If I had to sum up what I've learned about mental health in the last few years, I would say this: I've learned to put the oxygen mask on myself first.

You hear this emergency airplane instruction a lot as a metaphor when it comes to having children and trying to hang on to a sense of self. But life has a way of dropping 20,000 feet when you least expect it—whether you have kids or not.
One moment you'll be drinking a Bloody Mary and thinking everything's okay—and then, BAM—your world tilts, nothing looks familiar and it feels like you're doomed to crash.

I've spent more than half my life battling some sort of anxiety or depression. My mental health passport has no shortage of stamps. The pages are crammed with multiple prescriptions and various diagnoses.

That's all there used to be, until I decided to do the writing. Now I shape my own story. When I share the lows, the blues, the mood swings, some of the power comes back to me. Especially when people tell me they can relate, or that it's helped them feel less alone.

The sadness, the weakness—they are so strong when you have a tendency to get down. Mental illness is a sinister seductress. She'll lead you down a spiral staircase into the darkness if you let her.

These days I do my best to resist the allure. I take medication, even though it has side effects. I talk it out, even though I'm an introvert. I chart my moods, even though I'm not a Virgo.

I make sure to carve time out for myself, too. I read every day, because it makes me feel good and takes me out of myself. I make dates to go out with my friends at least once a month. I listen to music that transports me somewhere else.

​But, you know what? Despite it all, sometimes none of this works. A bad day or a perceived criticism or a surge of hormones can undo it all. Sometimes the sadness is stronger than the strategies.

And having the best, supportive family in the world is just not enough. That sucks. And tough to take. Because it's not their fault.

But it's not mine, either. It's just the way I'm made. It's not a defect. Having anxiety or depression or PMDD— it's just a part of me, like my freckles and my fair skin. It's what I'm wrapped in.

So I just push on. I purposefully write my way out of the gloom. I hold hands with my nerves. I let the tears come, because I respect the place where they come from.

And I put on that dangling yellow mask every chance I can, even when it's not an emergency.

I don't wish my differences away anymore, because I know this is something I'll most likely live with forever. But I know now that I can manage it and get through it with the support of family and friends.

I used to try and protect my daughter from any hint of it, but it's impossible to hide my heart from my heart. And being my psychic twin, she will immediately sense when something is wrong. I'm honest with her now; I tell her that I'm sad, or that I need some space.

In my bleaker moments, I worry about what I've passed down to her, but I can't control any of that. She will bloom no matter what. And if she goes through any of these things as she grows up, I will understand her and love her the way only I can.

I also want to continue to be a mental health advocate, since I firmly believe that everything I put out into the universe, I get back.

Today I received word that an article I'd pitched to a paying parenting website was accepted. It's called "When Motherhood and Mental Illness Collide."

How about that?

​I'm proof that you can survive a collision with mental illness. We all can, with a little help.

It's nearly time for another turn around the sun, and what have you learned?

For me, 2016 has had its ups and downs—like any year—but I feel like it's been particularly transformative. There are so many lessons and experiences to reflect upon now that this chapter is coming to a close.

I've learned how to reinvent myself professionally to make my personal life more authentic. I've surprised myself by starting my own business and being my own boss. Back in April, I was terrified at the prospect of striking out on my own. I was worried I would get no work, but I did.

And doing good work meant my name got passed on word-of-mouth to other clients. This is no small feat for someone who was laid off from her last job and suffered a major crisis of confidence as a result. Now it's December, and I look back and see that I've earned a pretty good income working part-time hours on a freelance basis.

This year hasn't just been about new beginnings, though. I've witnessed many sad endings, too. I've attended three funerals and delivered my first eulogy. I lost my grandmother, which was an even bigger blow to my heart than I expected, but I feel even closer to her now somehow.

Some things didn't change all that much this year, and I'm fine with that. My family have stayed in the same house. It's small and cozy and perfect for a family of three. We may not own it, but we're happy here. And that's enough.

I made a conscious effort to work on self-improvement in 2016.

I've been trying to approve of myself more. To love the way I'm made. the way I look, the way I react. Life will always be inherently hard when you're a sensitive soul. I don't think I'll ever really feel totally equipped to handle life's shocks and disappointments, but I'm learning how to be okay with that. To not see my differences as defects and things that have to be fixed.

I'm happy to be writing more. To have words flowing into my head so fast that I need to get them out onto the screen so they're seen. I'm grateful when I'm able to snatch a half hour here and there to bare my heart and relieve some of its heaviness. I have a love affair with the alphabet. That's never going to change. I find such joy in documenting the everyday. It's been a privilege to capture those fleeting, fun-filled moments spent with my family.

I'm delighted to have been paid for my writing this year. I've always been a writer in my soul and known it was my true identity, but there's something about getting compensated for your words that makes you feel more legit.

Sharing the personal, vulnerable aspects of my life has been so rewarding for me. The amount of public and private messages I've received from friends and strangers alike inspires me to keep going and keep sharing. It's an amazing feeling to discover your true calling and know you're helping people, even some you'll never meet.

This past year I've learned how to love at loggerheads. My happy ever after isn't fairytale-perfect, but I never really expected it to be. Marriage means different things to different people, but to me it's about being able to talk to your best friend for hours after a tough-old day. It's about listening to your husband sing and feeling the healing power of his voice. It's about playing Mad Libs on the couch and watching a marathon of The Americans snuggled under a blanket.

