Baby Blues

Nothing prepares you for postpartum depression, nothing prepares you for the maniac depression and the motherless maternal health care nurse who cares only about the small town gossip.

Before I fell into a deep depression, self medicating with alcohol. I would go to the bay with my baby. It was just us, it was secretive, no one else was around and we were free to run and play and for me... take photos. I felt confident concentrating on taking photos as the water was shallow very far out and my son listened when I told him stay near me and stick to the rocks.

It’s this beautiful bay, white sand, shells and crabs everywhere and obviously bluebottles washed up. I can’t remember the amount of times I took a photo of 3 of these beautiful blue jellyfish, while also constantly looking up and checking my 1 year old was within distance and safe.

This is by far one of my favourite photos. But it’s also one of my most haunting. Because shortly after I started struggling immensely with postpartum, I lost my car I couldn’t escape and I had an abusive family member who would consistently come to my home, just open the door, or come to the back window of my bedroom and start banging on it. Despite us being asleep, having no plans and demanding I watch her child or help her with some kind of chore.

When I was dating it was difficult, we would be asleep, us in the bed and my son in the cot and suddenly there would be a bashing on the bedroom window because she needed my attention RIGHT NOW.

This photo at this bay beforehand was my getaway, it was a place for my son and I to go and be free from abuse and demands. I would tell my parents off to ‘this particular bay, no reception’. So they would know, I would be free from the internet it was just myself my son and my camera. Once I finished taking photos I would just play with my boy for hours, his smile, my smile, it was an escape for us both from the abuse and terrifying and constant intimidation.

To this day only a handful of people believe me about the abuse I received, people who had similar exchanges are too afraid to speak up or are so traumatised by their own experiences they prefer to leave it in their past. It’s hard. Because this photo represents so many beautiful moments we had in that bay but also represents how many times we went there just to escape the hate and the abuse. It still remains my favourite photo to this day, but it also is one of my most conflicting photos I have ever taken.