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.
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.
Introducing my, “If you want to watch TV, you’ve gotta walk while you do it” corner. This has also been paired with making better choices with what I eat. I’m trying to move more and eat smarter. I’m 8 weeks in.⠀
⠀
I’m not doing this to purposely diet or loose a ton of weight (though it wouldn’t hurt), but to find a balance. To feel better internally. To live longer for my kid. To not want to die when I have to walk up the steps at work. (Note: it’s helping!). ⠀
⠀
Pairing an iPad to the treadmill has helped make it a pretty flawless experience for me, and that’s why I’m posting this. A lot of the time I forget that I’m exercising, even while trying to keep a brisk pace. As a result I exercise more, I watch less TV (‘cause let’s be real), and I read more outside of it. ⠀
⠀
But, I now need from you guys suggestions of *REALLY AMAZINGLY GOOD* shows to treadmill-binge on Netflix as I’m about to run out of series I can count on. So, lay ‘em on me! Though nothing too scary (I’m a wuss) or funny, cause I about killed myself laughing by almost falling off the treadmill when watching the last season of Orange is the New Black. Whoops.
7 years married, 11.5 years together.
D, I have no idea how you continue to love me, support me and put up with me. Truly. It baffles me.
We’ve changed a lot these past years — and not always in the same direction. We’ve given each other the space and the love we needed to find ourselves among such change, however. We’ve experienced the reckoning that is having a kid, and how to put the pieces back together of our marriage and our identities in its wake. We’ve loved, we’ve struggled, we’ve worked hard, and we’ve refused to give up.
We are entwined. Deeply. These roots are infallible. We might not always see eye to eye, and sure, we make each other a little crazy, but you are my home. I know not myself or my life without you.
And you’re still the one.
You always will be. 💚
We just got back from a trip to Las Vegas.
We’re home, unpacked, resting and watching O engage with his play space like it’s the most magical ever (and thank goodness for that, ‘cause we are tapped and have nothing at this moment to give him).
We may be tired, but the trip worked out well.
It was sad to say goodbye, as it always is, but I’m happy to have learned more about the resilient parts of my child.
He CAN stay the night somewhere else and actually sleep.
He CAN stay up late, or skip a nap, and not be a total mess as a result.
He CAN withstand a plane ride and all it’s weird/loud sounds and “not being able to move around lots” bits.
He CAN warm up to animals and in time, pet them and grow to be okay around them.
He CAN be at large gatherings for long periods of time and not completely shutdown because of all the loud sounds.
He CAN make his own way in places he’s never been and with people he’s never met or remembers ever meeting.
He CAN find camaraderie with his counsins and love his Vegas family from the get go, even if he hasn’t seen them face to face much in his life.
He CAN bust a sweet dance move to any length of music (expected or not), dislike other people’s “ceilings” and be terrified of his baby cousin no matter how freakin’ hard you assure him that he’s safe.
Some of these things may be obvious, and they should be even more obvious to me as an early childhood educator.
That’s the thing with post-partum anxiety + first time motherhood, though.
You convince yourself of everything but the obvious.
It was so good to be proved wrong. 💚
Thank you to those who told me it was time. You were right.