Young People and Depression - Our Story

I have a daughter.  A beautiful, intelligent, talented daughter.  A young woman who lights up the room when she walks in.  Someone with empathy, an open heart and a refreshing sense of humour.  Someone who has no idea just how special she is.

But my little girl has recently needed help, more than I could give her myself.  Help for the emotional problems that she has been suffering with.  My amazing child has found herself caught up in the dark depths of depression.  At such a young age she has at times experienced the utter despondency and paralysing lows associated with this illness.  She has felt isolation, helplessness and feelings of low self-worth.  Feelings you never want your precious child to feel.

As her parent I have tried to reach her, but it is not easy for either of us.  Sometimes we are just too close. The feeling of personal failure and frustration experienced as a mother, thinking that you are in some way to blame for your child's sorrow stops you being as level headed as you need to be. It's too easy to make it about you and end up transferring your own feelings of guilt onto your child, compounding their own issues.  Similarly, your child's own guilt or embarrassment means they are unable to open up and let go.  They are worried that they will upset you, hurt you or disappoint you.  Sometimes we need outside help.

When I was a teenager I was diagnosed with depression.  I self-harmed.  I struggled to understand my place in this world.  I had the darkest of thoughts and felt the unbearable pressure of life bearing down on my shoulders.  To think that my own child has followed this path is heartbreaking to me, like I have let her down in some way to allow this to happen.  I want her to be happy, confident and to understand just how special she is. I want her to know she will get through this and be a stronger person for it.  I want her to realise that I would do anything to ease her pain.

Is this some genetic curse I have blighted her with or has my own history somehow influenced her at a crucial time in her childhood? Could I have seen it coming and done something about it earlier?  Is this just a part of her, and in loving her unconditionally do I have to just accept the darkness like I accept my own?  We may never understand the reasons, but I for one, promise to give her all the love, support and understanding that I can provide.  She is stronger and more amazing than she knows.  I am so proud of her.

Getting her the appropriate outside help has started us on the path to recovery.  I hope and pray that seeing a therapist will enable her to talk about all the things she can't tell me.  I hope that in doing so she will get well.  I want her to sleep peacefully.  I want her to eat healthily.  I want to chase away all the darkness that is threatening to extinguish part of her shining light.  I want my little girl to be carefree, happy and full of life again.  I want her to believe in herself.  I want her to know she can and will be healed.

I urge any parents of teenagers or young adults not to ignore signs of depression or dismiss them as teenage angst.   Teenagers and young people need real help, real support and should never have their symptoms overlooked.  They are just too precious and the consequences can be devastating.  If you feel that your child is suffering from depression, seek medical help.

Signs and symptoms of depression in teens

Sadness or hopelessness Irritability, anger, or hostility Tearfulness or frequent crying Withdrawal from friends and family Loss of interest in activities Changes in eating and sleeping habits

Restlessness and agitation Feelings of worthlessness and guilt Lack of enthusiasm and motivation Fatigue or lack of energy Difficulty concentrating Thoughts of death or suicide

Struggling.

I remembered one of the reasons I started this blog.  It was my therapy.  Casting out my negativity into the ether.  Getting rid of my pain, sending it into the void of the internet.

January 2012 has been the crappest month I've ever had.  One bad thing after another sent to try us.  We keep pulling through but my grip is loosening.

I watch myself as I tap away on the keyboard diligently writing reviews and other posts.  I wonder why the hell am I trying so hard to post photos for Project 366.  Photos that I am sure aren't interesting to anyone other than myself.  I'm losing a bit of myself with every passing day, yet I don't want to let anyone down.  Or maybe in continuing with the charade of normality I am holding on to the last thread that is keeping me from imploding.

We've been trying to cope with some problems, which aren't mine to discuss here.  But I've felt tested.  I've questioned myself.  I'm my own toughest critic and although I know in my head that I'm not doing anything wrong, my heart tells me I'm coming up short at every hurdle and should do more to make things right.  I am truly spent: emotionally and physically.

My daughter, who is struggling with her exams and her life at school, has got her school report.  Some teachers have been really sympathetic with Ella's situation.  Others have been utterly thoughtless saying that she should be disappointed for getting a grade B in a mock exam.  A 'B' is bloody brilliant from someone who says that school makes her feel like crawling into a corner.  What a great way to make a vulnerable teen feel worthless!  So much for pastoral care.

