I consider myself lucky to be raising my girls in a generation where we are encouraged to talk about the difficulties of parenting, to share the tough days as well as the momentous and jubilant times beyond our partners and the family home.
The stuff I don't post on social media are the things that keep me up at night. The discussions I've had with Dad about Mum's health. Worries about whether Mum will make it up the stairs tonight. How exasperated I feel that my family seem to have stopped leaving the house.
My whole relationship with food has become consumed by the after-effects of my illness and dealing with them. As a result, I've forgotten that there's more to food than this. And I don't think I'm the only one.
It's taken me seven years to summon up the courage to write anything about the death of Josh. There's always been a lot of residual guilt (this is common when a sibling dies) but I could no more help that Dale died due to a 'cot death' than I could that the mental health services let my brother Josh so horrifically.
It's not that teenagers engaging is risky behaviours think they're invincible - they are fully aware of risky behaviours like smoking and drinking, it's just that they are more influenced by the risk perceptions of other teenagers and less by those of adults.
A good diet was hard enough to achieve before I had a baby, what with working long hours, drunken 2am cheese and peanut butter toastfests (try it, it's amazing), and hungover scoffing. But as soon as I fell pregnant, the assault on my good intentions and dubious resolve began.
I thought long and hard about kids and realised a dog would give me more freedom. There are other upsides to dog-ownership, too, like exercise. Tilly is always keen for a walk unlike all the kids I've met who need to be bribed to turn off their technology.
My mother-in-law cured me of my spoilt behaviour, but it was a baptism of fire. I was lazy and incapable, and her son deserved more than the teenager who was dumb enough to fall pregnant on the first date, and who wanted grand things in life rather than knuckling down to being a mother, taking care of the family the proper way.
Parents chose to become foster carers, and their children, to one degree or another, go along with that choice. They may not do so with the same conviction, even if they understand its value. But their consent is absolutely essential: they may not realise it, but the success of a placement is down to them as much as it is to the adults, and often even more so.
The first day you did not recognise me will stay with me forever, even though I wish I could forget it. It hurts to know you do not know who I am anymore. After the amazing time we had together, I guess I just do not want to believe it is over.
After a year of coaching and helping other people make a variety of important decisions in their lives I understand how we often hold ourselves back, some go as far as imprisoning themselves in a situation which they complain about constantly but do nothing to change.
You only need to look on social-media during the summer-holidays to find parents up and down the country looking for free fun days-out and that magical formula to entice their kids away from their consoles and in to the great outdoors.
It's natural to want to show your best side to your future spouse so it can be tempting to hide any debt issues you have. You may feel embarrassed about the problem or it may be difficult to explain how you got yourself into such a mess in the first part.
Jokes aside though, I could not love my brother more. I would not be standing without him. He will research my conditions daily, looking for new ways to help me through this. He will pick me up when I am down, buying me little presents and flowers to brighten up my flat.
There are certain wonderful memories that stick firmly in my mind and one particular occasion always makes me smile. Some years ago, my parents-in-law were staying with us during a particularly wet winter.
I've been thinking all day about how I can find the words for what we experienced last week. An hours drive from my house, then half an hour on the Eurotunnel, and we were in the world's worst refugee camp in terms of resources and conditions, yet we were welcomed with open arms. It's amazing how only the people who have nothing really know how to share.