I love my children. So, so much. I’ve been at home with them for the last three years and it’s been the hardest three years of my life.

I’d managed my anxiety and depression for over ten years, and was so ready and excited to be a mother. Instead of the sense of fulfilment and all-encompassing purpose I’d expected, I found boredom and isolation and tedious repetition.

It has taken a long time and a lot of personal growth and struggle, but I’m now able to appreciate my time with my kids. I look forward to waking up and cuddling them. I love eating dinner with them and wiping their faces and asking what made them happy today. I love when they pat my face and say “luff oo!” (my son) or “I want to be big and strong like you!” (my daughter). I’m proud of myself and the family I’ve made, so precious for how hard it’s been.

This is us in the car after I passed my lipstick around so we can all be fabulous on our way to the shops.