My Fight to the Top Read Online Free PDF Page B

scared about our new life together.
    One thing I was happy about was that I wouldn’t be going back to the East End. We had bought a tiny flat in Shawlands for £38,000 just before we’d got married. There was only one bedroom, a tiny lounge and a kitchen but what mattered most was that it was in an upmarket part of Glasgow. The houses were old and grand, just like the area in which Michael grew up. There was a beautiful park nearby where you could walk without worrying about being mugged.
    We had no money whatsoever, so while we were on our honeymoon in Florida Dad put a roller on a stick, and painted all the walls and the high ceilings from his wheelchair. He never let his disability get the better of him. My mum had made all the curtains and stitched together all the bedding. It was an incredible surprise when we walked through the door.
    We had only just settled in and then Rebecca was born on 8 August 1992. She weighed 8 lbs 3 oz. She was so chubby and had jet-black hair. Today she looks like my double but back then she didn’t look anything like me. People used to joke she had been muddled up at the hospital. She was the best baby ever, so easy, but I was very young at 20; I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel an instant connection. Of course I loved her but I felt helpless to know how to cope. My world had changed. Michael went to work at his pensions company and I was left alone with this baby, thinking, Is this going to be my life? I can’t do this.
    I became quite low. I would stare at her pram and think what am I going to do with her? Other days I would cry constantly, and spend hours on the phone to my mum. It was the first time I turned to food as comfort. Rebecca was asleep one day and I thought, What shall I do? I know, I might as well go and eat. So I ordered the biggest pizza you could imagine from the Italian up the road, Di Maggio’s. It was a vicious circle: the more I ate, the bigger I got and the more down I felt. All my friends were going to Ibiza and I was pushing a pram up the street to go to Di Maggio’s. I had the baby blues. It’s a normal, natural thing to have but at the time I didn’t know what was wrong with me and how to deal with it. Eventually, Michael told me I needed to see the doctor. I didn’t tell my mum and dad I was going. I felt ashamed to admit I needed help. I remember sitting in the doctor’s surgery with Rebecca and feeling so alone.
    ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop crying,’ I confessed to the doctor. ‘I don’t know what to do with her.’ I could feel the tears building. ‘I don’t feel I’m a good mum. I don’t know how to be a mum.’ I broke down.
    The doctor told me I had postnatal depression and prescribed Prozac. I didn’t instantly feel better but the depression lifted after five or six months. I stopped the medication, I lost a couple of stone in weight and I started to enjoy being a mum.
    I think the moment I first felt that bond with Rebecca was when she fell ill with an infection. She had a raging temperature and I had to rush her up to Yorkhill children’s hospital. My heart was in my mouth; I was so worried about her. The thought that I might lose Rebecca made me realise how much I loved her. It was the moment when I felt the connection. I grew up a bit after that. These were happy times with Michael, who was a great dad to Rebecca, and I think he felt good being the breadwinner – he was the boss of the family.
    As I started to feel better in myself, I remembered why I had moved out of the East End – why we were struggling with money just so we could live in a nice part of town. I couldn’t afford to be a stay-at-home mum, but I didn’t want to be either. It was my goal to have a job and have a salary. ‘You know you don’t need to work,’ Michael tried reassuring me.
    ‘I am desperate to get a job, I am desperate to learn business and I am desperate to work for a big organisation,’ I told him.