Memoirs of Motherhood, Mental Health, and the Magic in the Mess. ♡
Shout out to the biggest thing that is keeping me sane during this period of pandemic isolation: daily, morning walks with my kid.
They’re long, meandering, and not always with rhyme and reason (as I am often subject to a four year old’s whims), but they are making this experience survivable and pleasant.
Now, if someone could please help my kid realize that paths with pebbles are all good to walk on, and not the devil itself, I’d love you for life.
I am now working from home. My work is navigating us doing our jobs remotely for the first time ever, as I don’t think they ever thought it would get to this stage. It’s a bit of a mess, but I’m home.
D is also working from home. It’s an easier feat for him, thankfully.
We are additionally keeping O home with us until the shit storm that is covid19 blows over.
But, if you don’t do screen time with your kid, how the eff do you work from home with said kid and survive? Make a schedule, have activities set up that you don’t have to man — those parts I get. But he’s a preschooler who doesn’t always appeal to logic, and wants us to play with him and be present and we cant ’cause WORK EMAILS ^ 3894792374.
Additionally, if you have no office space whatsoever to accommodate working from home, and one of you is stuck on the couch (me /weep), how do the ergonomics of your body possibly survive?
It could always be worse (I could still be on the floor in ECE right now), but I did not fully think of these things. My back hurts. I’m worried about my kid.
Working from home lunches are superbly more tasty, however.
There is that.
Perhaps that alone will get me though…
I was at Walmart the other day, and walking behind a couple who were loudly referring to people who were hoarding (due to the current circumstances) as idiots and a bunch of not so nice, other names. #peopleofwalmart, I know.
I get that the hoarding of food is making this exponentially harder than it needs to be for some people, especially vulnerable people, and that it’s shitty. I am dreading going grocery shopping next for our weekly run, and I don’t even have specific, hard to find needs. For some, it’s going to be frightful.
What I also get, however, is that the act of stocking up on food, toilet paper, etc., it lets those who need it to feel power, and control. Not many are able to find that among the current news cycle right now, or at ALL, and that can be frightening. For some, the one thing that brings them feelings of comfort and security among times like these, is buying, and buying lots, and being absolutely sure that they have enough. And the visible act of being able to see a pantry loaded to the gills with food when it kind of feels like the whole world is shutting down outside? I absolutely get how that could be a calming answer to many worries. Especially if you’re a mom, like I am.
Selfish? Perhaps, but I struggle with throwing that around as a blanket statement. In some cases that have come to be publicized, it likely applies. But, in others, I think there’s more to it than we realize.
We all deal in our own ways. We may not always agree with it, but among the chaos that is now, try employing empathy to see the why instead of exasperation at seeing the what. It may surprise you.
I’ve said this and I’ll say it again, I did not expect the mind fuck of parenting that is worrying about your kid(s).
It’s like this gigantic, all encompassing, slightly obnoxious layer to add to the stress vortext that is life.
You can have this part of the job back, Parenting, my brain hurts
Postpartum OCD entered my parenting journey at six months in.
It took me doing a lot of thorough and careful research after a counsellor, someone not at liberty to diagnose, made an offhand comment while recommending I see a psychiatrist during my postpartum anxiety and postpartum depression battles.
Despite it having been years since, I have never spoken publicly about this.
I can count on less than one hand the people I have privately told that I have about my postpartum OCD, internal thoughts and actions.
Many of my closest family members do not know.
If I had previously shared my struggles with you about my supposed postpartum anxiety or depression, I purposely did not correct myself.
And typing this right now?
It’s terrifying.
There will forever be a piece of me that believes speaking this truth to power will result in my child being taken away from me.
Even in this very post of me admitting to it, it will glaze over the details of *how* and in what ways I suffer from postpartum OCD. The fear of repercussions — it is strong and deeply, deeply real.
One truth I am not afraid to glaze over is this: there are few things in the world that make you feel more like a terrible person and a terrible mother than postpartum OCD. (Yes, I am far past postpartum now, but I still have the same symptoms — though not as often, so I struggle with what else to call it). The guilt that comes with this disorder is a heavy, heavy load to bear. It hurts in ways I didn’t know one could feel pain, and it can be a gut punch from nowhere that can derail a whole day.
But, I have learned to reframe it. I have learned to positively see the whys. I have learned to function.
Others haven’t. Postpartum OCD is not something widely understood, or rarely talked about. Predominantly from the very people who need help the most, those who are suffering in silence and with my same fears.
If I am ever to truly heal, my truth must be heard.
And if you’ve ever been here, or are here, you are not alone. I hear you. I am you. This will not defeat us.