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Tag: Sad
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Your Child’s Behaviour Is Down To You
I have notice so many people talk about how their children behave badly and they are the “problem”. Have you ever sat back and thought where they have learnt this behaviour, why they may be acting out, ask yourself this, are you happy all the time? Do you sometimes feel grumpy or angry for no reason? Of course you do, you are human so why do you expect your children to behave perfectly all of the time or to smile when they are sad.
And quite frankly THEY ARE KIDS!!! They don’t know how to handle their emotions, or even how to grasp certain situations, they are learning, they may feel over whelmed or not know how to express how or why they are feeling a certain way at that point in time.
Let’s take a moment and look at our situations and think, how am I making these kids feel? How is my own emotions and the way I handle said emotions leading example to these kids, am I giving my child room to breathe and teaching them about their emotions or am I trying to repress them and stop the feeling.
We must not ask our children to change how they feel, if they do not feel comfortable kissing Auntie Edna then they should not be forced to, if they don’t feel like dancing don’t make them, if you want them to hold your hand to safely cross the road then you enforce it, children should only be made to do things which is positive or healthy for them, pretending that they are happy is only beneficial for you not them.
We must teach our children and sometimes even ourselves how to constructively express their feelings in positive ways.
We must teach ourselves it is ok for our children to be sad or angry sometimes, we must look at how we speak to our children because this can become their inner voice, we also must remember no one is perfect and behaves perfectly all the time.
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Unless You Have Lost A Parent You Won’t Understand
Unless you have lost a parent you won’t understand the days where half of you is completely gone, you can’t get out of bed, have no motivation for anything, not even to eat or drink, not to wash or brush your hair or get dressed.
The days you cry for hours. The days you drive yourself insane asking yourself if it was your fault and could you have changed anything. The days of waking up taking multiple different medications just to try to keep your brain stable.
The days of anger and rage where you feel everything is against you. The days you are triggered by something so slight that it will make you burst into tears. The days of seeing little girls happy with their fathers or hearing people say “hello dad” on the phone. The days of wishing, hoping, begging to turn back time.
The days of wondering what the future would have been like and imagining all the happy times you could have had. The days of wishing that it would have happened later on in many many years down the line so you could have experienced life together and been by each other’s sides. The days of wishing you had a family to support you through, or just someone to call when your crying all alone.
But this is the reality that I have to wake up to every day. These are the days I spend with my dad now, cuddling his ashes and having one-sided conversations only imagining what his replies would be, a voice in my head and a memory in my heart.
It’s important to remember that just because we walk around with normal faces it doesn’t mean we aren’t dying and broken inside.
I wrote this to show that these are “the days” I face now. They will never understand but maybe they might realise just how hard it truly is. I suffer every single day.
I’m so glad this post is bringing comfort to people, we are not alone in this x
Credit: Tallula Hurford
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I Am 2 I Am Not Terrible- I Am Frustrated
“I am 2. I am not terrible…I am frustrated. I am nervous, stressed out, overwhelmed, and confused. I need a hug.”
From the diary of a 2-year-old:
Today I woke up and wanted to get dressed by myself but was told “No, we don’t have time, let me do it.”
This made me sad.
I wanted to feed myself for breakfast but was told,
“No, you’re too messy, let me do it for you.”
This made me feel frustrated.
I wanted to walk to the car and get in on my own but was told, “No, we need to get going, we don’t have time. Let me do it.”
This made me cry.
I wanted to get out of the car on my own but was told “No, we don’t have time, let me do it.”
This made me want to run away.
Later I wanted to play with blocks but was told “no, not like that, like this…”
I decided I didn’t want to play with blocks anymore. I wanted to play with a doll that someone else had, so I took it. I was told “No, don’t do that! You have to share.”
I’m not sure what I did, but it made me sad. So I cried. I wanted a hug but was told “No, you’re fine, go play”.
I’m being told it’s time to pick up. I know this because someone keeps saying, “Go pick up your toys.”
I am not sure what to do, I am waiting for someone to show me.
“What are you doing? Why are you just standing there? Pick up your toys, now!”
I was not allowed to dress myself or move my own body to get to where I needed to go, but now I am being asked to pick things up.
I’m not sure what to do. Is someone supposed to show me how to do this? Where do I start? Where do these things go? I am hearing a lot of words but I do not understand what is being asked of me. I am scared and do not move.
I lay down on the floor and cry.
When it was time to eat I wanted to get my own food but was told “no, you’re too little. Let me do it.”
This made me feel small. I tried to eat the food in front of me but I did not put it there and someone keeps saying “Here, try this, eat this…” and putting things in my face.
I didn’t want to eat anymore. This made me want to throw things and cry.
I can’t get down from the table because no one will let me…because I’m too small and I can’t. They keep saying I have to take a bite. This makes me cry more. I’m hungry and frustrated and sad. I’m tired and I need someone to hold me. I do not feel safe or in control. This makes me scared. I cry even more.
I am 2. No one will let me dress myself, no one will let me move my own body where it needs to go, no one will let me attend to my own needs.
However, I am expected to know how to share, “listen”, or “wait a minute”. I am expected to know what to say and how to act or handle my emotions. I am expected to sit still or know that if I throw something it might break….But, I do NOT know these things.
I am not allowed to practice my skills of walking, pushing, pulling, zipping, buttoning, pouring, serving, climbing, running, throwing or doing things that I know I can do. Things that interest me and make me curious, these are the things I am NOT allowed to do.
I am 2. I am not terrible…I am frustrated. I am nervous, stressed out, overwhelmed, and confused. I need a hug.”
-Author unknown
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I Am In Hell Because It Is Not My Baby
Sitting in the labour and delivery room at the hospital with my sister. My mum, who is also pregnant, just showed up. I’m smiling, and carrying on conversations, but inside? I am in hell.
I guess I’m a very selfish and mean person because I don’t think it’s fair. I don’t think it’s fair that I was the one who was actively trying to get pregnant, but instead God not only blessed one of my family members, but two with the gift that I had been praying for, for YEARS.
I hate feeling this way. I am beyond happy for them, but at the same time I’m over here struggling to keep my composure and not burst into tears. It’s not fair that I’m the one who has to go through this pain. It’s not fair that each month I take dose after dose of medication and pray so fervently that God will bless me with a child.
I changed my eating habits, I changed my lifestyle. This was supposed to be my moment, or like my moment, where everyone shows up to the hospital because they’re excited for the new baby. But it’s not. It’s not my baby, it’s not my moment, and I won’t even pretend to understand why I’m in this situation. I don’t see in just black and white anymore. I look around and I wonder just how many women are in my shoes.
How many women go through the channels on tv and see a newborn baby on one of those nappy commercials, and you just feel your heart tear into pieces inside your chest. You can’t walk down the baby aisles because you know that if you buy it and it doesn’t happen yet again, you’ll be left looking at that item knowing that it’s still just an item and not YOUR baby’s. How many women have cried themselves to sleep at night because all they want is to start a family? I’m so happy, but I’m not.
Here I am, listening to them talk and joke around, but I feel like the joke is on me and sometimes I wonder if God is listening to me. Please tell me i’m not alone.
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What Abortion Really Feels Like- Don’t Suffer In Silence
WHAT ABORTION REALLY FEELS LIKE
Three years later and I’m still wondering when my nightmares and flashbacks will ever stop.
Was it really the right thing to do?
That’s the price you pay for abortion – a lifetime of guilt.
It’s a subject no woman ever wants to talk about, for fear of being judged or shamed – being labelled as irresponsible or stupid.
If I hear another story where a man has casually said “just get rid of it” to a woman he’s accidentally impregnated, I’ll fucking scream.
You see, it’s just not that fucking easy.
On the 29th July, 2013 at 10:30am, I was sat in a waiting room with another 7 women, all waiting to have an abortion.
For the “pro-lifers”, yes, I murdered my baby.
Did I want to? No. But it was the right thing to do.
