Put the coffee down, and walk away…

I live in the coffee capital of Australia… maybe even of the world.  We have more coffee shops in Melbourne than in any other state – and our Baristas are  known for their world class coffee.

I still find it amazing that up until the age of 32, I’d never tasted coffee.  By that I mean real coffee. I had tried a sip of Mum’s cheap instant coffee when I was 17 – and promptly spit it out into the sink.

Since my first taste of real coffee, I’ve slowly become hooked on my “morning cuppa”.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a morning person.  It’s not helped by the medication I take each night which leaves me a bit groggy.  But my morning cuppa clears my head and leaves me ready to face the day.

Lately, I’ve been noticing my morning cuppa being followed by a midday coffee and sometimes even a sneaky afternoon coffee.  Add to that a few more cups of black tea and soon my stress hormone, called cortisol, is surging.

So what’s the problem with coffee causing raised cortisol levels?  And is this something we should be concerned as women with Bipolar?

A quick scan of the internet tells me that raised cortisol levels can not only leave you feeling anxious, fearful and angry – they can also lead to feelings of depression, lower your immune systems and increase fat in the stomach area.

Now, I’m not someone who should be lecturing on health issues, but none of these things sound appealing.  Goodness knows I spend enough time dealing with anxiety and depression.  The last thing I need is to be adding to the problem with my new love affair with coffee.

Earlier this week, I convinced myself to at least check out the herbal teas in the supermarket, telling myself they were just as satisfying as a freshly brewed coffee.  I was staggered to find dozens of different herbal teas.

As I write, I have my fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of lemon and ginger tea.  No caffeine.  No worry about insomnia or surging cortisol levels.  A truly guilt free cuppa.

I don’t think I can give up my beloved morning coffee. Or a cup of milky tea in the afternoon.  But that’s it.  The rest have to go.  And with it, all those side effects that make life as a Bipolar Mum even more difficult.

Do you find coffee gives you any side-effects?  Or are you one of those people who can drink copious amounts and still sleep like a log?  Leave your comments below.

 

 

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I know exercise is good for your mood… I just don’t wanna do it!

I’ve got something to admit.  I’ve read countless articles that talk about the benefit of exercising for people with mood disorders.  I’ve listened as researchers promote exercise as a way of relieving stress and lifting your mood.

And still… I don’t do it.

Every morning, I open one eye as my husband gets up to train for an adventure race he’s doing in Thailand this month.

And then I pull the covers closer around me and snooze until I’ve got half and hour left before I need to have school lunches made, bags packed and be driving out of the driveway for school drop off.  An hour later, I sit down at work, inhaling a cup of coffee to give me the boost I need to start my day.

Needless to say, I’m not a morning exercise type of person.

Problem is that I’m not an evening exercise type of person either.  By the time my husband and I have our three kids fed and in bed, the last thing I feel like doing is pulling on my active wear and heading out in the cold to the gym.

I could hit the treadmill collecting dust in my garage, but problem is, I’m not an exercising alone type of person.  I prefer to exercise while catching up with friends. Only problem is that we usually skip the exercise and just catch up over a cup of tea.

So this leave me in a dilemma.

If I want to be serious about my mental health, I know that I need to prioritise some form of exercise.  But it needs to be something that I can commit to without it seeming like a chore that I’d do anything to avoid.

I was dwelling on this in recent weeks when a newspaper article caught my eye, extolling the benefits of “tree walking”.  Apparently, benefits of a long walk compound when you add trees to the equation.  Being among nature, with trees around you, is now scientifically proven to boost your mood significantly.

Which brings me to my new resolution.

I am going to commit to going on a walk among trees every week – rain, hail or shine. And I’m going to find a friend who wants to come with me. Lucky for me I happen to live at the base of a mountain range, with lots of trails to choose from.

So now, I just need to get off the couch and up that mountain!

Mariska xx

Do you use exercise as a way to boost your mood or reduce stress?  I’d love to hear what you do or if you struggle with finding the motivation to exercise.

3 tips for training for the mummy marathon

picture of Mariska Meldrum after finishing 5km charity run

Successfully completing my first ever 5km charity run (3rd from right)

Do you ever get to the end of a day and feel like motherhood is a race?  I must admit that I do.  And it’s not a quick 100 meter sprint – over before you realise.  It’s one of those long marathons… that can be both something we always dream of doing and something that’s totally overwhelming and beyond us.

