One Year of Motherhood: What I've Learned
It took almost a year and a full blown panic attack for me to finally accept that I have been dealing with postpartum anxiety and depression. I kept telling myself that after everything I’d been through, this couldn’t be the thing that brought me down, especially now having C.C. earth side. The amount of shame I’ve been feeling has honestly kept me in isolation because I promised myself I wouldn’t be that person that complained about how hard this phase was knowing damn well how privileged I am to be experiencing it. Well here I am doing the thing I swore I’d never do…
I’ve beaten myself up that a year has flown by and my crippling anxiety and depression has kept me from fully enjoying this phase of motherhood, especially after dreaming about this very phase for so long. Anxiety/depression is weird. For me, it’s basically been one big, never ending cycle of blame and shame.
Nobody really talks about this part - motherhood after infertility and loss. I’ve joined virtual support groups but never actually attended any of the sessions because I’ve been able to come up with excuses why I don’t have time. When you’re breastfeeding, it’s very easy to make the excuse you don’t have time too. Now that I am past that stage, I’m feeling kind of lost. I “shouldn’t” be struggling…
The thought of going outside with C.C. sometimes feels like I’m walking onto oncoming traffic…not safe. But then I feel bad that she never has any experiences. I was so hyper-focused on having a baby after my mom died and while we were going through infertility that I was able to compartmentalize my feelings and emotions, but now I feel everything and the heaviness of everyone else.
In just the past few weeks, people close to me have lost their mom, dad, children, and friends. I guess that’s what happens as you get older - you experience more tragedies. I recently went to a funeral and sat there thinking about my mom and the life she lived, as well as the life I want to live, as a mom, as a career-driven woman, and as a person with dreams. I asked myself if I died right now, would I have done everything I wanted to do? The answer is no and, for me, it’s not about traveling or skydiving or jumping out of a plane, though I would still like to travel to many places. For me, it’s writing and creating a community of hope and healing through my inner workings, thoughts, and experiences. My depression and grief have kept me from doing this, and I truly just want to get back to it. You’re probably thinking, “just do it,” but depression will put you in a hole for days, weeks, months, and years if you let it, and I’ve unintentionally let it for a while.
C.C. is now well past a year old, which is baffling. Her little personality cracks me up and she reminds me so much of my mom and I love that. She’s currently in the phase of kissing everyone and blowing kisses. I wish I could just bottle up these moments forever. Here’s what I learned about myself these past year:
I don’t want to put everything on social media. In the beginning I was so scared not to document every single moment because I knew I’d never get that moment back. It was stressful. As C.C. has gotten older, I find that I’m not pulling my phone out and just enjoying the moment. I feel less pressure to put everything up on social media.
What worked for my anxiety and depression before has not worked post-motherhood because I don’t have the same time and energy to invest in myself. In order to survive, I needed to find alternative ways to get through my day, which has included a low-dose medication. I continue to break through my own stigma regarding medication. I was at such a low point before asking for help and I wish I would have asked for help sooner.
A traumatic hospital experience affected me way more than I allowed myself to recognize. Even though everything turned out fine, I didn’t allow myself to process the extreme fear I carried for months.
Comparison is the thief of joy. Social media can completely ruin you if you let it.
For the first time ever, my self worth is not defined by my weight. It is sad to think that for the past two decades of my life, I tied who I was with how I looked and how much I weighed. It’s a hard thing to admit too. When I was in high school and college, I would obsessively write out every single thing I ate and round up the calories so that I never consumed more than 1,000 calories. I’d also make sure to run all of those calories off. I was able to stop with the calorie math after college, but still struggled with body image up until a few years ago, when we started infertility treatments and after my mom died. I stopped caring about the weight I was putting on because a - who cares when you’re that sad and b - when you’re focused on one major goal - having a baby. Would I like to lose the extra weight I’ve put on after infertility and having a baby? Sure. But my worth is not defined by what I look like and that is so refreshing.
I definitely want to expand our family and I’m also dreading the emotions of trying for another, and the fear that follows. I’m resentful of knowing what I know now from my experiences of infertility having a miscarriage.
I love my job and being career driven. I’ve worked so hard to get to where I’m at, and I genuinely like the grind of work. I also want to stay home with Cora, which has resulted in trying to be both. I’m more exhausted and burnt out than I’ve ever been and I don’t know how to break this cycle.
I have no idea how to balance self-care with working full-time and being a mom. I want to work out and not have grays but it’s the things I sacrifice because I’m so exhausted after doing the other things. Back to social media, I definitely compare myself to other moms who seem to have it all figured out.
In addition to self-care, I struggle with balancing anything else other than working 50+ hours and doing all of the mom things, including cleaning and cooking dinner. I feel like I’m living in constant chaos and I don’t like that.
I have to accept that C.C. will never know a life where my mom is present and I feel an immense amount of guilt that my mom is missing out on all of these experiences. This summer, Henry and I took C.C to the beach for the first time. My joy and happiness will always co-exist with the deep ache and guilt that my mom is not here for these moments. It’s incredibly heartbreaking but I have no choice but to carry those emotions and move forward.
Mom, I’m still waiting for you to pop back in our lives as if this was all a bad dream. Grief is not linear. I miss you more and more as each day passes and I hope you are right next to me as I raise C.C. This experience has truly helped me appreciate even more how amazing of a mom you were to me. I smile when I’m drinking my much needed coffee throughout the day thinking about the pot of coffee that was always brewing in the house, or whenever C.C. does something that reminds me of you - like giving everyone kisses. Time has allowed the pain to not be so present all of the time but when I do take the time to remember you, which I do often, I am brought to my knees with grief and remembering our lives with you in it.
I wish you were here and I love you, infinity.
Love,
Your sweetheart
xoxoxoxoxo