I was a single, working mum of a one year old and I was at a good point in my life. I had a nice home, I paid my bills, I had good friends and I’d just begun to socialize again properly.
To cut a long story short, I had been seeing somebody for a few months. I really fell for him and things were going well between us.
Until I fell pregnant.
Yes, I fell pregnant. I had been taking the pill and I fell in to the 0.01% category of it failing to work.
You see, I always said I would and never could abort a baby.
I was that person who didn’t understand how somebody could make that kind of decision.
How stupid and narrow-minded was I to say that?
I’d never been in that position, until now.
My head was screaming “You can’t have another baby!”, but my heart was pleading for me to keep it.
But I couldn’t.
I already had a baby who I loved so dearly and I brought him in to the world without a father, I couldn’t do it again, it would be so unfair.
He agreed.
I went to my doctor the following day and booked the consultation at the clinic for the following week.
It was a three-stage process;
• You have a consultation (without your partner) to make sure this is genuinely the right decision you (not him) want to make.
• You have an undignified, internal ultrasound with a 10 inch probe to confirm your “unwanted” pregnancy. (This is a technique they use to try to gently persuade you to keep your baby)
• You get a second consultation to confirm how you’d like the abortion performed, if you’d like a contraceptive inserted and when you’d like the procedure to take place.
My options?
I chose to look away from the screen whilst being internally examined, so I couldn’t see my viable pregnancy – all I knew was that I was 6 weeks pregnant.
I asked if I could have a general anaesthetic for my abortion and to have the mirena coil fitted at the same time for my next contraceptive, which lasts up to 5 years.
I didn’t ever want to have to face this again.
And I chose the soonest available date to have my termination.
Why wait?
Monday 29th July 2013
It was raining.
How could I forget?
It was the most emotional, depressing morning of my life.
I was getting my one year old dressed to stay with his Grandma, whilst I was about to leave to have another baby taken away from me.
I wasn’t allowed to eat before the operation, which just happened to be the only thing that made sense that morning, because I felt sick to my stomach.
My “partner” picked me up at 9:00am and we set off for Bournemouth to be there for 10:30am.
The drive was fairly awkward. I knew that after this, there’d be no “us” and that today it was the end for not one, but two important things to me.
I remember zoning out on the motorway and trying to tune in to the music on the radio, but all I could tune in to was the dread of what was about to happen.
Time seemed to fly by and we finally arrived at the clinic.
I began to question if we were really in the right place, because it didn’t look like a hospital. It was just a big house.
Maybe they’ve got it wrong and I don’t have to go through with this after all.
But I soon spotted the clinic’s logo on a plaque, firmly nailed next to a call bell.
We definitely got it right.
I took a deep breath and I pressed it.
“Hello, can you confirm who you are please?” answered the receptionist.
I proceeded to answer, followed by “I’m here for an abortion.”
What the fuck just came out of my mouth?
Yeah, I was there for an abortion; one of the few things I swore I’d never do, but now I’m actually here.
I ‘checked in’ with my “partner” at the front desk. I was politely asked to take a seat “with the rest of them” and told I’d be called through when they were ready.
I don’t remember how I felt during that waiting period, but it was nothing less than shitting myself I doubt.
“Nicole Williams please.”
This was it. Gulp.
We stood up and walked towards the consultant, who then asked for my “partner” to basically fuck off for a few hours.
“We’ll call you when she’s finished.”
Well, fuck. I did not expect that.
I was far too emotionally exhausted to argue or question it. I just wanted this to be over.
I followed her in to a room where she took my obs and just confirmed once again if this is what I wanted.
No, not really. But it was the lesser of two evils.
Out I went in to a waiting room of girls, all sat there silently, staring at the floor.
Some had been crying because they’d wanted their partners there, others were scared of being put to sleep and some were just devastated by it all.
Me? I did my usual thing. I covered my hurting by having a laugh about it.
I sat down, I assessed everything around me and I did what I do best.
“So, what are you all in here for?”
A few looked up and smiled, a couple of them even giggled.