Meanwhile the wonderful world of anonymous cyber-bullying has reared its ugly head to persecute my daughter.  Reading through what some sad and evil little troll has said to my beautiful girl has made me sick.  Worse still, it's someone who knows her personally.  Every fibre of my being wants to write a response telling them exactly what I think of them and invite them to take their issues up with me face to face.  I'd love to tell them what a cowardly, pathetic little stain they are, but as an adult you can't do that.  Instead I've done the grown-up thing and print screened the vitriol that is inciting my child to commit suicide because no one would miss her.

I'm a believer in signs.  Always have been.  If my husband buys me flowers and they wilt the next day, I worry that that is a representation of our relationship somehow.  It's stupid but I think it stems back from when my depression was at its worse and I'd honestly believe something dreadful would happen unless I could count to 100 before the next car drove past my bedroom window.  Our hamster, who I actually and ridiculously  adore has keeled over and died.  She is lying in a crumpled ball in her bed and I can't deal with it at all.   It seems just so symbolic because she was healthy, fine and friendly.  Now she's dead.  My mind is in overdrive trying not to latch onto it as a sign or a dark prophecy of impending doom.  Plus I'm going to have to tell Kizzy that I somehow managed to kill her pet whilst trying to care for it.  I can't help but think that everything I touch turns somehow to shit.

I hope that by pressing 'publish post' I'll exorcise these thoughts.  It'll empower me to take some control back.  I feel like I'm failing, I'm falling and yet life goes on around me. I carry on doing what I do with a painted smile on my face. I wish the clouds would clear, just for a while. Just to let me collect myself.  To let me deal with things and make it all better.  I want to make it all all right for the people that I love most in this world.  Not being able to do so is crippling me. I'm frustrated and it's opening up a part of me that I thought I'd put away for good.  That is scaring me.

Oh to have a magic wand and make everything right for everyone.  In the absence of the aforementioned wand, I'll just have to man up and get on with it.  I don't have the luxury of self pity.

Normal service will resume immediately...I've got a review and a 366 photo to post.







 

Blogging...The New Self-Help

Yesterday I was in a bleurgh mood writing my weekly Mumentum post.  The words just spewed out of me as I started writing and before I knew it I'd posted a miserable account of my week.  It wasn't intentional or planned, it just happened as I tried to find something to share with the ladies who have been a part of my slimming journey thus far.  I felt so low and shrouded with negativity.

After I posted it, something happened.  It was as if my black cloud lifted and the darkness that had been totally enveloping me dissolved away into a greyish half light (much easier to cope with than the treacle that I'd been trying to swim in!)  I cooked a meal for the first time in ages...a roast dinner with a mushroom bake.  I also made Freddy the birthday cake I hadn't been motivated enough to do last week.  I made a chocolate fudge butterfly (or butterbye as Fred calls them...he actually calls every insect a Butterbye.  What a beautiful way to observe the world, seeing dirty great blue bottles in the same way as a beautiful Red Admiral!)

I enjoyed everything I'd made and didn't feel an ounce of guilt eating my baby boy's birthday cake.  Tonight I made a spinach and mushroom pie and it was pretty damn good!  I found joy in food again.

The process of writing about my feelings rather than internalising them is so liberating.  Putting them in some sort of order and making them physical is so cathartic.  Sending them out into the ether is so symbolic.  It made such sense once I started to think about how I was feeling.  My blog is like my therapy.  I don't think I could ever explain myself to another person.  I adopt the "I'm fine!" approach to questioning.  It's harder to vocalise your problems into spoken words.  I prefer the more logical, less emotive medium of the written word. Thoughts flow out and the unconscious part of my psyche finds it voice.

This has just reminded me why I blog.  Exorcising demons that would otherwise have no outlet for release is such a powerful benefit of me having my little piece of cyberspace to myself.  It allows me to assess objectively how I'm feeling and look at myself as if I were on the outside looking in.  At my lowest I feel like a part of me is slipping away, tethered only by a gossamer thread which could be be severed at any moment.  Sometimes I worry that if it does stretch too far away from me I won't ever get it back and I'll be stuck in my darkness with a part of me lost forever.  Thankfully I've managed to reel myself back in every time and the relief is palpable when the light starts to shine inside me again.

