10 top tips for good parenting - Emma style

What makes a good parent? 

Kindness? Patience? Being a suitable role model? 

Google 'good parenting' and you'll be rewarded with page after page of articles like: 10 little things good parents do; nine steps to more effective parenting and 50 easy ways to be a fantastic parent. 

Easy? Easy ways? Fifty of them? I've been a parent for almost 12 years now and easy has never been a word I've associated with the job. And yes, I do think of it as a job. Motherhood doesn't come easy to me. Not the love bit; that's pretty straightforward especially when you have a funny, kind, bright child. But like most children she's also argumentative, stubborn and domineering and I'm constantly having to up my game. I don't want to pass on my insecurities, my indecisiveness, my depression. 

Since asking for help over a year ago my condition no longer manifests itself in an inability to get off the sofa. My diet is far from good but I'm not single handedly supporting the bottom line of Walkers. I drink alcohol again - more than the recommended guidelines but less than Oliver Reed. I can see I've made progress but I recognise that at times I'm still a mess. I'm ok with that when there's only me to consider but how do I make sure I'm not setting a precedent with B where she sees my behaviour, my character as the norm?

I try to be honest with her and provide her with some context - only as much as she needs of course - if I let her see the whole truth I'm pretty sure I'd scare the hell out of her. However how do I really know how much she needs or whether this is more about what I need? That's when I start to question if I'm a good parent. Aren't most of us winging it every day? Please say yes. If I find out that you've all got this whole parenting thing sussed it might just tip me over the edge and I don't think there are enough packets of Wotsits on sale in Swaffham.  

One definition of good parenting I've seen is:

Good parenting happens when a person creates for a child a stable, nurturing home environment, is a positive role model, and plays a positive and active part in a child's life. Good parents provide moral and spiritual guidance, set limits, and provide consequences for a child's behaviour.

Nothing too scary there. Suitably broad so that even I can relate to it and agree that, in general, I'm a good parent.

Ask people to define bad parenting though and my discomfort level is turned up to 11. Especially when they cite things like 'someone who puts their own needs before their child'. Put it this way, if I hadn't finally put my own needs first we'd be in a dire situation as a family today. Depression is cruel. It makes me feel worthless, helpless, incompetent and inadequate. In my desire to the do the right thing for my child I ask a lot of questions. Questions like:

• Is it healthy for B to see that medication is a core part of my life?  In one of my first posts I said that we're ok with people taking pills to help with long term conditions like diabetes, arthritis or heart problems and mental health shouldn't be any different. But we refer to anti-depressants as happy pills and that underplays their importance. I'm not unhappy. I'm depressed. It's different. 
• When I can't force myself out of the door to exercise how can I then talk to her about a healthy lifestyle? She called me up on this over the weekend when she had agreed to go for a run and then didn't want to. "You say you're going for a run and then don't; why is that any different?" In some ways she's right, it isn't any different. I want her to be able to trust me to be true to my word but when my body feels as if I've swallowed an Acme anvil I don't stand a chance. We don't live in a society where 'do as I say, not what I do' is a suitable response (thankfully) but we do live in one where I can try to explain how I feel even if it's hard for her to understand.
• I could go on. I won't, but I could.

I don't believe any of us fully appreciate what makes us good parents. Sometimes it's luck. Sometimes it's what we do. Sometimes it's the kids we have. I've come up with my own top 10 tips all of us simply trying to get through another day as a Mum or Dad or similar.

10 top tips for good parenting - Emma style

Try to:

1. Greet your child with a warm smile and a proper hug when they wake up in the morning. You can go back to sucking lemons when they take a nap/ go to school/ go to work.
2. Make it through the day without swearing in front of them. The money in the swear jar will probably go towards a visit to watch some wretched teen film - in your purse/wallet you can buy chocolate/wine/that handbag you've been googling.
3. Bonus points if you don't swear at them (some of you will totally get this - that's who this list is for).
4. Avoid hiding away in the bathroom unless you're about to break down in front of them. In which case lock the door and muffle your screams with a bath mat or a large towel.
5. Cook a balanced meal and eat at the table as a family - it sets a good example. Anyway the meal will be over with more quickly if you're still wearing your lemon sucking face.
6. Eat takeaway and cake in front of the TV because experiences are much more important than good examples. Plus if you don't watch Bake Off live you won't be able to sit on twitter later.
7. Take your meds with a glass of wine and explain that it's the wine that makes you happy, not the pills.
8. Wear pjs all day - it reduces the amount of washing you have to do and hell that's great for the environment. You will eventually have to wash your dressing gown though - we don't want to cross the line into complete and utter slovenliness. 
9. Take the piss out of yourself and your family. None of us are perfect and being able to laugh at yourself is one of life's greatest skills. Don't try this one if you have a dodgy sense of humour. Jokes about suicide don't go down well with everyone. So I've heard...
10. Make sure your kids knows they're central to your life but not the centre of your life. We have to be responsible for our own happiness and one day they'll leave home and you have to be able to cope with that. Unless you live in London in which case you're stuck with them forever because they'll never be able to afford to move out.

