When my depression hits hard it is easy to stop caring.

Get out of bed? What for?

Start the day? No thanks.

So I aim small. Go outside. Make a cup of tea and go sit in the sun. Just wander. Look and maybe water the pots.

My husband would struggle to get me to leave the house so he started encouraging me to collect seeds and cuttings on our walks. Bribery. Leave the house and go hunting.

We would put little miss in her pram and collect as we walked. Ooh a Jacaranda seed pod. And a kurrajong seed pod here. Our toddler son would scan below verge trees for seeds.

My experimental project gave me purpose where I had none. Hubby collected plastic pots from a bin near his work. I washed them and began to experiment. It cost nothing but gave so much in return.

Garden experiments kept me alive.

My father in law showed me how to snip the end off a mango seed to grow.

It has been the best thing I have ever done for myself. To grow plants from cuttings and seeds for our 5 acres.

Watching as a cutting develops new shoots gives me hope.

Seeing a plant survive where it probably shouldn’t facinates me.

Why would I want to die when I have a massive project to spend my life experimenting with?

My favourite success of all has been our Moreton Bay Fig trees. We climbed old trees to scoop a few tiny seedlings out of crevices in branches.  I have nurtured them.

Of all my plants these give me the most hope for my future. Why? Because they are long lived. Even though they won’t be massive in my lifetime I want to live to see them grow and change.

The three we planted are the same age as our son (he is now 4). They remind me constantly of my children. To try and try and try again because I want (like the trees) to be around to see them grow.

What do you do to cultivate hope and curiousity in your life?

Once when I thought of digging and soil preparation I pictured shovels and cheery faces and a mild sweat.

Since buying the block I’ve learned how good true hard physical work can feel.

The reality of gardening on a rocky slope means heavy sweat, exhaustion and some truly magnificent calluses on my hands.

Not really glamorous huh. But so very good for my depression!

My tool of choice at the block is a pick. Dad also made us a heavy steel bar hubby affectionately calls the “poker” which is used to smash up rocks or lever them out of holes. I’ve slowly learnt how to tell by feel if I’ve hit sheet rock or coffee rock which I can smash up.

Who knew gardening could be so violent?

I’ve learnt to look for the plants which are the first to establish after fire. At the block these are spiky Acacias. Generally if you see one of these… They’ve done the hard work for you by finding a spot their roots can get through the rock.

Forget the garden though. The first step was fencing. I love kangaroos. Just not in MY garden. Rabbits may ringbark and chomp on my plants but kangaroos are another story all together. Anything green that is not a Eucalypt is devoured to the ground. Nothing is more devestating than tenderly growing plants from seeds or cuttings until they are ready to plant. Then the effort involved in planting (see note above regarding digging). Only to find a bloody roo has munched the lot.

And don’t even get me started on the tiny kangaroo ticks they bring with them (shudders).

So. Fencing. 5 acres. Hand dug post and strainer holes. Carting water down the hill for hubby to mix concrete.

I learned to tie on fencing wire and after hubby strained the fencing it was my job to tie every single starpicket to the wire.

The benefit…no time to think. No time to stress or worry or be upset. I’d say it was glamorous sitting in the baking sun tying wire and getting lots of vitamin D… But thats bollocks. Roasting out in 45 degree celsius days is not pretty. Smothered in sunscreen and chugging water. Hmm yeah not everyone’s cup of tea.

But for some reason it helps.

Even better… When the plants start to grow 😊.

Seed grown Jacaranda 2 years old. Survived the frost and 40+ degree summers with water once a week.

Oh my goodness.

I have to copy the whole entire post. And put it right here for myself.

I want to read it again and again. My equivalent of sticking something on the fridge to read every day.

Why until now had I not looked into the world of blogging? So much LIFE out there just waiting to be heard.

I joined the BeyondBlue online forums over a year ago to connect with others who understand mental illness and listen without judgement.

The written word is beautiful and it has helped me enormously but there is something also powerful about images and photos and owning who you are without needing to be anonymous.

