Enough is enough. I am enough.

My journey is getting deeper and darker. I've been searching for help, at the guidance of family and my husband. I attempted to seek help earlier but quickly became frustrated after I was turned away numerous times with such excuses as "We are not accepting any new patients" or my favorite "Your case is not that severe." So I must wait until I'm pulling my hair out and prevent myself from causing self-harm for this be severe. Maybe this is why woman do not speak up. Because a "small case"
 (don't worry I don't consider anything small cases or large cases when it comes to PPD, they're all important!) isn't as noticeable or important as those who are attempting to cause harm, cannot sleep (yeah me neither buddy!), or something worse. It will get worse if you ignore me! You know how many times I'd love to scream that to the receptionist on the phone. Do I have to walk her through my daily life with this?! "Oh hi, yes, today is acceptable. Yesterday was not. My dinner looked at me the wrong way and BAM! I was pissed off for the rest of the day. No...noooo, a few days ago I just cried myself to sleep but tonight shouldn't be a problem besides that I'm exhausted & dream of things you couldn't imagine. Oh and my son is extremely upset and I can't calm him down."Do they really want my life story before even agreeing to see me as a patient?!

Nonetheless, I've made a few more calls today & left a few messages, looking for someone...anyone, who might be able to. As I tell my husband, it's great to have someone who listens but I need someone who understands. Who feels, has felt, or can relate to my anger, pain, my heartache. I can't explain why I get mad, or upset so fast. I can't answer 50 million questions. I need someone to listen and say "HEY! I get that." Not, "tell me more. Oh..okay. Why?" NOPE. No more. Sorry buddy. He tries and I appreciate it, but I cannot rely on him and put this weight on strictly one person's shoulder anymore.

Every day I start to feel better but then I work for 9 hours, get frustrated, and BAM! I'm back down my dark hole again. I know there's a way out. Someday. Somehow. I'm going to find it. No matter how long it takes me. I'm determined to get out and I'm determined to make sure other mothers know this is long, grueling, process. This blog isn't about having been through PPD, it's about going through it. Currently. Right now. At this moment.

Words of hope.

For months I have struggled with this disease. No, not disease. I will not call this a disease. I will call it a temporary struggle; a pothole on my journey through life.  I still, cannot completely describe my emotions; who I've become or who I wish I could be.

Recently I've discovered the power of words and wisdom from other warrior moms who have gone through, or are still fighting this beast daily.

My husband encouraged me to pick up some books & take time to myself to read. The first book I picked up came as a recommendation from another mother who once struggled with PPD. The book, Down Came The Rain, by Brooke Shields, yes the actress. The first page made my heart skip a beat, cry, then flutter off. Cry because it hit home; I didn't feel alone for the first time. Flutter, because I know now that there is hope.

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl who dreamed of being a mommy. She wanted, more than anything, to have a child and knew her dream would come true one day. She would sit for hours thinking up names to call her baby...."
"And then one day, finally, she became pregnant. She was thrilled beyond belief. She had a wonderful pregnancy and a perfect baby [boy]. At long last, her dream of being a mommy had come true. But instead of being relieved and happy, all she could do was cry."

While reading articles, books, journals, blogs, etc, I've recently learned that PPD exists in 1 out of 8 women. That study is based off of those women who seek medical attention. In reality, this number is higher. I know it. I have caved in and am seeking medical attention; I have hopes of not seeking help through medicinal means but I may have no choice as I chose to ignore my PPD for too long. I cannot let this battle take me over.

A confidante at work recently told me that my son needs a healthy mother. A mother capable of fighting this daunting fight and only a GOOD mother can win this fight. Words I've been searching for without knowing it. Words of hope.

Enough is enough.

Recently my husband told me I over think every little comment.

I realized it today, of course I do. I over think. I overwork.  I stretch myself thin. Thinner than I should. Thinner than you should. Thinner than anyone should. Why? Because I have that title now: mom. Do-oer of everything. I make bottles. I make giggles appear when tears are trying to fight their way in. I take the dog out. I make dinner. I make coffee (and lots of it). I work 9 hours a day. I make customers smile. I make co-workers happy. I sleep 4 hours or less, I survive.

 

My brain moves faster than I can describe. My legs wish they could keep up. Working a few days, I found myself covered in dirt & dust trying to assist customers, begin deep spring cleaning, organizing, etc. All the while, I had the help I needed but chose to do it myself because it would get done when I said & exactly to my expectations. It hit me. I'm bringing myself down. Stop overdoing it. Stop demanding so much of myself and others.

STOP STOP STOP.

Tomorrow is my day. No coffee. No make up. No pulling myself thin. Tomorrow is my day to say NO.

(Okay, well maybe I'll wear the make up)

 

I'm supermom, dammit.

Lately, I've been trying to tell myself "I AM SUPERMOM" and dammit I'd do anything to be. One day after working 9+ hours, I gave this theory a good go. No, never mind. Forget it. That's way too much effort than I'm willing to give everyday. Those mothers that say "Oh yes, I look like I've stepped out of a magazine every morning, feed my child every morning before work, go to work while drinking my perfect cup of coffee, enjoyed my blissful day at work. Returned home to make dinner, clean, AND cook. I even put my children to sleep while reading them novels in 5 minutes flat. I then worked out for 3 hours then tended to my garden. Oh and I'm on the PTA." They lie. Hate them. They lie. I like my version of supermom better. It's more realistic and doesn't make me feel like I'm failing at every thing in my life.

I've now come to realize I've been supermom since the birth of my son. Okay, not necessarily accomplished a ton, but I'm supermom in my own ways. First & foremost, he's still alive. Plus one for me. I work 5 days a week, but come home and still manage to spend time flashing giggles/smiles and put him to sleep. Plus one for me. Not one, but two, nights in a row I managed to wake for every feeding & let my husband sleep, for the most part. Plus two for me (one for each night, sounds fair). I've mastered the art of laundry again! Plus another. I've made a decent dinner at least once since we've moved into our new home. Plus 1/2 for me. 

Let's be realistic. SET ATTAINABLE GOALS. Don't try and bounce back to who you once were before you ever had children. No, you can't go the gym every night then get your nails done every Friday. No, you can't go out every weekend anymore. You have the best Friday night date. Snuggles. You have the best Saturday morning, smiles. You have the best every day: your baby.

All in all, this is the best I've felt in a long time. It's hard to say it, but I know this because as soon as I get home from work, without even changing, I go straight to my son. It's a tough pill to swallow that at one point I almost avoided contact with him if anyone else was around to help. Now I love putting him to bed; giving him naps; playing games; talking, etc. I feel such a sense of life again, knowing that relief is out there and on the horizon and I'm beginning to finally get a taste of it. I'm absolutely frightened of going backwards in that dark spot again but I'm realistic it can and most likely will happen but I have to keep reminding myself what relief and life feels like. Not life, but my new life. My busy life. And here we go, head first. 

Overcorrection

It's like learning to drive. Trying to survive while driving. We'll call this driving 101: Do not try to over correct.

My biggest problem lies in my over correction. I see myself about to go off course. Instead of admitting I was upset and needed someone to talk to. I felt the need to clean, cook, take care of baby, and smile. I felt the need to perfect myself and what I was doing. Over correcting makes it worse than it was/is, just as in driving. WARNING: DO NOT TRY TO OVER CORRECT YOURSELF. There is nothing more I can stress than just that. My mother gave me some great advice. She says "The baby will not always be there, but the dirt will." In other words, take care of my son because before I know it he will grow up and be gone. The dirt will always remain so I will have something to clean...not that I'll want to by that point.

Point being, please do not try and be perfect. So what if your laundry is backed up, or your bed isn't made, or maybe your husband will have cereal for dinner. Bottom line is that you and baby are the most important thing. Your husband can cook, he can clean, he can make his own dinner if he really wants. Chances are, he won't and he'll order out. Nonetheless, you are not perfect. I am not perfect. If I was I wouldn't have PPD and you wouldn't be reading this.