I’m not a runner, by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve watched as friends have trained for a half-marathon.  And I’ve noticed something that all of them have done – TRAIN.

Unlike a 5km fun run – which even I managed to do (once – see proof in the picture above!) with minimal training – you can’t front up and just run a marathon.

You need to have a plan for how you’re going to mentally and physically tackle the race. You need to put in weeks and weeks of training. And you need a support crew around you – not only cheering you on but also being there with snacks and water.

Watching a close friend prepare for an upcoming half-marathon got me thinking.  If more of us approached motherhood like a marathon, we’d probably enter into it a lot more prepared.

For those of us with a mental illness, fronting up to motherhood without having put in the necessary preparation is as unwise as expecting to run 25 or 50km without conditioning your body.

So here it is, my three tips for training for the “marathon” of motherhood:

  1. Have a plan

Your pregnancy, birth and first few months of your baby’s life may not be a trigger for a relapse of your Bipolar Disorder.  But research shows that this is an incredibly vulnerable time for women like us.  Make sure you tell your obstetrician and hospital about your condition – and make time to write Bipolar Disorder Action Plan with your psychologist or psychiatrist.   This will help you and your family to know what steps to take if you become unwell – and what the plans are to ensure your wishes for the care of you, your baby (and any other children) and home are, where possible, respected.

  1. Get in some training

Haven’t had much to do with babies or children?  Now is the time to get as much hands-on experience as possible.  Offer to babysit your nieces and nephews, or hang out with a friend who has had a baby.  Talk to friends and family about the day-to-day reality of being a mum – ask for the “warts and all” version, not the “Hollywood” show reel.

You want to feel as confident as possible when embarking on the marathon of motherhood.  Already a mum and feel unsure about your parenting skills?  Enrol in a parenting course – or ask your GP or local council if they can recommend a support group.  Don’t leave it until you’re at crisis point to ask for help.  You wouldn’t expect yourself to run a marathon with no training, so don’t expect yourself to throw yourself into motherhood without giving yourself the same courtesy.

  1. Gather a support crew

Motherhood is one of the most amazing things you’ll ever do.  But it’s also one of the most draining, frustrating and – at times – tiring things too.  The saying “it takes a village to raise a child” is so true.  It’s important to have people you can rely on to help if needed.  Whether this is a supportive partner, family, friends or a church, you need to know that someone is there for you as a mum.  It’s important that there’s a handful of people in your support crew know what your key triggers are, what symptoms to look out for and what action to take if you become unwell.  They also need to know what’s in your Bipolar Action Plan – and how they can support you if you become unwell.

Motherhood isn’t a short sprint – it’s a marathon.  Whether you have Bipolar Disorder or not, it makes sense to get yourself as prepared as possible.  That way, you can embark on your motherhood journey feeling confident in yourself and your ability to juggle both motherhood and your own health and well-being.

Mariska xx

PS.  Do you have any tips to share with women with Bipolar Disorder who are preparing for motherhood?

Longing for a “sick day”

With an impending restructure at work, my days have been a bit more stress-filled than usual.  My team of six has been reduced for now to a team of three – and we’re doing our best to keep things going despite the sense of doom and gloom about the place.

In the midst of all this turmoil, staff have been dropping like flies… with record numbers of sick days.  As for me, who rarely gets sick enough to justify a day off work, I’ve been day-dreaming about taking a “sick day” to just, well… decompress.

Sick Day

Spending a day battling the flu wasn’t quite the “sick day” I’d been hoping for.

In my mind, I imagined I’d time my “sick day” for when the kids were at school/kinder so that I could sleep in ’till 10am and then go out for a brunch with my husband (who is currently studying at home).

I then planned to dig out one of my craft projects – which have been ignored for the past 2.5 years since I went back to full-time work.  And I’d end the day by picking up my kids (who would be surprised to see Mum rather than Dad waiting outside their classroom) and then welcoming them home to home-cooked cookies.

My work has an official name for days like this.  I know it’s “technically” fine to take a mental health day, but I don’t know about you – I still struggle with the idea of taking a day off when I don’t physically appear sick.

Go to work with a hacking cough or a dripping nose and people encourage you to go home and rest up.  But arrive at work crippled with anxiety, depression or stress and no-one is any the wiser.  It’s easier to hide feelings of despair, depression and hopelessness than a fever.  I worked through months of acute depression – and no-one at work noticed, until I made a point of telling them about the struggle I was having.

