I’ve always been about being open and honest in relation to parenting; the highs and lows, the horror that it can sometimes be, the hysterical laughter and all the other stuff that goes with it. This is a particularly hard post for me to write, because I know I’m making myself vulnerable, and I have to acknowledge what happened.

Which is something I believe is not happening often enough, and the realities of parenting are squished down so much so as to provide this false facade of what it’s really about. I can’t sit comfortably, believing in what I believe in, without sharing and without being honest.

I want to add, this is my story, and I’m sharing it because I strongly believe we need to be more honest, and more open about our experiences and stop the crap that we’re led to believe parenting is. I’m not after sympathy, and, no doubt, I’ll also receive some criticism, judgement and non-experienced (in this scenario) dogooders having a go at me.

I’m not after sympathy.

I do believe we all need to acknowledge those times we have pulled ourselves back from the brink.

This particular week has been a hard one. I’ve had a lot on, had to make some hard decisions, have had lots of exciting things happening and promises to fullfil. It’s been extremely hot, the kids all had high temps and nasty coughs, my time has been restricted and I got very, very tired and sick myself.

I commenced a slow spiral downwards, in which the only thing keeping me going was positive self-talk, a skill I have invested a lot in, and is a little more complex than just “postive self-talk”. It has been a hard battle, particularly as I got more and more tired, and more and more brain befuddled due to a chest infection. My ability to make decisions declined, to the point where I could see the kids behaving in ways we all know aren’t appropriate, yet I couldn’t for the life of me think what to do to stop it, nor function effectively enough to do anything about it. Simply put, I couldn’t remember how to deal with it.

That, and I didn’t have the energy to do so, to carry out what was necessary, my brain synapses weren’t function enough to connect the “do this” with the actual doing of it.

I was at the end of my tether, desperate for a break, the ‘wise words’ of every expert telling me what to do, with no real idea of my situation, or ability to do anything at that time. I literally couldn’t put everything I knew into practice.

At my wits end, the baby decided a tanty was in order. Not one to be cuddled, attempting to “settle” him requires several strong male nurses and a sedative. Holding him and rubbing his back is not an option. He kicks, he screams, he pushes away, he pinches face bits, he hits to get you away from him. He literally does not like being held. It’s not anything – it’s just him. Not personal, not a behavioural issue. Just him. And pick up any book on how to calm a crying baby, and none will talk to you about babies like this. Or, rather, they give the impression that when a baby is upset, it’s really nothing but a bit of calm cuddling, rubbing and soothing that will fix it.

None doing. And it’s really hard not to take it personally, and to not feel like you’re the shittest mother in the world when you can’t calm your own crying baby – worse when he pushes you away as he’s screaming. Particularly when you’re at close to your lowest point.

Put him on the floor and he throws himself, usuall banging a head or various other body part.

And this particular day,  at this particular moment, he did it all. In my state, I admit, I derived a small amount of (guilty) pleasure at his banging his head on the floor mid tanty. Almost a “ha! now you know how I feel!” kind of pleasure.

And then I moved to the brink, tempted to help him bang his head on the floor as I attempted to lift him for a cuddle and he threw himself back. Tempted I was to hurt him as he had hurt me, both physically and emotionally.

Tempted I was to remove myself from him and hurt myself physically as I much as I was hurting emotionally.

These are not thoughts I have, as a rule. Generally, I’m a caring person, and quite capable of removing myself, logically and reasonably, from a situation that is causing me stress. Under normal circumstances, I would feel the stress, gently place the baby in his cot, and walk away until my anger had passed. Actually, under normal circumstances, I usually wouldn’t let situations like this anger me.

So, there I was … on the brink.

For those of you who have been there, you’ll appreciate what a scary place it can be. I have actually been on a worse brink than this one – but this one was pretty scary.

You’ll also appreciate the amazing effort and strength it can take to come back from it.

Sitting on the bedroom floor, with a wet, screaming, kicking, fighting baby, partially wrapped in a towel, no help and no support with me at that moment, and on The Brink, from somewhere I summoned up the strength to just … STOP.

I managed to hold tightly, but not so tight as to hurt, to utter soothing tones and to gently pat a tiny naked bottom whilst clasping flailing legs under my elbow. I managed to do this for I don’t know how long, when he eventually fell asleep.

And in writing this, it sounds so simple, so easy to do. Just ‘snap out of it’. It requires an immense amount of strength of character.

I wanted to share this, because there are women out there experiencing the same who are condemning themselves for it, feeling like they are bad mother’s for it, and feeling … just awful.

I wanted to share to let them know they’re not alone, they are not bad mothers and that they, too, have an awesome strength about themselves that they’re probably not even aware of.

Mostly, I wanted to share for all those out there that have been there, and not know the strength they have, who have felt so bad about themselves and their actions and their thoughts that they have not been able to step back from the brink.

You are all amazing. You are all strong. And mostly, you are not alone and you are most definitely not bad.