I have been reminded this week what an excellent healer time can be, and how much respect we ought to give it as something which can solve our problems.

I wrote up my birth story last week, and I was amazed at what a different perspective I was able to have writing it so long after the event.

I took copious notes shortly after giving birth to ensure that I would always have an accurate record of how things went chronologically, and also have a copy of all my medical notes, so it’s not that the hard facts have changed. It’s that something which traumatised me at the time and contributed massively to a year of postnatal depression is now something that I can genuinely laugh at in parts. I have not forgotten the difficult bits (of which there were many) but they don’t define me anymore. The passage of time means that I am no longer the woman who cries all the time while sitting on a doughnut cushion.

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