These words are poetry. But moreso I love the fact that they are written by a suicide survivor. Imagine if the opportunity to read these words had been lost!

You are simply you. You are the soul that observes what both your brain and your mind is doing at the present moment. You are the soul that goes by with your name. The feelings that you are feeling right now are not you. Just like the thoughts you are having—they’re inherently empty for they are not […]

via You Are Not Your Mental Illness, You Are Your Soul — Lonely Blue Boy

I have to laugh. Bitterly almost. Have been in a bit of a hole again and thought I had found some footholds to climb out (blogging even if I haven’t told a single person in my life I am).

But today it feels like bullshit.

I dragged myself out of bed and took Miss 3 and Mr 4 to Whiteman Park.

(www.whitemanpark.com.au)

It is natural bush that was given to the WA government on the proviso it was used as a park and as a bonus there is a playground my kids go batty for.

But (hate that word)… Even the sun and the Eucalypts and the smell of the sausages and BBQs didn’t reach in and touch me today.

But I found a blog that did. Today I needed colour and found it here..

http://themindfulgardener.blog/

This time of year is dull here. Everything scorched after the bloody hot summer and not a lot of rain to speak of yet. But this blog reminded me to go and sit outside while the kids bounce on the trampoline and try again. So I’ll try again.

Hmm maybe in order to be allowed to be mindful in the garden I need time to myself. The dog keeps jumping over me and both kids took me resting on the grass as an invitation to jump in and crush my spine. Arrrrgh.

It was worth a shot though. Feeling irritated and annoyed is better than feeling nothing 😊.

My friend’s gardens are this plant lover’s paradise. What can I divide? What can I take cuttings of? All the joy of new plants and absolutely free.

Free is the requirement at the moment. We’re renting while we build at the block. Unfortunately I thought that meant maintaining someone else’s garden and no real work to do to keep my black dog busy. Hoorah for run down old rentals and gardens in need of TLC! Too bad if they don’t like my changes 😂.

I divided some dianellas and rhoeos from my friend’s house. And cut off a few pups from an established agave at the rental. And voila… Plants where there was a patch of bare soil.

Thankfully the soil is decent here not the gutless Perth sand I’m used to.

Best of all… WORK. Nothing beats a shovel and digging to escape the demons in my head. Sun and fresh air and a little physical work while the kids made a fort in the trailer.

Note: Wolf spider bites hurt! Not poisonous but OUCH!

Apparently this area is a wolf spider haven. When I was planting they were everywhere and one decided my knee was fair game. Bleh. Wear jeans next time spider woman. Lucky it wasn’t a redback.

Spoke to a children’s nurse today (through the psychiatrist’s office) and she mentioned the “hour of power”. All parents need minimum one hour EVERY DAY to recharge. Even more important if you have a mental illness. She suggested putting the kids in the creche at the gym or pool to do some physical work.

Now if only there was a community garden to work in which had a creche. THAT would be gold for me.

For now my temporary garden here will have to do 😊.

Next stop will be my friend who has lots of Yukkas and Dracaenas. Ooh and maybe a couple of Frangipanni branches to dry out over winter ready to plant in spring.

Take that depression… Get back in your box and let the crazy plant lady CREATE!

Welcome to my experiment.

I have a diagnosis of major depression. And an autoimmune disease to boot. Medications can only do so much.

I see a psychiatrist weekly for therapy. Take my medications. Try. Try. Try.  But the reality is I need help. I’m 33 years old and most days I feel like my future is bleak.

So this is me… Trying again. Something new. Maybe noone will ever read or care about the words I write. That is ok. This experiment is for me. If it helps another person along the way that is a beautiful bonus.

I would love company on my journey.

So… Where to begin?

I’m Nat. 33 year old Mum of 2 (3 and 4 year old) and avid gardener.

The one place I feel free of the black dog is in my garden (5 acres of Wandoo bush in WA). It has kept me alive through the worst of my depression. Gives me an escape and hope for a depression free future.

I’m looking forward to sharing my garden with you all. Maybe one day I will find my depression buried in the garden too. I can hope!

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton