter. Over time, our bond grew and the first time I told her I loved her was a very emotional moment, full of tears but finally for the right reasons. I thought it would never be possible for me to feel the love for my daughter that I felt for my son, but it was possible and I love them both with all my heart.

With hindsight I realise that I was physically and mentally exhausted. I realise now that it was never really about my daughter but she was a hook for the post natal depression to hang itself on. I thought there was no hope, every day was like wading through mud. The others from the Cedar House Group and I said many times that we just hung on through the week waiting for Tuesday mornings to arrive when we could be together. It was a light at the end of the tunnel for me, I felt that if I could make it to the group then I would be OK. I knew I could be completely open there and I would be understood and heard.

When the group finished we continued to meet on Tuesday mornings at each others houses. Although now some of us have returned to work we are all still in touch and catch up regularly. If anyone is having a tough time, the others rally round. Because of what we went through together it seems that we are able to be more open with each other than perhaps with those that we have known for many years. I treasure the close friendships that we have formed.

I think that probably the only people who can understand post natal illness are those who have trodden the same path. To seek them out and talk openly with them makes you realise you are not alone. I have learnt many lessons as a result of my illness, in particular I have learnt that ‘good enough, is good enough’, I don’t have to be perfect, I just need to love my children and do my best. Someone also told me in answer to my fears that I did not want to dilute my love for my son by sharing it with my daughter that ‘love doesn’t divide, it multiplies’, I have thought of this often and it has proven to be very true.

Of course, I still have my ups and downs, life with two very small, very strong willed children is a challenge, but I have learnt not to panic on the low days and as best I can to go with the flow. I also know now that my friends from the Cedar House Group are always there for me and if I need a little extra support or TLC I need only ask.