I think I'm a good parent most of the time. I know I'm a terrible parent some of the time. And just occasionally I get it right and I'm a great parent. That's as much as I can hope for isn't it?

Perfection is the enemy of happiness. And control is the armour of the unhappy.

The best thing about real friends is they don't shy away from saying what they think, or from making light of a difficult situation. Such as "Well at least your posts on Facebook are a good way to get plenty of likes". If you're not one of my best friends, don't even think about saying this to me. My posts are not a cry for sympathy. Sometimes they are a whimper for help. But I don't need you to feel sorry for me. Honestly all I hope is that anyone who hasn't suffered with depression gains a little understanding of how it can affect people. And for anyone that has suffered to know you're not alone.

After feeling that I was making some progress over the past few months I had a minor set back this weekend. Triggered I'm sure by my first proper counselling session.

Each time I meet with a mental health professional I have to complete a questionnaire which determines the possible severity of my depression. The scale works from green, through blue, yellow, orange and red; the aim is to be in the green zone. I'm currently top red. Like many people my counsellor observed that my score wasn't reflected in the way I come across. That my exterior projects a happy, confident person. I've worn this mask for a long time and it fits so well that it's starting to shock me when I reveal what's beneath. In his words, "You really are a work in progress".

I need a lot of help but I still feel I'm wasting people's time. That I should just snap out of it. That there are so many people in the world who need medical attention more than I do. I have all my limbs. I can work. I have a family that loves me (in the main). I'm physically fit.

However mentally I'm broken.

Facing the reasons why I feel like I do is not easy. Actually, it's more about having to say them out loud to someone else. There's nowhere to hide.  My counselling session was emotionally exhausting. I had to admit to things that are hurtful, that make me vulnerable and cause me to feel ashamed. I felt embarrassed and upset. And that's why I need to do this because a lack of confidence can be a killer. Literally (that's for you PW...).

The good news is I like my new counsellor. He's easy to talk to. He has a sense of humour. That's important. My life is predicated on being able to see the funny side of something. I don't want to lose this. Although I do need to learn when and where to wear my clown mask.

The most used words in my 90 minutes of self reflection were control, perfection and worth.

For those of you walking your own black dog you might be able to associate with these. Each one I use in a negative way.

Control because if things go wrong I only have myself to blame rather than being let down by other people.

Perfection is something I strive for in everything, and a part of my approach to life that I really need to change.

And worth - this is the root cause of my problem. It stems back to my childhood when my Dad left. Left and rarely showed any interest in me for the next 40 years. One of two people in the world I thought I could rely on. As a parent I can't imagine walking away from my child but we all know life is multiple shades of grey, not black and white. My self worth is almost non existent. After all if I'm not loveable to someone who should feel it unconditionally, why should anyone else love me, or even like me?

It's amazing I have any friends really. But I do. You know who you are and I'm so grateful to you for sticking around.

Bear with me. I'm working hard to make it worth your while.

A constant game of keepy uppy

I've had two exhausting but brilliant days running events for clients in Birmingham and London. Both teams are a joy to work with and they make me feel like I belong. The investment required to make an event successful is huge, but the rewards are worth it. I feel a natural high when an event goes well. A sense of euphoria. It's joyous. But maintaining the positive emotions can be like trying to play a constant game of keepy uppy.

I promised someone tonight that I'd concentrate on the things that went well. She knows I'm going to struggle not to crash and burn. I did well this week. I'll try to remember that.

Being honest about my condition

Have I mentioned that I'm not supposed to drink alcohol with the ADs I'm on? Really? Pretty sure I must have said something. In passing. At some point. About my not being able to drink. It's enough to make me depressed... I've definitely said that. On more than one occasion.

Here's the real question I want to ask you. If you were on medication for a heart problem or an infection, and someone asked if you wanted a drink, would you tell them the reason why you couldn't have one? For most of us the answer is probably yes. "No I won't thanks, I'm a diabetic." "No I can't, I'm on antibiotics". However what about if you were on drugs to help with a mental health condition? An illness that isn't always thought of in the same way.

When my GP finally persuaded me I needed to take some medication I asked lots of questions. Would it affect my creativity? Would I live in a permanent state of numbness with fewer lows but also not so many highs? How long would I need to take them? What about treatment for my toenail...? Did he think I was an idiot? Weak? Pathetic? I'm fairly sure the poor bloke was relieved when I eventually left his office. I bombarded him with everything I could think of in between tears, self ridicule and some seriously blunt questioning. Why I forgot to ask him if I could still drink I don't know. Probably because I don't drink a huge amount and it's not top of the list when you're staring down the barrel of a metaphoric gun.

It didn't occur to me until I got home and decided to read the notes inside the pill box before I committed to a mid to long term relationship.

"This drug is known for causing tiredness as a side effect. Combining Prozac with alcohol can quickly lead to increased sedation. Even one drink combined with the drug can cause tranquilisation. As a magnifier of the drug’s effect, alcohol mixed with the sedative can produce potentially dangerous situations." 