Every day I'm closer to getting my laundry done. Every day I'm closer to love.

The Curse vs. The Blessing: Windows.

Let's talk about "windows." No, not the windows you look into, but close! Definetely not the Windows operating program..such a hassle! I have two windows. One is a curse. One is a blessing.

My blessing of a window: I'm talking windows of opportunity. I've had plenty of windows or chances to open up about my PPD and life. Why now? Why am I talking to you? I find that I speak to myself much truer when written rather than spoken. I have a chance to read what I say. Erase it if I don't like it. Re-write it if it doesn't make sense. Yes, I chose the window known as the computer screen to speak & let you view my world.

Now that other window; Yes that glass one we all have at least one of at home and the one I find to be my curse.  It's such a hard feeling to explain. I try so hard to find the words but sometimes I just can't. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in (corny reference, I know, but this is my other window). It's like I can see and hear myself but I'm not here or there to actually control myself or say what I want.

There is so much pressure to be a mother, wife, while holding down a job. This is something that, sorry guys, but you'll never understand. Single fathers will get the "idea" but until you have carried your child for 9 months, labored, and have taken those precious 6 weeks off to take care of them, it's hard to fathom what anyone could feel. I know I couldn't until I let pregnancy/labor/motherhood run it's course.

Today I noticed my son's perfection. His eyes are perfect. His nose is perfect. His lips are perfect. His tiny ears are perfect. His big feet are perfect. Well, you get it. He is perfect. I heard others tell me, but now I see it.
I hope that in some way I am making sense to you and a part of you, even the tiniest bit, can connect and say "HEY! I know/remember that!"

Every day I am closer to shattering my window of challenge. Every day I am closer to love.

"It happens," or so they say.

I decided I would be the best mother I could be & breastfeed my son. My first experience was breastfeeding was difficult. He would not latch on. Was this my fault? The nurses assured me that "it happens." If I knew how many times people would say "it happens" I would have banned those two words from my life. My first visit out was when my son was 4 days old. I refused to breastfeed in public, demanding to go home with him. I needed to be comfortable. I was still a confused mother. This is when I first realized I had PPD. I was being attacked for not breastfeeding in public. Was I a bad mother? Was I horrible for doing things the way others had not? Had I known what I know now I would have spoken up. ENOUGH. ENOUGH. ENOUGH. My mind screamed. I am not a bad mother and will never be. I will never keep quiet. Never again.

My son is 9 weeks now. We tried and tried breastfeeding him. I made too much milk. You're probably thinking "TOO MUCH!? LUCKY HER!," wrong. I was cursed. My overflow was unnecessary. So unnecessary that my son wasn't able to latch on because it was too fast. I made the decision to pump & bottle feed my son. I was exhausting myself, pumping every two hours. I could get over this I said. Then more problems arose: He was never full; I had to return to work; He did not sleep full nights. Sadly, I decided to discontinue breastfeeding. I had to make the best choice for my son. He was switched over to formula. You are not a bad mother if you cannot or choose not to breastfeed. Do NOT let anyone tell you otherwise. You're feeding your child aren't you? What's so wrong about that then?

I never realized how exhausting breastfeeding was or would be. I found myself awake at night, feeding my son on the couch, physically exhausted & crying. I felt that I wasn't feeding him correctly or it was something I was doing wrong. If someone had only told me he was constantly hungry because he was growing and/or not full I would have had much more confidence in myself and stood up stronger to the challenge.

Now I did not back out or back down to the challenge of breastfeeding. I did what was best for my son. I can happily go to work and leave my son with my husband or family member, without constantly worrying if he has enough milk. I was able to say he had a full belly and enjoyed sleeping. I lean over his crib sometimes and watch him sleep. I begin to cry. I always whisper "I promise" as I kiss his cheek. I promise to always care for him, love him more than I knew possible, give him the best possible life. I promise to share my story; my feelings; my struggle; most importantly my new found strength.

Every day I wake up, ready for the day, awaiting a smile from my little man. Every day I'm closer to love.