The Mindful Mug

The past few weeks have been some of the hardest I’ve faced. My coping mechanisms ran dry, panic attacks floored me, and I nearly gave up on everything – motherhood, the café, myself. But I reached out, I asked for help, I started medication. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.

I’ve not wrote here for a while. Things have been, and continue to be, really tough. I’ve felt stuck in a rut.

After years of relying on my coping mechanisms, it feels like they’ve finally ran out of juice. To be fair, they lasted longer than I thought they would. I’ve come close to breaking before, but somehow always managed to claw myself back.

This time though, I scared myself. I had the biggest panic attack. For a moment, I even considered giving Luca to his dad, becoming a part-time mum. The thought was soul-destroying. I hit rock bottom. I wanted to quit the café. I wanted to curl up into a ball and just be looked after.

But I don’t really have that option. So I did the only thing I could – I picked up the phone. First to the doctors, then to someone I’ve slowly started to trust. That in itself felt terrifying. Letting people in isn’t easy. But Nidhi came to the rescue. Her sparkle lit up my life when I needed it most, lending a much-needed hand.

It took me ages to decide who to call. My instinct was to ring my mum. That’s still a tough one sometimes. With such a limited support network, I knew I had to be proactive.

Learning to Accept Help

So I asked the doctor for medication. I’ve started on sertraline. Right now, I feel exhausted – bone tired. But at the same time, I feel more human. More purposeful.

That in itself is a big step for me. For years I’ve refused medication, convinced I could just push through it. And for a long time, I did. But the truth is, I’ve been shaken for a while now. I recognise I need more help than I can give myself, or even ask for from others.

Counselling doesn’t feel like an option at the moment – not because I don’t value it, but because I know myself too well. I can talk myself out of things, tell myself it’s not the end of the world, just a shit time I’ll get through. But sometimes, it’s okay to accept a helping hand.

I guess that’s a kind of ending. Not a neat one, but an ending all the same.

The café is uncertain. I’m super stressed about paying the rent. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do about it. Arrrr. But for now, I’m staying steady. Staying station.