That’s what my brain keeps telling me at the moment. No matter how many people tell me I’m not, there’s no louder voice than the one in my head. And it’s reminding me numerous times a day that I’ve failed at the one thing I wanted to be: a good mummy.

This is my end goal – motherhood. It’s exactly what I ever wanted and dreamed about. So many years of my life were spent planning what kind of mother I will be and here I am, with 2 amazing boys, feeling like I’ve failed them. One has a broken collarbone and the other one has been so poorly with a viral infection he ended up in the children’s hospital. I failed to protect them. I failed to keep them safe. I failed at the most important part of my job description and it hurts.

Yes I know sometimes these things can’t be helped.

Yes I know that’s it’s not my fault.

Yes I know that I’ve been a good mum.

BUT none of that seems to matter to the little voice in my head right now. That voice is telling me: this might have been helped, if I did X, Y and Z maybe it wouldn’t have happened, it doesn’t matter how much of a good mum I’ve been before, I still wasn’t good enough this time.

I’m spending my days bobbing up and down on waves of emotion. I can be so happy one minute: playing with the boys, all 3 of us laughing. BUT then that little voice steals the moment and just like that I’m cry I again. The voice reminds me I have no right to be happy because they’ve been hurting and I should have protected them. I should have stopped Otis from running. I should have caught him. I should have used more hand gel whilst sorting through the shopping. I should have bathed Eddison every night. I should, I should, I should…….

I’m well aware that this rollercoaster I feel I’m on is a sign of depression. In fact I’m well aware that the feelings of being an inadequate mother, knowing my boys deserve better is a typical sign of post-natal depression. But I don’t have a new baby so instead this feeling is labelled as “mum guilt” and my goodness mum guilt is the most torturous thing in the world. When I say torture I really mean torture, a mental and emotional kind.

So here it comes, the apologies I feel I need to make:

I’m sorry Otis and Eddison that I’ve failed at being a mum. I’m sorry husband that I have no energy for anything. I’m sorry everyone that I’m not myself. I’m sorry I’m making no effort with anyone. I’m sorry I’m not replying to or even reading all my messages. I’m sorry I can’t shrug this off as I usually would.

This is just how I’m feeling right now. It’s not ok, but it is understandable and I think because I can understand why I feel like this, I’m going to be ok.