I had some amazing comments from people I have come to regard as friends. The support is truly wonderful and uplifting.  I thank each and every person who cares.  It is another benefit of this community.  Accepting face to face sympathy is something I find quite uncomfortable, but reading a thoughtful comment is heart warming.

So next time the ugly subject of stats, rankings, pageviews or Klout scores raises its head, I will remember what really matters.  It's the words that count.  It's the freedom, the space and the liberating nature of blogging that motivates me.  This is my internet home and I'm happy to be here.

Mumentum Update

I didn't link up to Mumentum last week, because I didn't really have much to report.  I was also quite pre-occupied with Fred's birthday preparations.

I'm still listening to my Slimpods and am not experiencing any extreme greed related behaviour.  I'm not weighing myself at all and I'm not stressing about my weight loss.

I am however starting to see a real downturn in my mood.  I'm feeling really low.  I used to enjoy my weekly food shop, planning menus as I perused the aisles.  I used to love cooking and enjoyed making good wholesome veggie dinners for my family.  But it's like I just can't be bothered with food anymore.  Shopping and cooking have lost all their joy.  I didn't even bake a birthday cake for Freddy...thank goodness Nana brought round a jelly tot covered sponge cake for him as a surprise!

I feel really detached from the pleasure of eating.  As a real self-confessed foodie, this feels very wrong.  I just can't be bothered with it all.  Poor Ian is doing most of the cooking because I can't find the motivation.  I happily eat it...but the joy surrounding the preparation and the interest I have in food has waned.

Being a size 12-14 is nice and I feel slimmer, but my passion has been lost along with the pounds.  At first it was exciting to feel that my appetite was suppressed but the  knock on effect has deadened a part of my personality.  I don't want to go back to my disgusting old ways and I'm genuinely delighted that I am cured of my obsessive, self destructive gluttony.  But something isn't right with me.

I know I have a history of depression and this could just all be a part of life's great plan to periodically test my mental state...and whereas I'd usually drown out the negative thoughts with cake, I don't have the compulsion to comfort eat.  That in itself is a good thing, but also means I don't have the tools to soothe away the demons with calories and cream!

My favourite jeans are all too big and I'm down to the last hole on my belt.  Instead of embracing this and buying new clothes, I'm slobbing around in my baggy, old gear and feeling dowdy. The skin on my belly is not a pretty sight.  No longer padded by fat, its an unattractive apron and a reminder of my past problems.

I don't know why I'm not celebrating and striving for more dieting success.  I still could do with shedding another stone, but I feel like I'm sinking and losing a part of myself along with the fat.  Losing weight isn't a cure all for deeper issues, and obviously my self-esteem hangs in a fragile balance.  Maybe it's just a phase but I really wish my joie de vivre and my zest for life, food and fun would return.

I need a make-over...but wouldn't know where to start!

I'm hoping my three day adventure in London will resurrect something inside me that has quite frankly curled up and died.

I didn't intend for this to be a depressing post...sorry!!  It kind of wrote itself and who am I to deny a voice to my unconscious mind!!

I will cheer up, I will snap out of it and I will feel better about myself again soon.  Then I can take joy in my success and stop making everybody miserable with my whining!

Self-Harm...My Dark Secret

When I was younger, I really battled with my mental health.  Things weren't as open back then, it seemed much more of a dirty secret that had to be hidden.  It was not something I could discuss with my family, it was a taboo subject.  Admitting to harbouring an innate unhappiness was like saying I'm not grateful for what I have.  I held my feelings inside, internalizing my torment and feeling guilty and embarrassed for having this dark passenger that dictated how  I would feel or behave.

Some of my earliest memories involve a self-loathing and a desire to be punished.  I'd hold my face in a sinkful of cold water until my breath burnt my lungs.  I'd shut myself in my wardrobe in the dark.  I'd hit my legs with my shoes.  I'd bang my knees together causing huge bruises on the inside of my legs.  These things were just normal behaviour to me, it's what I did to feel right.

I was 14 when I first cut myself.  I had a Saturday job in a baker's and was washing up, feeling miserable because I felt persecuted by my new boss.  I broke a glass and instinctively drew the jagged edge across the skin on my arm.  I only cut lightly and was fascinated at how the tiny droplets of blood would seep up to the surface across the gash. I felt a release, a sense of control over what I felt.  It became addictive.  If I felt low I'd cut.

