The thing about depression is that it makes you absolutely sure that everything you do is shit.

In recent weeks, I have been living in a world where I’ve believed that I’m a worthless partner, a useless mother, and a pointless friend.

I’ve believed that everything I’ve created has been rubbish, and that anything I could possibly have to say here would be utter crap.

So I just stopped.

not so good


I stopped doing all the things that normally give my life meaning, structure, and purpose. All the things that bring me joy, and a connect me with my sense of self.

Sewing, writing, drawing, playing, reading… engaging with human beings… eating…

Depression’s a bitch like that. It leeches the colour out of the things that usually brighten your life, and robs you of your reasons to live. You end up in this cycle of feeling too sad to do the things that make you happy, feeling sadder again for that, et cetera, et cetera, ad – quite literally – nauseam.

Luckily for me, I have people in my life who recognise that dangerous spiral. They saw me circling the plughole, and they stepped in to help (am I mixing metaphors there? Maybe. But don’t nag me, I’m in the middle of telling you I’m a delicate flower!)

eff you, depression, you jerk!

Depression, I have this to say to you!


I’m relieved to report that things are getting better.

I’m going to have more to say about this in the next little while.

I have thoughts about depression and parenthood. Thoughts about the role my family and community have been playing in my recovery. Thoughts about the way crafting helps me cope.

But for now, I have this to say: I’m back.

I’m not better, but I’m working on it (for Arty, for SJ, and for myself).

we're going to be alright

This guy: worth the fight.


What I have to share here on the blog may not be total bilge… but I’ll let you decide on that, since my own judgement may still be a little skewed.

Stand by…