'Tis the season

The Christmas period often sees a spike in mental health crisis calls, as the season can make people feel the pressure of loneliness, the enforced happiness, the need for a perfect and magical time. Christmas is sold in adverts and films as a magical period of music, food, family and cheer; a time of traditions that must be adhered to and treasured memories that must be made. I have always put a lot of pressure on Christmas, and on myself to ensure the best and most perfect Christmas. I would fret about traditions, no TV, perfect food and board games. Which was exhausting enough, and then my son was born. On his first Christmas he was almost four months old and I was in the grips of postnatal depression. I can clearly remember the anxiety in the lead up to Christmas day over how the day would pan out- when we would eat, how I would cope with the newborn drudgery on a day that was supposed to be full of wonder and excitement. I was dreading the day, because I knew that my son would still cry a lot, might not sleep, and that it was unlikely that we would eat dinner together as he would not be put down. The shadow hung over me in the lead and the day itself. I don't really remember much from that first Christmas as a family, a walk in the snow and some presents. But I don remember being so upset tat it essentially felt like any other day with a baby- nappies, crying, jiggling, pushchair walks for sleep. And it made me feel like I had failed at Christmas, failed to live the magical experience sold to me by advertisers and the media. And yet there were no disasters, I had family, a Christmas dinner and beautiful baby. It wasn't the failure of the day, but my excessive expectations that had ruined my Christmas experience. As he got older Christmas improved as his excitement and understanding replaced the newborn fog of crying and feeding. History repeated itself wen I my daughter was born. Her first Christmas came only a few weeks after I was discharged from the Mother and Baby unit that I had stayed in for 8 weeks. Although better and more stable than I had been, I was by no means well and the anxiety started creeping in again. This time the added pressure to ensure that my son had a magical time, full of family and presents and excitement. That Christmas day I spent two hours walking my daughter in the pushchair around our village, crying on and off at the fact that this was my Christmas and I ate my Christmas dinner standing up holding her and in shift with my mum. I had family around me, a roof over my head and all that jazz, but I was still unhappy. Mainly because I was depressed and anxious, and because I felt an enormous pressure from the 'pintrest' culture of Christmas to have new traditions, Christmas eve hampers, elves on shelves, and numerous complicated side dishes for the dinner. I'm not ashamed of how I felt, that I should have somehow felt grateful for all that I had. In fact that is part of what was contributing to my despair- the concept that I was in fact very lucky to have two healthy children, a loving family and a roof over my head- and I was still so unhappy. It was another stick to beat myself with. It wasn't what I had or didn't have that was fuelling my depression- depression can happily fuel itself without any outside factors- but my unrealistic expectations of what Christmas should be. A few months later I started therapy as part of my treatment, and one of the overriding themes of my sessions was my unrealistic expectations and how I dealt with what happened when these expectations weren't met. It helped me to practice 'failure' in meeting expectations and how to change my expectations to make them manageable. Because of this I dislike the constant Christmas pressure on social media, instagram and pintrest. I am wary of 'elf on the shelf', elf school, gingerbread house traditions, hampers of any kind and anything that created pressure for magic and joy. Christmas day will come and there will be magical moments when Santa arrives, when longed for gifts are opened. And there will be everyday moments of cooking, tantrums and TV. And that's ok, because no matter what the blogs and the pintrest trends would have you believe, it is just another day and amongst all the magic and excitement, the ordinary still has to happen. When you see all the pictures of cheeky elves and reindeer food, remember that nappies still need changing, washing up is still being done and children will still tantrum and squabble. And actually the magic is often in the mundane or the unexpected- the most loved present might be cheapest, tattiest least likely gift and the magic might come in the quiet, ordinary moments. The last few Christmases have been great, no newborn tears, rainy pushchair walks with screaming baby, but most of all just relaxed and not full of anxious of what it should be. I don't have anything to do with elves and hampers, traditions and timings. I am excited to see the magic of Santa in the eyes of my children, and to relax with my family. But I imagine someone will cry because they are tired/hungry/three and the mundane things that are life with small children will remain, but this year I will be looking for the magic in the small things- the smiles, the hugs, the giggles and not worry that the whole season isn't a magical wonderland. And if I have moments of sadness or boredom or frustration that is ok too. If know someone depressed or suffering with mental health problems, don't over egg the points that are good in their lives, as if this will be enough to lift them from the fog- instead of bringing appreciation it will likely bring further guilt, such is the cruelty of mental health. Instead be there for them, tell them its ok to be sad, to be upset, to find Christmas a struggle. And rather than force the magic with elves and reindeer and stressful traditions, bring the magic to them in the small things, the everyday- a smile, a hug a favour- show them that the pleasure in Christmas can be in the ordinary not the over the top.