Why I’ve decided to get bereavement counselling now

This year will mark 12 years since my Mum died. Something that absolutely flipped my life upside down. I was 19 when she died and she was just 39. It was sudden and far too soon.

There is no “easy” death to deal with. But the circumstances around her death definitely made it harder to move on and, even now, I can barely think about her without her death overwhelming my other memories.

Mum was vulnerable. She had borderline personality disorder and some alcohol dependency issues. Despite being a loving mum, my childhood was definitely more challenging because of the struggles she faced. I was exposed to some emotionally complex things in life at a very young age.

There were times when my Mum would disappear, and I wouldn’t know when I would see her again. She self harmed and sometimes there were suicide attempts. My parents’ relationship was unstable and I regularly overheard arguments and conflict, although there was also a deep love and relentless trying to figure things out from both sides.

Mum and Dad eventually separated when I was 14 and that was yet another thing I had to try to come to terms with. In my teenage years she started to depend on me for a lot of support and I often felt like the parent in the relationship. When I went off to University I called her every single day, multiple times a day to make sure she was OK.

She died very suddenly.

The circumstances around her death were incredibly stressful, to say the least. I was the last person to speak to her. We had a telephone conversation that was upsetting and that ended abruptly. There was news coverage and police failure and an IPCC investigation into police conduct.

I had to wait a year for the coroner’s inquest and verdict on the cause of death, in the meantime wondering whether it was suicide. It wasn’t.

At the time, I think I thought I was coping quite well. I was at University and doing what I could to enjoy myself. But my family were far away and I hadn’t known my University friends long enough for them to be able to spot the changes in me.

I stopped being able to properly care for myself, but this might not have been obvious to the people in my life. I stopped attending University or engaging with my studies. I tried, I really did. But I’d walk towards the lecture halls and start having a panic attack just before I got to the classroom door and retreat to the safety of my bedroom.

There was nobody to tell my University what was really going on and I didn’t feel able to face it myself. Nobody intervened. I was still laughing and joking and going to parties, so I guess people thought I was doing OK. I think even I thought I was doing OK at the time.

It was a weird time in my life. I was offered counselling and turned it down. I didn’t think I needed it. Content instead to work and drink and party. I wasn’t quite wild enough to draw that much attention to myself, there were no drugs, no promiscuity and I dressed OK.

But I was plugging the loss I felt with impulse buying things I didn’t need or want. The only sense of control I had over my life was by seriously restricting my food and my weight fluctuated dangerously. I neglected my needs and didn’t properly take care of myself, but in ways that weren’t necessarily visible on the outside.

People would see me smiling, working hard and socialising, but underneath all of that I felt completely lost. I had enough money to take care of my bills, but didn’t feel able to call up the companies and make payments. I stopped reading and going to the gym completely. I couldn’t keep my room tidy and would regularly just throw all my stuff away and buy all new things rather than face the process of cleaning. I stopped cooking, writing and painting and let go of any of the dreams I’d had before she died.

Even though I had cared for Mum in many ways, I don’t think I had realised how much I needed her until she was gone. It might sound obvious to anyone else, but I hadn’t anticipated the giant hole losing her would leave in my life. I genuinely hadn’t realised just how much she did for me.

She didn’t really do traditional Mum things. There was no taking my laundry home or rocking up for Sunday dinner. But she was my biggest fan, I was the most important thing in her life in the way a child is to their parent. She celebrated me in a way nobody has since. And I still feel an emptiness where she was.

I’m deeply regretful that she didn’t get to see the woman I would grow up to be. I hope to have children and I hate that they’ll be missing a grandma. It’s heart breaking that her death was so traumatic that it overshadows her life (and it does, it still does because I haven’t processed it properly).

Because she was more than just a vulnerable person who had BPD and who died. She was creative and beautiful and exciting to be around. I inherited her face, yes, I’m often told how much I look like her, but I also inherited her playfulness, her sensitivity, her love for animals and her sometimes inappropriate sense of humour. I would give anything just to hear her voice and give her a hug. It’s been 12 years but it still feels so raw.

I recently had a psychological assessment. After years of waiting, I finally had my PTSD diagnosis formalised. It was very expected. My life was ripped apart by domestic violence from an abusive relationship in my 20s. What I hadn’t expected was the psychologist to ask me about Mum and about whether I felt I had completed the grieving process or whether I felt stuck.

It wasn’t something I had spent much time thinking about. But I can barely talk about her without feeling the immense weight of all the guilt, sadness, pain and loss that I’m still carrying. Of course, it’s normal to still feel the loss of someone you love even after years have passed – I thought that what I was experiencing was normal too. But it isn’t and I can see that now.

I’ve had counselling to address the trauma and violence I suffered at the hands of my abusive ex (although, I will need more further down the line), but I’ve never had a safe space to address my feelings around Mum’s death. They’re buried deep inside me and they are full of emotion and love and conflict.

So today I decided to finally apply for some grief counselling. And even filling the form in triggered an extreme reaction. I don’t know what I’m expecting or really even hoping for, other than that maybe I’ll be able to remember my Mum again and think about her being alive, without the whole focus being on how traumatic her death was. I long for that so much.

This is long and rambling and unedited. I’m not even going to read it back, it’s just too much for me right now, but I needed to vent this out. I’ll let you all know how things go as I hopefully make some progress. Thanks for taking the time to read this!

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