Sometimes, it’s impossible to see a ray of light in the dark hours of parental worry, guilt and stress. But every cloud brings with it a beautiful silver lining. This is mine

Founder’s words | 2 Min read

For years, I was an unwell young woman. Chronic pain got in the way of my social life and made working full time an endurance test. Then, I had my daughter Amelia and became a parent in chronic pain.

Now, I worry about the psychological impact of my poor health on Millie, who recently turned four. Studies show children of parents in chronic pain are more likely to suffer adverse life outcomes and pain themselves in the longer term. I would never wish my pain on anyone, but the thought of Millie going down the same road truly terrifies me. And that isn’t an impossibility.

I have severe endometriosis, where cells similar to those in the lining of the womb grow elsewhere, leading to six operations between 2012-2019, and the removal of my diseased left ovary. Fate dealt me a devilish hand in 2016 when I tore the cartilage in my left hip during pregnancy. The joint was repaired in two surgeries, but the muscles, tendons and other structures around my hip remain inflamed, limiting my mobility, ability to sit, stand, walk, sleep and pretty much everything else. 

There is now much evolving science that puts chronic pain down to a three-pronged ‘biopsychosocial’ model, meaning everything from the physical issue itself, to the stress you suffer in childhood and into adulthood might be a factor for pain becoming chronic. In fact, up to half of the UK population is thought to be living in chronic pain.

I worry daily about Millie seeing me take fistfuls of pills, immobilised on the sofa with a heat-pad, constantly unable to do - the worry etched on her beautiful little face. No matter how much I try to hide my pain, living in the same house means her witnessing it is inevitable.

I feel immensely guilty that Millie misses out on important bonding moments: walks in the woods, me pushing her on the swings, swimming together, early mornings or cuddling a new sibling. I am an only child and at 34, still long for a brother or sister. My husband Andy, 38, and I have six frozen embryos from the IVF cycle that helped us have Millie, but I don’t know if I’ll ever feel well enough to carry another baby.

There is, however, a single, golden thread to my pain. Millie is growing into a little girl with a huge heart, and empathy for others beyond what is developmentally normal. Key workers at Millie’s preschool shared recently that she took a new child under her wing, holding her hand, giving her hugs and being her new friend. Millie perceived the girl’s anxiety and helped her without prompting. I was told Millie’s continuous support made a world of difference to the child. That makes me so proud. 

It’s not a one-off. Millie is perpetually kind, protective, and already showing herself to be thoroughly good, caring and helpful. 

If I drop something, she’ll rush to pick it up so I don’t have to bend. She’ll kiss my hip out of the blue. When she plays with her dolls, she makes one of them ‘poorly’ or with a sore hip so she can look after them. At bed time, she brings them to me to look after. She never leaves them without handing over their care first.

In the mornings when she climbs into our bed, she asks first, ‘how is your pain today Mummy?’ She lays calmly beside me until I am physically able to get up. If I suggest an outing, she glows as she asks: ‘does that mean your hip isn’t hurting anymore?’ I lie and say yes, knowing full well I’ll have to go to bed when we get home.

Millie is understanding and accepting, putting my physical limitations ahead of her own desires and needs. When I suggest doing things with her that I usually can’t, she bubbles with joy.

I am so lucky that her dad shoulders the brunt of the physical childcare. Bedtimes, early mornings, midnight duvet fluffing requests, walks, weekend outings, baths, trips (pre-covid) to the park and soft play. He works a demanding job with intensely long hours and I wish with all my heart I could step up, do all nursery runs, take Millie out to give Andy a break, or get up with her at 6am. 

After all the years it took for me to conceive our longed-for daughter, I desperately want all these normal parenting tasks. Instead, I watch from the side-lines and hope that one day I can be the active, healthy mum that Millie deserves. Or at least, be able to walk to the post-box without my knees buckling.

Despite my anxieties for how my illness impacts my child, she is seemingly thriving and becoming a lovely little person. In this world of trolls, bullies, dangerous, ignorant and despicable people, I am grateful that my child at least, will not become one of them.

Still, I’m working hard to get physically stronger, paying hundreds for physiotherapy, acupuncture, ultrasound therapy, chiropractors and CBT to rehab my muscles and mind.

Treatment sometimes puts me in bed for days but I persevere. I don’t want my pain to be a cross Millie bears throughout her childhood and beyond. I don’t want her nervous system amped up on stress and worry for so many years that her body starts reacting with pain.

Millie yearns for the news that my pain is better for good and I really want to give her that – even more than I want it for myself.

• For support and information on coping with chronic pain, visit nhs.org

• This article first appeared on Metro

Like this article? Please help us commission more like it by donating the cost of a cuppa on Ko-fi. Sharing this article on your social media, and following us on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter are also a great way to support our independent, self-funded platform.

We encourage debate, but trolls are not welcome. Please read our comments policy before contributing.