It's also having the courage to hold fierce conversations that you know will be contentious and raw and hard to handle. This year I've learned how to be less petty and more understanding of my partner and where he's coming from. I've learned parenting is not about keeping score. Acts of love can't be tallied up. We all just do what we have to to get through.

There have been dozens of dark moments in my life this past year, but that's nothing new. What's changed is my determination to write my way out of them. My passion for helping other people is something that's grown with every article I've written and published. If sharing my struggles and experiences makes someone else feel less shamed or alone, it's all worth it to me.

I've learned to let go of my daughter, just a little bit. To give her space to grow and fly and stumble. It's a challenge not to hover and project myself onto her, but this year has really shown me how much of an individual she is, and a beautiful one at that.

It's amazing all the things you remember you've done when you have a chance to look back.

I've learned to advocate for myself and my mental health.

I've learned how to cook a Thanksgiving turkey (with my hubby's help).

I've learned how to patiently watch a toddler struggle to put on one sock for five minutes and not scream in frustration.

I've learned how blessed I am to have two happy, healthy parents still on the planet. Not everyone can say that. I have a kindred sister, wonderful friends and a loving extended family whom I love to bits.

And you know what? At the end of the day and the year, it all comes down to this.

​It's nearly time for another turn around the sun, my friends. What have you learned?

Yesterday I went into hospital for a minor procedure and came out with a major reminder of my blessings. I had worked myself up into quite a state in the days leading up to it. I was scared of discomfort. I wondered if it would even work. It brought back bad memories from of a lifetime ago, when I lived in Dublin and seemed to be constantly in and out of operating theatres.

As I lay on my skinny rollaway bed waiting to be called in, I listened to the conversations going on around me. It was a way to distract myself at first. Curtains were pulled, but it was just an illusion of privacy. I could hear every word from the women on either side of me. I heard them tell the stories of their medical histories to the nurses. Words like "cancer" and "biopsy" were casually tossed around.

I listened to the middle-aged, red-haired woman on my left talk about a tube she'd had in her kidney for the past five years. How it was constantly infected, and how she'd become immune to antibiotics. I realized as the conversation went on that she knew the nurse who was attending her; they chatted like old friends. Obviously they had been through this IV-and-fluids routine many times before.

When the woman mentioned she'd brought the nursing staff treats for the holidays, it really hit home for me. This in-and-out-of-hospital existence was this woman's life, her lot. And somehow she managed to stay upbeat, and think of others during this special season of giving. Where did she get the positivity?

The older woman on my right had come in for a routine procedure like me, but had ended up with those dreaded complications no one likes to dwell on before you sign on the dotted line. I listened as the doctors talked about blood clots in her bladder and it made me shudder. And then I heard the doctor tell her she was being admitted. She wasn't going to get to home that day.

It made me wonder of how many people in the city were being told they wouldn't be home for the holidays. How many poor souls would spend Christmas in a hospital just like this one?

It made me consider how lucky I was to be sore but leaving in two hours' time. Even when my blood pressure suddenly and unexpectedly crashed to 60 while I was in recovery, it passed quickly. The nurse simply lay me down and turned me on my side. My colour came back in a few minutes. There was nothing major wrong with me.

I've never found it helpful when well-intentioned friends and family tell you think of people worse off than yourself when you're feeling blue. And I still don't think it's great advice. But there's something about just seeing the evidence with your own eyes and hearing it with your own ears that makes a difference deep down in your soul.

A wise cousin of mine recently told me that she thinks of three things to be grateful for every morning when she wakes up. She takes it seriously, this gratitude business. She values her mental health, so she has a reminder on her mirror to trigger her brain into positive thoughts. It sounds like it works.

As I waited to go home yesterday, I made mental notes of all the things in my life I'm grateful for right now, especially at this time of year.

I'm grateful that my amazing husband works at home, and was able to shift his work schedule around to hold my hand, bring me flowers and buy me a bagel yesterday after not eating all day.

I'm grateful that both of our families are so supportive and involved in our lives. That my selfless mother-in-law could come over to our house and look after our little girl all day while we were gone.

I'm grateful for the considerate phone call from my sister and the prayers offered up by mother. The chance to talk to my anchor father at the end of a long and emotionally-charged day.

This morning I woke up, back in my own oversized bed, and the world was covered in another blanket of white. A fresh start for new habits to take hold.

Today I'm grateful for the more small things in my life. The fact that I don't have to shovel or travel outside of my own personal snow globe. The gorgeously greasy bacon I ate for breakfast. The hot water as it soothed my tender back in the shower.

I've come to realize that a lot of my life is spent in a perpetual state of worry. I ruminate about what will happen next, or what may never actually end up happening. Where the next job is coming from, where we will be living a year from now, if we will end up adding to our family, or if we'll be just three.

These worries have eaten up such holes in my heart recently, and it's time to stop giving them such power. Yesterday I got a kidney cyst drained and I got to go home. I am healthy and lucky and the rest will take care of itself.

I don't kid myself, though. I know I will still worry and ruminate over the big things and small things; it's just in my nature. But I can also try my younger cousin's trick, and get into the habit of being grateful for what I've got.

And you know what? I have so, so much. A virtual landslide of love, just waiting to fill up those holes in my heart.

​This morning I looked out the window at my fella and my little snow angel frolicking in that white blanket, and I took a deep, deep breath.

Thank you, God. Thank you, Universe.

​The rest will take care of itself.