Not that I advocate hiding your mental illness from your employer.  I have let my manager know about my condition – and I’d like to think my employees feel comfortable enough to share with me.  Yet, I’m well aware that just telling your staff that they’re  technically allowed to take time off to deal with mental health issues doesn’t make it easy to actually do it.  We need senior staff to model that it’s actually ok.

Today, I finally got my sick day.

Only problem was, it really was a sick day.  And it struck on a Saturday morning.  Sure I got to spend the morning in bed…. but that was where I stayed for most of the weekend. And as for a leisurely lunch with my husband – well let’s just say that I wasn’t feeling up for any kind of date.  Instead of feeling free to enjoy a Monday off work… I found myself dealing with 1000’s of tissues and an aching body that didn’t want to do anything but lie down.

Moaning that “this isn’t what a sick day is meant to be like…” my husband kindly pointed out what I was after wasn’t a “sick day” but a “sickie”.  Hmm… I’d better be careful what I wish for next time.

Mariska xx

 

3 lessons psych wards have learnt in the past decade

Psyciatric wards have come a long way in the last 50 years. But what's changed in the last decade?

Psyciatric wards have come a long way in the last 50 years. But what’s changed in the last decade?

Eight weeks ago, I did something that I swore I would never do.  I walked back through the doors of the public hospital psychiatric ward where I spent some of the worst weeks of my life, after the birth of my first baby eight years ago.

This time, I hadn’t arrived in the back of a police divvy van.  I wasn’t disoriented or confused about why I was there. My mind wasn’t racing or tricking me with delusions. And I wasn’t greeted by emergency room staff who held me down and injected me with who-knows-what.

So why was I there?

Well, it started a few weeks beforehand, when I was out walking with a group of women.  When I found out that one of the women was a nurse in the psychiatric ward where I had been a patient, I shared my story with her.

After mentioning  how shocked I was at the conditions in the ward when I was there, she invited me to come and see the changes that had taken place at the pysch ward since then.

So I summoned up all my courage, and I returned.  And here’s three ways I found this psych ward had changed in the past 8 years

  1. It’s finally hitting home: staff can make or break a psych ward

One of the biggest changes I noticed straight away in the psych ward was the staff – and their attitude towards the patients.  Eight years ago, the horrific conditions meant the hospital I was in couldn’t attract or retain staff.  They filled the gaps with temporary agency nursing staff and “carers”.

This may work in a regular hospital ward, but when you’re mentally unwell, having dedicated, committed staff  is critical.  Seeing regular faces  – rather than a steady stream of agency staff – also helps us as patients to trust our carers. When you’re struggling with psychosis, depression, suicidal thoughts or delusions, a kind word or a gentle touch from nursing staff goes a long way.    Patients deserve experienced staff who are committed to their patients and the reputation of the ward they work in.

2.  It’s more than just medical help: the right atmosphere in a ward is integral

Less than two months after I left the ward eight years ago, it was demolished.  To be honest, I’m not surprised.  It was a dark, dingy place – with cramped conditions, unsuitable living areas and a small concrete courtyard where patients could walk in circles for exercise.

Entering the new purpose-built building, I immediately noticed the big picture windows, fresh colorful paint, friendly atmosphere and artwork on the walls.  The head nurse proudly showed me the art-therapy room, family visit room (with direct street entrance so kids didn’t need to walk through the ward to get there) and an outdoor eating and sports area.   There was even a dark room with bean bags, rocking chairs, weighted blankets, soft music, projected light patterns and musical instruments  – a place where people struggling with mania could go to calm or soothe themselves.

I know it’s only superficial stuff.  But sometimes, the way a place looks, smells and even feels can have such an impact on the way patients feel about being there.

3. Our voices have been heard: patients must be kept safe from harm by other patients

I’ve left the best change for last.  The biggest change that I could see was that, while they shared the dining room and common areas, men and women had separate sleeping areas.  Upon admission, female patients receive an electronic bracelet that gives them access to the female-only sleeping quarters and a small lounge room that they can retreat to if they feel unsafe.  The ward was also built with two wing that could be used as required:  one for regular mentally unwell people and the other for those displaying violent or predatory behaviour.

THIS IS INCREDIBLE, AMAZING STUFF!

I guess you’re sensing my excitement.  Well, in my mind this is a game-changer.