I used to carry a small pen knife in my handbag to satisfy my urge to cut.  I'd make little slices into my forearms, my inner arms and my thighs.  I did it in places that I could keep hidden.  Mostly the cuts were little more than a succession of quickly executed scratches, but others would be deeper and draw the deep red blood that would drip down my skin.  It excited me and I felt empowered.  Afterwards I felt humiliated and ashamed.

I didn't have a lot of self worth.  Looking back I want to shake myself and shout at myself.  I was tall, slim, attractive, really clever and had the whole world at my feet.  Why I chose a self-destructive path was a deep seated problem that I had no control over.  I hang out at a local pub, befriending a group of guys.  They were the sort of lads I'd warn my own children against having any association with.  I was dragged into the lifestyle finding a self-destructive path through my teens that only served to erode my self-worth further.  In my mind I screamed out for something more.  I wanted acceptance and love.

When I was 17 I met someone.  He showed me the respect and care I had craved and I was quickly seduced by the notion of being in love. I threw myself into a relationship pouring all my needs onto a poor unsuspecting boy who was ill equipped to deal with me.  To me, this relationship was my answer to my problems, re-inventing myself as a new me...part of a couple.  I felt validated and defined by this tenuous connection I had made with another human being.  I gave up my place at University and moved in with his family. Unfortunately and inevitably it was doomed to failure from the onset.  My depression reached a whole new low.  I started to cut worse than ever...going on to razor blades for a sharper, deeper cut.  I'd tie belts around my neck and pull until my restricted oxygen flow made my head explode with a bright, white light. I'd give myself cigarette burns on my arms. I'd bite and scratch myself. I'd fantasise about terrible, violent things believing they would happen unless I counted to a certain number before the next car drove past me...or some other random, obsessive behaviour.  I was erratic flitting between euphoric bouts of exuberance and sitting in a corner rocking.  My health suffered too.  I was tested for all manner of ailments from glandular fever to thyroid problems.  Nothing was diagnosed.  I kept my darkness hidden from my doctor.

Eventually, the pressure of living with me became too great.  When we reached the apex of our tumultuousness and we split up, I tried to slit my wrists.  Thankfully, I did this is an overtly dramatic manner in front of him, and he physically wrestled me as I hacked at my arm.  The cuts were deep enough to see the layers of flesh and fat beneath the skin.  I remember thinking it looked a bit like sausagemeat.  I went to hospital and made such a scene, bleeding and screaming about my boyfriend wanting to leave me that I was seen straight away.  I am retrospectively embarrassed by my behaviour.

I was put under my doctor after this but although I was on a waiting list for psychiatric help I never went.  I found out shortly afterwards that I was 10 weeks pregnant.  A switch inside my head was thrown.  My doctor said it was the first time I'd looked at her in the eye.  She felt I deserved a chance to have my baby without the stigma of having had treatment for mental health problems.  Thankfully she was right.

I felt such shame having my blood pressure taken. I said my scars came from putting my hand through a window...I don't think the midwife believed me but she didn't pursue her line of questioning.  Even today, I feel the same shame having my BP done.  The thin white lines up my inner arm are mostly faded, only visible if I get a tan, but the three thick white scars on the sides of my wrist are a constant reminder of my darkest times.

Having my son, as a 19 year old single parent, made me. It gave me strength, self worth and purpose.  Things I'd been lacking.  Although I'm not completely free of my depression, I recognise it when the cloud begins to descend.  I see it for what it is...it's nobody's fault, nothing causes it...it just is.  I differentiate between feeling a bit fed up and feeling dark. It has taken me a long time to understand myself.  I'm blessed with an understanding husband who doesn't hide behind his own self pity if things get bad.

I've not self-harmed since Joe was born.  I was lucky to have found my path through the minefield in which I walked.  Some are not so lucky.

If self harm affects you or you suspect that it is affecting someone else, there is help available.  Check out this website http://www.selfharm.co.uk/home for information, support and a safe place to express feelings.  With the stigma and the veil of secrecy lifted, the guilt, shame and feeing of being judged will be too.

Five Things I want my Children to Know about Me

This week's Friday Club Parenting Carnival at Notes From Home is 'Five Things You Want Your Children to Know about You'.

Here are five things I want to tell them...

