As my five-year-old grandson Caiden made a sprint for the swings, I chased over and sat A down beside him. 'Let's see who can go higher, Nana,' he yelled, and side by side we swung into the afternoon sunshine, kicking our legs in the air.
The simple joy of spending an active afternoon with my youngest grandchild made my spirits soar, and I realised just how far I'd come in a matter of months, after more than a decade of feeling sad and depressed. It had started when I lost my mum Wyn to breast cancer in 2010. I'd been her carer, devoting myself entirely to her, and losing her left a huge hole in my life.
My grief led to depression and anxiety, and my GP prescribed antidepressants to help. My way to medicate was with food biscuits and chocolates seemed to be the only thing that briefly made me feel better.
Just as I'd come off the antidepressants in 2014, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a gruelling battle, which I eventually won, but the treatment sent me into menopause, and the side effects of the medications I'd been prescribed led to me gaining weight rapidly. I withdrew from the world, refusing to go out socialising.
Even my loving and supportive husband Colin couldn't coax me out of the house to one of his work events. "The last thing I want is to make you ashamed,' I said. 'How could I ever be ashamed of you?' Colin replied. I could see that he was shocked, but my self-esteem was in tatters.
I felt deeply embarrassed about myself, and I was sure others were bound to feel the same. I'd now been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and an autoimmune illness, which affected my joints and caused pain all over my body. And while I was having counselling for my mental health, which was really helpful in many ways, I couldn't shake those feelings of embarrassment and shame as my weight increased.
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