In this ward in the past – and most likely in many others around the world –  vulnerable, unwell female patients (and in some cases male)  have been attacked or raped by other patients.  You can’t compare a psych ward to other hospital wards – where patients are there because they are physically unwell.  Genders sharing sleeping quarters in situations where people are psychotic, delusional and not “in their right mind” – and not giving women a safe space – is a recipe for disaster.

I was reassured to see that the safety of women in this psych ward at least, is now top-of-mind for staff.  And in the case that I’m every a patient there again, I’d be very pleased to know that  staff now have the ability to separate out patients known for their violence or predatory behavior.

Have these changes been made in every psychiatric ward?

While I’d love to believe they had, I doubt it.  Less than 50 years ago conditions in psychiatric wards – or mental asylums as they were called – were barbaric.  Change has come, but lack of funds or political will means that it is slower in some places than others.

As people who know what it’s like to be mentally unwell and vulnerable, we need to band together and keep asking for change.   Without our voices, speaking up about the conditions in these wards and insisting that changes are made, others like us will continue to suffer.

Mariska xxx

Have you noticed any changes or improvements in psychiatric wards over the past decade?

 

 

What watching ET taught me about fear

Tonight I decided to introduce my kids to a movie classic – ET.  I had vague memories of a very cute Drew Barrymore playing with the Extra Terrestrial and thought my space-Leggo mad kids would love the movie too.

Less than 10 minutes into the movie, all three kids were hiding under the quilt… terrified by the sight of the weird, bald little alien.  I kept reassuring them it would get better, but when ET seemingly died 45 minutes later and all three kids had tears rolling down their faces, I was kicking myself for my choice of movie.

ET Movie

Who knew the lessons ET can teach?

At the end, my eight year old turned off the TV, turned to me and said: “Mum, you’re banned from making us watch any more movie ‘classics’ made before 2007! I’m never watching that movie ever ever again!”

His strong words reminded me of some I’d spoken myself eight years ago after his birth, when I had gone through an awful experience in a public hospital’s psychiatric ward.  I swore never to go back to that place – and for a long time I couldn’t even drive past it without feeling physically sick.

And yet, things change. Things that seem scary somehow suddenly no longer hold the same fear.  As the years tick by, the anger and fear are still there – but somehow less vivid.  And the bitterness begins to fade.

Two days ago, I walked back through the doors of that psychiatric ward.  This time, I didn’t arrive in the back of a police divvy van.  I wasn’t held down by police and injected with tranquilizers.  I wasn’t leaving behind my precious week-old baby. And I wasn’t declared mentally insane and kept behind locked doors.

This time, I drove to the hospital on my lunch-break and walked through the front doors by choice.  I put one foot in front of the of the other until I arrived at the reception desk.  I took a few deep breaths, smoothed down my jacket and tried to look as sane as possible as I asked for the Head of Nursing, who had promised to take me on a tour.

My husband couldn’t quite understand why I went back.  He said nothing could force him back there.  And I understood why.

The best way I can explain my need to go back there is that I wanted to face the thing that frightened me most.  I’m not a brave person normally (to be honest I found some scenes in ET a little scary myself).  But I wanted to see if visiting that psychiatric ward all these years later would help me see things differently.

As a mum, I help my kids to face their fears.  I talk them through it… trying to show them that what they’re most scared of (in this case, being attacked by a alien on the TV) is actually not all that scary.

I thought it was time to listen to my own mum-advice for once.

Mariska xx

Stay tuned for my next post – seeing if psychiatric wards have changed in the past eight years.

 

 

 

Am I brave enough to face the past?

I’ve never thought of myself as brave person.  I’m the type  who ducks and covers my face when someone throws me a football (or a set of keys).  I’m not fond of putting myself in dangerous situations… you’ll never find me posting a photo on Facebook of myself sky-diving and I shudder at the thought of getting surprise hot-air balloon ride tickets for my birthday.

I’m all for exploring new countries – but my idea of a fun holiday does not include bungee jumping, white-water rafting or eating snails, scorpians or other unidentified objects.

But something’s happened this week that has made me muster up all my bravery.

I’ve spoken before about the most horrific time of my life… being taken from my home in a police divvy-van eight days after the birth of my first baby and being locked up in the high-dependency unit of Maroondah Hospital’s psychiatric ward .