1: I was young once too.  I had a head full of dreams.  I felt deeply.  Sometimes I think you believe that I didn't exist until I became a mother.  There was a point in my youth when I wanted to be a vet (I can't imagine why now though!!) and I thought I'd live in a luxury apartment in London.  I believed that I would be a bit of a jet-setter, possibly even famous!  I would no doubt marry a rock star (John Taylor from Duran Duran was on my wish list) and I would write books.  But dreams change.

The reality was very different...but do you know what, I wouldn't change a single thing, because where I am today with my family is the only place I'd want to be.

2:  I have always been a saver and never one to squander my cash.  Consequently you have grown-up in an environment where we've never worried about our cash flow. We are comfortably off now because I was frugal and made sure we never got into debt. Sometimes I think this may not have opened your eyes to the reality of budgeting.  Just remember, Dad and I have worked long and hard to be in this position.  Don't take it for granted because one day you'll need to budget for yourself...we lived on 3p beans once to get by!  Just don't take money and material possessions for granted.

3: If I'm ever down, don't take it personally.  I have suffered off and on with depression all my life.  Although these days I have it mostly under control, sometimes the dark cloud threatens to descend.  I become withdrawn.  I hate myself for my lack of control, which serves to make me feel even worse.  I know you really hate it if I'm sad. You worry that it is in some way about you. It's not...you are my world.  I just need to work through my emotions sometimes.

4:  I have always adopted a very open and honest approach with you.  I let you understand my fallibility and let you know the mistakes I've made.  I want you to learn from my failings, I want you to understand my empathy, I want you to know I'll never judge you.  Our relationship has an openness that I am proud of.  No subject is off topic and I will always do my best to offer help, advice and sympathy (cake and cuddles).  You can always turn to me.  Whatever it is that is happening to you, you can guarantee I've been there and done that!

5:  I count myself to be incredibly blessed everyday.  Being your mum defines me and delights me.  Everyday you make me smile.  Everyday you make me proud.  Thank you xxx

Talking to Myself...The Story of My Life

Little girl.  You are so small yet so soulful.  You try to do silly things to make people laugh.  You put on your yellow footless tights and dance around the room looking like Big Bird from Sesame Street.  You want to be loved and crave attention, flitting between your two sisters, making allegiances with whoever will give you the most fussing!  You will be terrified when big fish make you cry at London Zoo when they swim towards the glass ominously, as you stand on tippitoes trying to peer into their tank!  You will never forget that.  A car will hit you when you run across the road after feeding the horses in the paddock with your sister.  Your mum will make you walk home afterwards instead of taking you to hospital...miraculously you survive!  Take care little girl...there is so much you need to do!

Awkward 10 year old girl.  You are so painfully embarrassed to join in with things, that you limit your opportunities.  Your mum works at the local playcentre and is dinner lady at your school so the kids all look at you with distrust!  When you win the Playcentre arts and crafts prize for making a collage of a fish (memories of the scary fish at London Zoo perhaps) that you painstakingly spent hours on, gluing down balls of tissue and grains of sand, the other kids will shout "FIX!"  You will see your mum lavishing attention on other children while keeping a professional distance from you.  It will hurt like hell.  You will sit in the corner at the roller discos. You will hide behind the Playcentre when the mean kids chase after you.  But you have some good friends and there is fun to be had.  You just need to not be afraid.

Schoolgirl and teenager.  You are so very intelligent and totally capable of anything, but you never really reach your full potential in adulthood.  People are starting to see you as quirky with a wry sense of humour.  Being at secondary school gives you more independence and new friends, although you'll never break into the popular crowd.  You won't realise it, but you've already met your future husband and have made lifelong friends.  You start to mess around with your eating, you hate the feeling of food in your mouth.  You find it empowering to avoid eating.  It gets you attention when the popular girls admire how slim you are.  It's a slippery slope.

 Older teenager...oh dear.  You are 5 ft 11" and pretty skinny.  People say you could be a model, but with your self-esteem that would be impossible.  You realise that the boys are getting interested, but you keep your distance for now.  Your mum tells you that your pretty, blonde, bubbly cousin is "courting"...why aren't you.  She is a favourite of the family.  You are truly a black sheep.  The sullen  one.  Before it's even fashionable, before it has a name you self-harm.  You carry a small pen knife for when the inner turmoil gets too much.  Cutting releases the pain.  In the future when you have your blood pressure taken, you will tell the nurse you put your hand through a window.  You will still have scars when you are 41. Not your best idea :(
For a couple of years you will go off the rails big style...don't worry it is just part of your journey.