Of course, I knew why they were all here. They were here for the same reason as I was.
Never before had the saying “we’re all in the same boat” applied as much as it did on this day.
I felt comfortable with these women, because we were all ultimately there for one reason.
I introduced myself and gave “my story”.
I didn’t get to know all of their stories, but the ones I did hear were all so different; one woman had a child with her partner already and she wasn’t ready for another, a married woman with grown up children was there because it was a genuine mistake after her husband had just had “the snip” and there was me, who’d had been taking precautions by taking the pill and still got pregnant anyway.
We all had one thing in common; they were all unplanned and we’d been trying to prevent pregnancy, yet still ended up in this situation.
We must have been waiting for an hour before anything more happened…
A cheery nurse appeared in a doorway after what felt like hours of waiting, then one by one, she would call a girl from the waiting room we all shared.
It was like waiting to be gassed or taken to a slaughterhouse.
Every time a girl left to go with the nurse, we would wish her luck, tell her it was going to be okay and assure her we’d see her soon.
This wasn’t okay though. It wasn’t how I’d imagined.
Next up was me.
There were two girls I left in the waiting room, crying because they knew their time was coming.
I wish I could take their pain away.
I followed the nurse in to another waiting room, where I found all of the previous girls I’d been sat with that morning.
They were all wearing hospital gowns, with their hair tied up, bare finger and toe nails, no make up and clearly shitting themselves.
Before I could actually piece together what was going on in my head, the nurse abruptly pointed to a small cubicle in the corner of the waiting room and instructed for me draw the curtain, to take off my clothes and put my gown on.
I had to put any valuables I had in my handbag and bring it out with me when I was finished.
I had only five minutes to do this.
I sheepishly walked out of the cubicle and back I was, with these women who had not yet been put out of their misery; it felt like we were on death row.
We’d already wished each other luck and we’d cried so much, we couldn’t cry anymore.
It was painfully silent. Deafening, actually. We knew what was coming next.
Minutes felt like hours and then the same happened again, with a different nurse.
One by one, it was their “turn”.
This nurse was different; she was hard-faced and insensitive.
She was an old-fashioned nurse – she had her hair tied up in to a tight chignon, she was incredibly slim, she wore an elasticated cinch belt and she didn’t mince her words either.
To put it nicely, she was a cunt and I wanted to rip her throat out.
It wasn’t long before she appeared in the doorway, looked above me and called out “Nicole” in a monotone voice.
I stood up and followed her through to a “side room”, where she told me to lay on a bed and put my belongings underneath.
The only time she spoke to me was when she told me she was inserting my cannula, that was it.
She scooted off to get the anaesthetic to insert in to my cannula, and I just laid there looking up at the light above me, with tears streaming down my face and in to my ears.
Please, please let this be the end.
She soon returned with a trolley of syringes and told me that she would be inserting them in to my cannula and I would go off to sleep.
Thank God.
After all of the drugs had been administered, she began to wheel me off down to theatre and I was told to count to ten.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5…
Who are all of these people?
6, 7…
I’m still not asleep. I should be asleep.
…8, 9…
Why are they walking towards me?
10…
Why is he opening my legs whilst I’m still awake?
Boom.
I was awake and all I could hear was crying.
Women, crying.
They’d woken up too, in exactly the same place I’d woken up.
We were in hell.
I looked up at the clock and it was 14:15. It had only taken 15 minutes to rip my baby away.
MY baby.
But it wasn’t over yet.
I was bleeding between my legs and I had what felt like a nappy stuck under my bum.
I felt bruised, tired and completely violated.
But the worst pain was knowing that I had no baby anymore.
I was heartbroken.
I was told to get dressed and get my things up together, so I did.
After half an hour, I was sent down to the lounge area for a cup of tea and a biscuit.
Yeah, just like that. Because a fucking digestive biscuit makes it all better.
I told them I felt fine to leave, so they called my “partner” and he came to collect me.
I walked down the corridor and I cried.
I’m not sure if I cried because I was sad or because leaving that place was like escaping from a prison camp.
