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.