19 year old me.  You don't go to university despite getting the grades.  You get a job in a laboratory.  You think you're in love.  You're not...but it was the best thing that could have happened to you.  Because although you end up on your own and pregnant, for the first time in your life you feel positive.  Your GP tells you it is the first time you've looked at her in the eye, following weeks of seeing her after trying to cut your wrist with a razor blade.  This baby is your salvation.  The birth will be traumatic.  His survival is touch and go.  It's a test.  You pass...you are given a chance to embark upon the most wonderful journey.  Motherhood. You embrace it...I thank you for that!

In your 20's you have confidence.  You've found a role in life where you can be truly happy.  Loving a child has allowed you to love yourself.  You are further blessed with two beautiful daughters. Your friend since school has become your husband.  He never judges you and he loves you for who you are, and for who you make him want to be.  Family life with you both at the helm is everything you ever wanted.  You give your children the love and attention they need to flourish.  Seeing them so confident and happy in turn makes you feel validated and worthy of being their mum.  No-one would ever believe the darkness that used to reside in you.  Sometimes it surfaces, but you know how to supress it and you have someone who understands.



In your 30's you bask in the reflected glory of your wonderful children.  Another little girl adds more joy to your life.  Your husband finds a great job with a good wage that sees you move into your own home, and with a shrewd move a few years later you own a 4 bedroomed detached house.  Your journey of self-discovery continues and you become a strong woman.

In your 40's...a gift.  A baby son.  Your family is complete.  You are still in love with your husband.  You have a nice home and nice things.  You reconcile your past.  You start a blog and connect with the world.

You are me....and I am proud x

Back to the Grindstone

Today's rain is a pathetic fallacy...a representation of the damp squib that is engulfing me this morning.  I always feel like this after big events.  The post party blues feeling that is amplified tenfold following the Christmas holidays.

All that build up, the two weeks of festive fun...and then quick as flash it's all over leaving a cold, wet January in its wake.

School runs are resumed which means an early wake up call.  The kids have all been enjoying lie-ins, including Freddy who has happily snoozed until gone nine o'clock.  Clearly, this meant I too could lanquish under my 13 tog duvet, without any consequence to the household.  This morning I awoke to a dark world.  It was grim.  Poor Fred was confused as to why he was being wrenched from his peaceful, cosy slumber into this gloomy, uninviting day.  His protests were not a nice way to begin proceedings.  Thankfully my girls were brilliant, upping and dressing with enthusiasm and injecting some sunshine into my grey mood.  Freddy continued his half asleep grizzling, refusing breakfast and resisting his nappy change. 

Also this morning, a cursory glance in the mirror confirmed the undoing of all the good work I'd done pre-Christmas with regard to my weightloss.  How can the fat cells just all ping back with a vengeance so quickly!  I know that my self-loathing fuelled selection box binges are not good...but to punish me so severely and so quickly seems just too cruel.

OK...enough of this self-pity!   I will take control again.  I will get back into the driving seat and try to control this potential car crash before the collision occurs.  I know I am prone to giving into the dark passenger who tries to steer me towards a depressive destination.  I've battled with the dark side all my life.  I was the soulful, sullen child.  I was the self-harming teen.  I refuse to be the prozac popping housewife.

So with a drop of Bach's Rescue Remedy on my tongue, a newfound committment to beginning my healthy eating and weightloss plan and a refusal to succumb to this cloud that is threatening to consume me, I will face the day with the reverance it deserves.  Because even though it is drab and grey, and even though my precious girls are back at school and not here with me, and even though my jeans are pinching and cutting off the circulation to my legs...today is the first day of the rest of my life, filled with promise and potential that is mine to unlock and discover!  My beautiful baby boy is now in a happier mood, no longer shouting for the return of his sisters and dad...he seems content with my company and his box of Mr Potato Heads! 

I know I am extremely blessed....sometimes I just need to remember just how blessed I really am and let the brightness chase away this darkness that creeps in.  Thankfully, I find it much easier to push it away these days...recognising it before it envelopes me completely. With my fantastic, supportive and understanding husband and my wonderful kids by my side, I can take on the wrath of January and come out smiling!!

The sullen child still lurks inside me.