I made it.
When I think back to what I’m most proud of over the past 17+ months, it’s getting through another year of this unexpected, unpredictable, isolating, whirlwind. And not just because I managed to keep a tiny new human alive and healthy (which is a huge success in and of itself – pandemic or not), but because I managed to find sanity in what was a chaotic mindfuck of a year.
I think back to August 6th and being wheeled through the hospital halls… the fog of the unknown was so thickly surrounding me, it was almost suffocating. Made worse by the mask. I was scared to have a baby, but deathly afraid of what new motherhood + a pandemic would do to my mind.
I had been working through clinically diagnosed major depressive disorder and anxiety disorder(s) for the last several years. I was no stranger to the spiral, and I had put in the work, taken the pills, downloaded all the mindfulness apps, gone to therapy. I thought I had done all I could to arm myself for the transition into motherhood. I was determined to not fall prey to monster that is Postpartum Depression (PPD). It found me anyway…
From the moment I was settled into my recovery room, perinatal counselors were ushered in several times a day to talk about my risk factors. Assessing my mind. Judging if I was fit for motherhood, whether or not I could be strong enough. “Baby blues” are normal… but my history was already atypical. To them, I didn’t even stand a chance.
In some ways, they were right. No amount of preparation could have prepared me for this. It snuck up on me. But all I knew about PPD were the horror stories you see on t.v. of moms who don’t connect with their child, who hurt their children, who hurt themselves. All the questions “they” asked and comments they made were warnings about physical danger.
Only, that was never my form of monster. I never once thought of harming myself or my child. I never recoiled into a space of abandoning my family. In fact, from the outside looking in, you would never be able to tell.
But somewhere along the way, I had become lost in a void – trapped in my own head. I was fully functioning, but I was a machine. The fog had become so dense, I can barely even remember the first 6 months. Already in isolation, I isolated more. I gave all my remaining energy to my girl, with nothing left for myself. Certainly nothing left for friendships and human connection. I didn’t know who I was anymore, other than a vessel for nourishment. Existing, but not living.
It’s hard to explain… those months were an out of body experience. Everyone, including myself, could see me. But it was like being trapped in the middle of a crowded room in an invisible box. I felt stuck. It was so hard to breathe. I kept smiling anyway… No one was the wiser.
After all of the work I’d done to strengthen and protect my mental health, how did I allow this to go on for so long? That’s the thing about being able to function in the madness, to go on like everything is normal, to put on the mask… in that moment, it feels easier to not be present. Actually facing the hard shit, doing more work, and acknowledging that something is wrong – that’s the hardest part to face.
Fighting to resurface from the deep depths of depression is an incredibly tough battle. It took seeking more help, stepping out of my ‘comfort zone’, and being even more honest with myself and others.
And then, I could finally breathe again. Life returned to my eyes. I made it back to the shore and welcomed my whole self, my best self, home.
More to come…