The potentially dangerous situations? Mixing alcohol with prozac (fluoxetine) can lead to suicidal thoughts. I kid you not! You couldn't make this stuff up. Ok clearly you could but seriously if Alanis Morissette ever decides to rewrite Ironic she should chat to some people who suffer from mental health problems. We'd have a enough material for a track that rivalled the length of Fools Gold and This Is What She's Like.

Which finally brings me to my point (note to self: check if side effects also include an inability to retain a single train of thought...). If I was on any other medication and someone offered me a drink I'd politely decline and probably say why. But since I started taking ADs I've become increasingly aware that honesty isn't always the best policy. It is for me. I feel liberated. But I recognise that it does leave some people tongue tied. What do you say when someone tells you they're on antidepressants? Maybe ask them if they want to talk about it. Are the tablets helping? Is it hard adjusting to life without a cold glass of white (yes is the answer)? Are you nuts? Perhaps save that one for those friendships where they expect that sort of response...

Initially I shied away from addressing the issue and said I was on a health kick; taking 3 months off the booze as part of a lifestyle change. Then I realised it was just too much to hide and so began a level of openness, alongside a new level of abstinence, both of which I fully accept make some people uncomfortable. I'm still fundamentally the same person I was before the meds albeit a bit less manic and hopefully on my way to being a lot happier. If we're really going to remove the stigma associated with mental health we can all play a part in understanding what it means. For my friends and family it now means they have a regular designated driver. Not all bad news is it?

Asking for help

Someone reminded me that I hadn't blogged for a while. It's been over a year.

I could have conceived and given birth to a baby in that time.
Or grown a pineapple.
Completed an MBA.

I didn't do any of these things. I didn't blog either. Other than a few posts, I haven't written much at all since finishing my photo a day blog on 31st December 2013.

I have worked though. A lot. And I've been unhappy with myself.

So unhappy that I was in danger of doing something stupid. This isn't a cry for attention. I'm self sufficient. My family would tell you too self sufficient. I never ask for help and that can be tiring for all of us. When I began to check that all my paperwork was in order and regularly thought everyone would be better off without me; that's when I finally realised I hadn't been happy for as long as I can remember and asked for help.

And that's why eight weeks ago I found myself telling a complete stranger that I couldn't cope anymore. It was a GP, not some random person in the street and actually I couldn't even tell him at first. Instead I showed him a damaged toenail even though he knew why I was there because I'd had to tell the receptionist when I made the appointment. In truly British fashion I apologised constantly for taking up his time on something so stupid but he listened patiently and I left with a prescription for Fluoxetine and a meeting with a counsellor.

I had at last faced the truth and accepted that I was depressed. Not a bit down. Not a bit miserable. Depressed. I'd become quite good at hiding it. People who know me well but not well enough would probably describe me as happy. I like to play the joker. To make other people laugh. To be there for people who are having a tough time.

Robin Williams is quoted as saying "I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it's like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anyone else to feel like that." I can relate to that.

Saying the words 'I'm depressed" out loud was, I hope, the start of my recovery. I know I'm lucky to have a great family, a job I love and (what could be) a beautiful home but as I've previously said to people who don't understand depression, "It's not about what you have, it's about how you feel."

I fell out with a cousin who I care for a lot because we disagreed on this. I wasn't brave enough to tell him I know this is true because it's how I've felt every day.

Before I sought help I set up another twitter account to share my real feelings and to connect with other people who are in a similar situation. I now take part in twitter chats about mental health. It helps to be honest about how I was doing. To talk about my medication and its side effects. To talk. Full stop. With complete honesty and without judgement. Except it's not completely honest is it because nobody knows who I really am?

My counsellor asked if I could speak to Will (my husband) about how I felt. However how do you tell someone that loves you that you don't want to go on living? Of course he knows I'm getting help and I talk to him when I need to but there are parts of our life together that I don't want to spoil for him. As I said before, it's not about what I have, or who I'm with, it's about who I am and how that makes me feel. If you're reading this and have no comprehension of what I'm talking about. Good. I'm pleased for you. It's a wretched place and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Well maybe a small handful of people but only if really pushed.

It's taken two months for the meds to begin to balance themselves out. I spent 6 weeks feeling nauseous and exhausted during the day, then suffering from insomnia at night. Then I changed the time of day that I took them and it's starting to feel a little better. Being self employed has brought additional pressures. I'm extremely lucky that I've been able to tell my clients what I'm going through, to have had the flexibility to adjust to the meds. They've all been amazing.

I'm not looking for sympathy or pity. If just one other person who feels like I have reads this and decides to make a change that's a good thing. If someone who thinks that depression only happens to the weak changes their mind that's good too.

I think I'm pretty tough. I believe I can do anything. Except beat this on my own. This may seem like a tiny step but one small step for (wo)man - well - I'm hoping that's one giant leap for my own peace of mind.

This is the start of my journey. The road to happiness. And I'm going to share some of it in this blog.