4.5 years ago I gave birth to a glowing baby boy. (Not literally. That would be concerning.) From the day he was born until present day I have not been myself. I have tried to hide the full extent of this for fear of being judged, shamed, or it somehow negatively impacting my employment. In this moment right now I’m coming clean. For 4.5 years I have been pretending that I am perfectly okay. That I can handle anything and everything, by myself, all the time. That I’m super mom and I don’t need help. The truth is that mentally, I have been struggling for years. I have pushed it aside, I have ignored it, never allowing myself to seek help because that somehow felt like a failure.
When Mark was born I had a really hard time. Which is ultimately the reason I didn’t breastfeed, as I had touched on in a previous post. My mental health was in the shitter. I was breaking down feeling like an absolute failure and so incredibly guilty because my child wasn’t eating. I was in the house constantly, too afraid to leave for fear that something terrible would happen if I stepped out of the house. That clearly wasn’t a realistic thought process, but I was absolutely consumed with this worry. I thought that maybe it was just normal first time mom worry, but in the back of my mind I knew it wasn’t right. I knew that the sadness that was consuming me, the nights I would lay awake just making sure he was breathing all night, the complete breakdowns on the bathroom floor, they weren’t normal. These feelings I was having weren’t normal.
I sought out advice from a friend while I was still on maternity leave. I will never forget every ounce of help and advice he has ever given me in any struggle I’ve faced. He met me at Starbucks one day after work, or during lunch, while I was on maternity leave. I came into the city specifically for this moment. I needed it. We met up for coffee and I broke down in tears telling him how I fell like I was trapped. There was this darkness surrounding me and I didn’t know who I was anymore outside of being a mother. He asked me what would make me feel better and I told him I think bike riding would but my tires were flat and I didn’t have bike shoes that fit anymore. I never did take that bike ride, but he put air in my tires and took me to get bike shoes. It may seem silly or small, but in that moment it made me feel better. He always did small things like that. Making me get out of the house for a little while to clear my head, sitting down and having genuine conversations about how I felt and truly caring my response. Still, it didn’t really truly hit me that something was wrong, and even if it did I was scared to say anything for fear of the toll it would take on my career.
Fast forward to when Rose was born. Nothing had gotten better. I hadn’t magically healed. I couldn’t just ignore it into non existence. I thought I could but I couldn’t. And now I had to do this postpartum all over again. At this point I took note of my unusual behaviors. My constant worry. My irrational anger towards my husband. (Sometimes it was rational, but I digress.) I heard the words coming out of my mouth, the tone, and I knew in my head that I sounded crazy. I knew in my head that I was completely being unreasonable. I didn’t mean this anger that was spewing out of me, but I couldn’t stop it. No matter how much I tried the anger still came spilling out like a volcano erupting onto a village of innocent people. I took note. I realized truly that this wasn’t normal. Even mentioning once or twice “I need help but I don’t want to lose my job”. Struggling. I was afraid and so the struggle continued, the worry continued, the anger continued, and I didn’t leave my house. I stayed sheltered in my cave with the doors locked and the blinds closed, only to (reluctantly) leave the house to go grocery shopping and to work. Scared.
Now when I was pregnant with Joey I said to Joseph something along the lines of “you know it’s going to get worse again right?” I knew. He knew. We both consciously knew that something was wrong. Something had always been wrong. And we knew that I needed help, but we all know that people don’t get help until they want to, and I was still afraid to get help.
Well after Joey was born I had my fair share of breakdowns. Getting completely overwhelmed over mundane tasks. The floor needed to be swept but it felt like too much. COVID definitely didn’t help with the worry either. Again, not leaving the house unless absolutely necessary. Having panic attacks at the grocery store. Laying on the carpet in a full blown fit of tears and not knowing why. Not being able to stop. Being just completely overwhelmed with everything. I remember vividly one day packing up to go to my parents house. I was overwhelmed and I needed a break. I desperately need out of the same 4 walls. I needed my mom. I needed new faces, new scenery. So I spent hours packing everyone’s bags. Several weeks worth of clothes because I honestly wasn’t sure we would ever come back. I felt like the only way to escape these feelings was to not come back. That day after loading up the car most of the way I realized I had no room to put the dog crate. Then I came inside and realized that I couldn’t find the babies other sock. He needed that sock. There was no way we could leave this house without that sock. It’s not like he has a million other pairs of socks. We couldn’t leave without THAT ONE. It had to be found. But I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find it and I just slumped to floor after exploding in a fit of rage at Joseph. I sat down on that floor and I cried over a baby sock. But it wasn’t about the baby sock. It was about feeling like I had failed my family because I couldn’t do this simple task of loading the car and finding a sock. And because of that my children would grow up and hate me. That was the thought that came into my head. That I had completely ruined my children over a dog crate and a sock. Everyone sat there looking at me. I could feel the eyes on me. My children taking note of this, so I thought.
I had many breakdowns over things like that. Small things to other people that just made me feel like the world was collapsing around me. Then like a sign. Like the universe slapping me in the face to get it together, Kim reached out to me. She gave me some information on a PPD group that meets on Zoom every third Saturday of the month. The third Saturday of this month just happened to be the next day. It was immediately like a weight lifted. I told Joseph “I have something to do tomorrow” and explained. He said “good for you!” and we went about our day. It was time. It was finally time. I had finally in that moment accepted that I needed help. I needed to start somewhere, and this was my starting point. So I jumped off and I attended the meeting. A meeting where several other women, with an actual diagnosis, sat there and described exactly what I was feeling. Every thought I had had, someone in the group had also. I was no longer alone, and it was all the motivation I needed to keep asking about help.
I went into a downward spiral a few days later and completely ripped apart both of our bathrooms. It needed to be done, but not right now. This prompted me to get some more information specific to my situation. I reached out the mothers of the Active Duty CG community, who then rushed to my side with their stories of how they got help. Everything I had feared would happen to my career was eased. They eased my worry and gave me everything left that I needed to get the help I needed. To reach out further.
Today I had an appointment with a psychologist. I was diagnosed with anxiety. And honestly, it feels good. It feels good that I got help. It feels good that I put myself first for what feels like the first time in my entire life. It feels good that I have a diagnosis. I’m not just a weird crazy person. I am normal. This is normal. Many people go through this. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I haven’t failed myself or anybody else. In fact, I have helped myself and many others in my life. I have put myself first and hopefully, with time and help, I will be a better mother. I will be a better daughter. A better friend. A better me. A better person. I should have done this so much sooner. I shouldn’t have hesitated.
If you are struggling, let people help you. I missed all the signs of people trying to help me. Ask for help if no one offers. Sometimes people don’t know, or don’t realize. Sometimes people need you actually ask so that they can help you. Reach out for help. Don’t struggle. Don’t keep putting yourself through stress and pain for no reason. There is help out there. There is so much help, even if you miss the signs and don’t see it, it’s there.
If you EVER need to talk about ANYTHING, please do not hesitate to reach out. You can contact me at my email, my instagram, my facebook, my website. Whatever you need I will be there for you or try and lead you in the right direction.
Thank you to those who helped me. All the Active Duty moms, my husband, my parents, my children, JC (if you read this you know who you are), and Kim. Thank you for showing me what I couldn’t see without you and for leading me in the right direction to get help. I will never be able to thank any of you enough. I hope that this will get better and that I’ll keep moving in the right direction to a better me.
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Much love, Your Friendly Neighborhood Introvert