Many of you reading this will have endured similar things: the mistreatment at the hands of “carers”, the scariness of being in a mixed ward with mentally unstable men, the loneliness… desperately trying to get people to understand you, but being met with looks of fear or annoyance.

Which is why when the Head of Nursing at Maroondah’s psychiatric ward invited me this week to meet her in a fortnight for a tour of their new facilities, I found myself feeling the opposite of brave.

When I asked my ever-supportive husband if he’d come with me, he flatly refused.  I can’t say I blame him.  Instead of enjoying the first six weeks of our first baby’s life, we both endured a type of hell-on-earth which we wouldn’t wish on anyone.

While his wife was declared insane and committed to a locked ward, my husband juggled his shock of what had happened with the needs of a tiny newborn.  While most new mums struggle to get out of the house at all, my husband bundled up our baby son and brought him into a psych ward so I could have 30 precious minutes cuddling him.

When I finally came home, we were both so traumatised that we couldn’t stand to hear what the other had been through.  It took six months of counselling to finally accept what had happened and move on.  Still, for the past 8 years, my stomach has still felt sick whenever I’ve driven past the building where the psych ward is located.

So, why would I even consider going back?

Because I’ve now realised that unforgiveness and bitterness was only hurting one person… me.  I’ve made a conscious decision to forgive the staff in that ward for the way they treated me.

And to be honest, I’m also a tad curious.  The head nurse told me that things have improved “out of sight” since I was a patient there.  The ward now has a separate mood-disorders wing for women.  And she gushed in her email about the array of activities that patients can now take part in.

Part of me is skeptical that things have improved.  But I need to know that they have – because I couldn’t live with myself if others are still living in the hell-hole that I escaped.  When I left that ward, I promised to be the voice for those who couldn’t speak up for themselves.

And so, in two weeks, I’ll walk alone into the building that is the place where I lived through the most horrible moments of my life.  I’ll put one foot in front of the other – and I’ll smile and be courteous to the staff.  But I won’t be looking at the fancy new ward or plethora of activities to see if things have improved.  I’ll look into the eyes of the patients.

Mariska xx

Have you ever had to be brave – to face something or someone in your past?  Has the experience made you stronger?  Any tips for how to muster up bravery in situations like this?

Behind this Bipolar Mum is two awesome fathers

Today Australians are celebrating Father’s Day.  Dads across the country are being woken up by tiny hands thrusting a plate of eggs and bacon under their nose.  And millions of men are re-stocking their drawers with new socks and underwear.

I have two reasons to celebrate Father’s Day: my husband (a Dad to our three munchkins) and my Dad.  Both are shining examples of everything that fathers ought to be:  patient, loving, caring, encouraging and Godly role-models to their children.

Growing up, our family of four kids never doubted our father’s love.  As a pastor, he worked from his home office – so he was there to make our school lunches, drive us to school and hear about our day when we returned.  I remember lots of walks up to the local shops together in my teenage years – with him offering his fatherly wisdom.

It wasn’t until I was older – and my best friend’s parents divorced, that I realised how blessed I was.  That not everyone had a Dad like mine – who actually wanted to spend time with his kids.

Now days, as an adult, lots of people tell me that my dad and I are similar in many ways:  we both love homemade pizza, have a flair for writing, enjoy speaking in public, and have a tendency to stretch the truth ever-so-slightly to make a better story.  I’m also told that I’m most like his side of the family in looks.

There’s something else that I inherited from Dad’s side of the family: a genetic predisposition for mental illness.  While it skipped Dad, I discovered at the age of 18 that I had more than his family’s olive skin.  Its never occurred to me to blame Dad or his family for this… or to curse my genes… it’s just the way I was created.

As a parent myself now, it does sometimes worry me that I might pass this legacy of mental illness onto my own children.  It’s the reason why I’m the ambassador of a mental health research project. I’d love to see Bipolar Disorder and other mental illnesses “cured” by the time my kids become teenagers.   But if it’s not (and with my oldest heading towards nine years old, the countdown is truly on) – it will be ok.

When I recently asked my psychiatrist what would happen if one of my children inherited Bipolar Disorder, she told me that they would be lucky.  Not lucky to have Bipolar (I wouldn’t wish that on anyone) but lucky to have a mother who had lived with the illness – and was able to show them that it’s possible to still live life in all its fullness.

Mariska xx

Do you have a father or father-figure who has meant a lot to you?  Would love to hear about how they have influenced you and your life.

