Inspiration
“I wrote my own eulogy” Brooke McAlary thought she was doing everything right until she imagined how she’d be remembered and decided to completely change her life.
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hen I was pregnant with my first baby in 2009, I had a very specific idea of what the next stage of my life would look like. I would somehow balance parenting a newborn and managing my business, as well as self-care, a social life and maintaining a good relationship with my husband. There would, of course, also be lots of long, quiet walks and giggles and playgroups and cute outfits and milestones, and I would be there for it all. In short, I had no idea what was coming. But in spite of my unrealistic expectations, I managed. For a while anyway. I ran my business and parented a newborn and did a lot of the other things I thought I should be doing. I went to the gym, kept up with friends, filled our weekends with social commitments and even had the occasional holiday. Even though it all looked good on paper, something was missing from my life. Looking back now I can see that I spent the first two years of parenthood numb and disengaged, and while I don’t remember most of it, I do remember assuming that this was just how it was meant to be for new parents – exhaustion, daily tears and an overwhelming sense of anger, grief and loss. It wasn’t until our second baby was a couple of months old that I discovered that what I had assumed was my new normal was actually severe postnatal depression.
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The Australian Women’s Weekly
I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I was able to talk to my husband and my GP, who listened to me. I was able to see a psychiatrist the next week and for many years after. I was prescribed anti-depressant medication and responded well to it. My mental health gradually improved. And while all of those events were vital, it was my psychiatrist who gave me the greatest gift. She gave me permission to do less. To rest sometimes. To let go of the expectations that told me I needed to be everything to everyone. She encouraged me to find things I enjoyed doing, and to make time to do them, which is why I started writing again. Putting pen to paper felt like a homecoming, so when I wandered into a bookshop while on holiday and saw a book titled 642 Tiny Things to Write About, I picked it up and brought it home, hoping it might kickstart my writing habit again. It turned out to be more important than that. As I flicked through the pages of writing prompts, one stopped me cold. It said, “Write your eulogy in three sentences”. I was 32 at the time, and had never given my own death any thought, let alone wondered what people would say about me once I was gone. The whole thing felt morbid, so I closed the book and tried not to think about it again. But the question wouldn’t leave me alone. What did I want people to say about me when I was gone? If I pictured a room full of people gathered to say goodbye to me, who did I imagine standing in front of them, delivering my eulogy?
