
I am giving my eight-week-old son a bath. One hand supports his head and neck, the other gently moves a washcloth over his delicate skin. He kicks his legs, rippling the shallow water. His dark eyes stare up at me. Pools of trust. I make a minute adjustment to my hand supporting his neck. His head slips under the water, for less than a second before I instinctively lift him up. He splutters briefly and is fine. But I am not.
I hit the call button next to the baby bath and a nurse pops her head in:
“Are you ok?”
“No.”
I hand her my baby. Nausea clamps my stomach and works its way up my throat. Black mist hovers in my peripheral vision and I sink to the ground. I put my head between my knees, as red-hot malignant words shoot through me:
“Did I just try to drown my baby?”
Listen: What’s it really like in a psych ward? Honor Eastly wants to change the way Australians see mental health by sharing her story.
I am recovering from an acute psychotic episode, a patient in the mother-baby unit of a private psychiatric hospital. I am now well enough to look after my baby, but I am battered by the experience of psychosis. So I don’t trust the contents of my head. And the media has taught me that I will never be a good mother because I live with a severe mental illness.
That was nine years ago. I’d like to travel back in time and tell myself: “You can’t see it now, but this illness will make you a better parent than you would have been without it.”