What a cup of tea taught me about bitterness

I have to admit it – I love a nice hot cup of tea.  There’s something about being forced to stand quietly, waiting for the kettle to boil that seems to calm my spirit.  And don’t get me started on the lovely feeling of a warm cuppa nestled in my hands.

When I have time – and have someone to share a cuppa with – I love to get out one of my favourite loose leaf teas and use my favourite red teapot.  The English have it right – a cup of tea and a good chat can fix almost anything.

picture of red teapot and cup

My favourite red teapot – a gift from my hubby.

I was standing by the kettle just now, fixing myself a cup of tea (sadly, a cup-for-one with a teabag), when something struck me.  It doesn’t take much to turn a cup of boiling water into a cup of tea.  Within seconds of dunking a teabag, the water has been infused with the colour and flavour of the tea – turning it from clear to murky brown.

Watching my cuppa change colour just now has got me thinking.   I wonder how much the bitterness I’ve been feeling about having to live life with a mental illness has been tainting my life?

It’s not fun having a mental illness.  It’s not fun dealing with the side-effects of various medications.  And I’ll be the first to admit that somewhere, deep inside me, I still hold some bitterness about the cards life has dealt me.   Sure, I can now see a bigger purpose for my life – complete with my bipolar diagnosis – but that doesn’t mean I don’t still sometimes struggle with accepting it.

Most of my friends and family will say that it’s perfectly ok to feel bitter about being diagnosed with a mental illness. The only trouble is, it’s been almost twenty years now since my original diagnosis.  And these feelings of bitterness have a nasty habit of acting like a tea bag: infusing me and my life with anger and regret.

The effects may not always be obvious… but this bitterness got a nasty habit of bubbling to the surface when I’m feeling at my lowest and want something to strike out at.  It’s not something that I want my kids to see in me.

And so, I’m left with a choice.

Do I allow this ‘bag’ of bitterness to continue to colour my life?  Or do I make a conscious effort to finally accept my diagnosis – acknowledging that it will have an ongoing impact on my life and that I will most likely need to continue taking medication for the rest of my life to keep it under control?

It’s a difficult choice.

And yet – looking at the effect tonight that one small teabag had on my big cup full of crystal clear water, I’m determined to not let my diagnosis taint the rest of my life.  Sure it’s almost certainly always going to be part of me – but it’s not going to affect who I am – or the life I was created to live.

Mariska xx

Do you feel bitter or angry because of your mental illness or something else in your life? Have you had to take steps to deal with your bitterness? I’m sure other mums would love to hear about and learn from your experience. 

 

The hurry disease

I’ll be the first to admit it, sometimes I treat life – and motherhood – as a race.  Recently, my seven year old daughter asked me to play a game with her.  Exhausted after a long day at work, and looking forward to putting my feet up and watching Netflix, I hurried her off to bed instead.

When she dragged her feet, asking me to stand beside her while she brushed her teeth, I told her I’d come up once she was in her pyjamas and ready to be tucked in.

I wasn’t being mean… but I wasn’t being kind either.

Later that night, sitting on the couch, I realised that it wouldn’t have hurt me to spend an extra 20 minutes with my precious daughter.  I could have spent time laughing with her while she brushed her teeth. I could have let her choose the book to read – rather than picking the shortest one I could find.  I could have spent time asking her about her day and listening to her while she prayed for everything she could think of – rather than quickly reeling off a standard goodnight prayer.

Motherhood isn’t always easy.  It’s a constant choice to put someone else’s needs before your own. And sometimes I get it wrong.

I’m the first to admit that I sometimes treat motherhood like a race.  I’m so used to working fast in my workplace that I come home and expect my kids to respond just as quickly as my colleagues.

I hurry them through dinner, then get them to do their homework as quickly as possible.  I shower rather than bathe them (because it’s quicker) and then get them into bed as quickly as possible.

It’s only later – when I look back at how my impatience makes everyone feel rushed and stressed, that I regret not taking the time to slow down for my children.

Tonight, as I tried to tuck my little girl into bed and she jumped on the bed instead, I started to tell her to “hurry up”. But then I caught myself and tickled her instead – much to her delight.   And you know what?  I haven’t missed those 5 minutes at all…

Mariska xx

Do you find yourself rushing through life?  Always hurrying?  What are your tips for slowing down?