Re-connecting with the parts of myself after supporting a child through burnout.

A little less mothering and a little more me

I felt a shift happen this weekend.

I had two nights away from home at a cousins wedding. A beautiful occasion that offered a reconnection to my Scottish side, my wild side. The flame haired girl filled with passion and strength reached out to me in a way she hasn’t been able to in a long time. This weekend involved a little less mothering and a little more me.

Below I have listed some moments from the weekend that have been committed to memory ready to draw upon in the future where I might perhaps wonder who I am, when my needs feel bottom of the list, when I feel an invisibility that only another Mother who has nursed her child through burnout would understand: -

1. I shared a long 5-hour car journey with my sister and we chatted and connected. Our mothering laid to one side for a while as we met as two women, as sisters, moving effortlessly between superficial giggling gossip and the deep and meaningful. It was wonderful.

2. I reconnected with a cousin whom I shared a room with and I discovered we have more in common than we realised.

3. I chatted with my Mum about the lovely chairs in the wedding venue and simple things like that, full conversations without the pull of a small child. My Mum and I cast knowing looks to one another of how special this moment was.

4. I danced with my Dad and felt the child in me remerge and I felt the tangible love between father and daughter.

A few years ago, this would not have been possible. If I left the home even just for an hour my son would cling to me telling me he couldn’t breathe if I left his side. Those were the days that I would prize my sons’ fingers off my body and run for the door, full of guilt that I was doing him more harm than my good. I would drive down the road to my parent’s house and sob into a cup of tea whilst they held me for the briefest of moments. Then I would dry my eyes and return home to my child to resume my intense co-regulation to heal his overwhelmed body.

So this weekend just gone, instead of the yells for food, toileting assistance, co-regulation when anxiety mounts, tooth brushing and bathing (which is a bigger job than it sounds in a neurodivergent household), washing clothes, cooking, meal planning, helping with my husband’s business, playing, preparing for a future tribunal, the things I do that meet everyone else’s needs but my own, I only had to look after myself for the first time in two and a half years and what a door it opened.

I’m not a martyr, I’m not unique, I’m every woman, I’m every mother of a child with additional needs. And I needed this break as I could feel my body breaking.

Of course, the love between bride and groom made me miss my husband deeply. And I felt a longing for the small bodies of my children snuggling into my motherly folds, the smell of their hair, the softness of their skin, their voices saying cute little things that make my heart melt. I’ll never not be Mummy, they will always be my babies but sometimes I need to be Hannah, just for a little while.

When my first born child was very young I always had this thought on the tough days that once he was happily ensconced in school I would find myself again, find a career that I would enjoy and would provide meaning, have adult conversations in full sentences, time away from being Mum so that being Mum was high quality rather than dragging my tired body through the motherly moments. But that day never came with a child who cannot be in school.

More recently I have begun to write to cling onto the person I once was. I’m not entirely sure when I was last myself due to a lifetime of masking but I know deep down I have always been a creative, words and music naturally ooze out of my body. It’s who and what I am. I want to find that person again. I want to find the child in her rawest form before the layers of life piled on and I forgot she was me. I want to get to know the child in me once more and allow her to live freely without the mask. And this weekend I began to feel all those things.

Tomorrow I’m having surgery to remove an organ from my body. An organ that brought life into this world, my two beautiful children. But rather than quietening down in preparation for retirement she rages inside me, a ball of anger. I’m sorry to part with her, she gave me what I’d longed for most, but she is depleting me of all my energy and distracting me from the two things she gave home to. I’m scared about the toll the surgery will take on my weary body, I worry I’m not fit enough for recovery, but amongst those fears I’m looking forward to yet more time where I just need to focus on me. I’m looking forward to the nurses fussing over me, being brought meals in bed, I’m looking forward to someone else taking on the load just for a short while. It gives me a reason to sit back, to be selfish, to not feel guilt for having a daytime nap or reading a book, writing or listening to music. The enforced physical recovery with my family picking up the slack will give me space and time to continue to make sense of who I am, I will be a someone to be taken care of, I will be seen, having felt invisible for so long.

And whilst this weekend away and the impending surgery has given me a moment of re-discovery it is over the last few years I have learnt to re-discover myself in a more authentic way. I have learnt the needs of my child and helped him heal from deep trauma and pain, I’ve learnt that there isn’t just one way for a child to learn and I have watched my child learn in his own amazing way, I have learnt about a community I didn’t know existed and I have found a place for my family to belong. And the result of that hard work is that my child can leave the house once more, we are supporting our daughter’s start in education in a neuro-affirming way, finding her the right environment rather than forcing her into the wrong one, my husband has recently been diagnosed neurodivergent and has begun to give himself more compassion for the parts of him that others criticise, I know myself better than ever before and one-day maybe I will get myself assessed but I know where I belong and what I need. This challenging work, the incredibly lonely and bleak days of burnout, all of this has led to me doing life with a little bit more Hannah. This was a necessary and important chapter in my life and I’m so pleased to have lived it.

And to the other mums stuck at home, right now, caring for a child in burnout, the mums who feel as though life is passing them by, that feel isolation, forgotten by the world, misunderstood. This is a chapter, a moment, one that will test your body like it’s never been tested before but one that I hope leads you to a better place, it does come, I promise.

A little addendum if you will:

You might have noticed a song at the top of the page, perhaps you clicked on it to listen or perhaps you didn’t, no pressure. But for those perplexed let me explain. Once upon a time, before being Mum, I used to write songs and perform them in dark dingy pubs in London and I thought maybe including one of these songs as a backdrop to this piece might be fitting.

I have felt a deep sadness of late that my songs just gather dust on my phone and it feels good to put them out into the world, to put little of me out into the world. Recently I’ve gone so far as to send pieces of writing to newspapers, submissions to magazines, I’ve sent my music to Jo Whiley, I even applied for a part-time job. Little pieces of me float out there in the world for people to find. I’ve heard nothing back and in my youth I would be crushed by rejection, but now it feels different. It gives me little tingles of excitement that my tired body so desperately needs, that I haven’t been forgotten and that my needs are being met in the most tiniest of ways. I feel a strength, I feel like a rebel, like I have a little twinkle in my eye as I secretly and quietly leave a little trail of my existence. I don’t feel so invisible anymore, nor isolated because I know someone, somewhere is reading my words. I know someone is listening, I know I have a footprint. I know I’m re-connecting.