By the end of 2022, I was barely alive.
I struggled to get out of bed each morning. Most days my kids would come in and out of the room, taking turns at trying to get me up until eventually I'd drag myself to the shower.
On the outside, I looked just fine. My body was physically present and going through the motions required of it each day. But, like many at this point in time, my mental health was in tatters.
Lockdowns. Schooling from home. Constantly changing restrictions. An ever-increasing workload. And the never-ending demands of motherhood, intensified by this 'unprecedented' time.
While I'd had episodes of mental illness in the past, this had undoubtedly been the worst of the lot. During that period, there were many times I figured I wouldn't be missed if I were no longer around.
However, for once, my stubborn nature came in handy. I clung to the idea that maybe the metaphorical clouds would eventually part, and the sun would shine again. And so, I promised myself I was going to find a way out of the deep, dark hole I was languishing at the bottom of. If not for myself, then at least for my kids and husband.
To find my way back to myself and to feel alive again, I knew I needed to reconnect with what made me happy
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