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Living with depression and anxiety, often pulls us into an introspective assessment of our value to the world. The ongoing questioning of our worth and the meaning of our life beyond the obvious contributions are all called to account and often found lacking.

When you live with depression and anxiety it’s easy to believe you’re at the end of a journey. In those times however, amidst all the things you believe are impossible, are the tantalising traces of who you really are. The person you can be. The person you will be.

Sadly in our euphoria about being able to secure a bank mortgage in our own name we have forgotten that nestled inside the original fight was the right of women to not be physically ‘disciplined’ by their ‘husband’. To be treated with respect and care in relation to our physical and emotional needs.

Like any sufferer of a poorly understood illness, I’ve been the victim of misunderstanding and lack of knowledge. I’ve dealt with symptoms that are common among sufferers while at the same time being specific to me. I’ve been discouraged and encouraged. Pathetic and strong. Happy and sad. But interestingly, in all of those states, I’ve always been me.

For me, my failures are real. My inability to achieve perfection is like a scab that I can’t help but pick at. I scrape at the surface, picking the edges so I can remind myself that I’ve failed.