And after it all happened?
All I knew was that I never wanted to be there again and I had the biggest respect for any woman who has undergone a termination.
I’ve woken up sobbing because I’ve had nightmares which include seeing my dead baby, having my baby snatched away or murdered in my sleep, I’ve been robbed of being a parent in so many ways.
It’s not just “getting rid”, it’s emotional baggage you carry with you forever; so before you judge a woman for terminating her unborn child, please keep in mind that it wasn’t fucking easy.
If your partner needs support before or after her termination, please, be there for her.
I wasn’t so lucky and it’s only now, three years later, I’ve finally spoken out about it.
Don’t suffer in silence.
Full Credit to our friend at www.theunicorninblack.com
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Heartbreaking Story Of Abandoned Dog
“My family brought me home, all cradled in their arms. They cuddled me and smiled at me and said I was full of charm. They played with me and laughed with me and showered me with toys. I sure did love my family, especially the little girls and boys.”
“The children loved to feed me; they gave me special treats. They even let me sleep with them – all snuggled in the sheets. I used to go for walks, often several times a day. They even fought to hold the leash, I’m very proud to say.”
“These are the things I’ll not forget – a cherished memory. Now that I’m in the shelter – without my family. They used to laugh and praise me when I played with that old shoe. But I didn’t know the difference between the old one and the new.”
“The kids and I would grab a rag, for hours we would tug. So I thought I did the right thing when I chewed the bedroom rug. They said that I was out of control, and would have to live outside. This I didn’t understand, although I tried and tried.”
“The walks stopped, one by one, they said they hadn’t time. I wish that I could change things; I wish I knew my crime. My life became so lonely in the backyard, on a chain. I barked and barked all day long to keep from going insane.”
“So they brought me to the shelter but were embarrassed to say why. They said I caused an allergy, and then they each kissed me goodbye. If I’d only had some training when I was a little pup, I wouldn’t have been so hard to handle when I was all grown up.”
“‘You only have one day left, I heard the worker say. Does that mean I have a second chance? Do I go home today?”
-Anonymous
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Why You Feel More Depressed In Winter?
Why You Feel More Depressed In Winter? You could be suffering with Seasonal affective disorder – also known as SAD – is a mood disorder which gets worse during winter. But how do you know if you’re suffering from it? And what can you do to relieve the symptoms?
“Daylight plays an important role in maintaining our sleep patterns, appetite, temperature, sex drive, mood and activity,” says Bridget O’Connell, head of information at mental health charity Mind. So it’s no surprise that a lack of daylight could affect our general health and well-being.
“The amount of light we need to keep on track varies from person to person, but for some people, the reduction in daylight hours seen in the UK through the winter months is enough to significantly slow these internal mechanisms down.”
As a result, people could have problems sleeping and concentrating, difficulty coping with everyday pressures they normally take in their stride, and may become more prone to depression, overeating and illness.
“Anyone could be affected by SAD at any time,” says Bridget, but it is most likely to develop between the ages of 18 and 30. Research also shows twice as many women as men are diagnosed with the disorder.
Wanting to sleep or eat more during winter, coupled with being less inclined to get out and about, is a normal reaction to seasonal changes and decreased exposure to natural light. “However if you feel your low mood in winter is so severe it is preventing you from living your life as usual, and occurs regularly every winter, then you may have SAD,” says Bridget.
Symptoms may start between September and November and can last until late May. Once someone has experienced two or three winters of symptoms, they can be said to be suffering from SAD.
“If you feel you are suffering from SAD, you should visit your GP to discuss the best course of treatment, be that bright light therapy, talking therapies, medication or one of the many alternative treatments available,” Bridget advises.
Outdoor activity, whether it’s a bike ride, a run around the block or pottering in the garden, could have a positive impact on mood. “Research shows outdoor exercise could be as effective as antidepressants in treating mild to moderate depression. In turn, exercise will increase physical fitness, improve self-confidence and self-esteem. Exercising with friends or an organised group could also help to lift mood.”
