#37: Mental Heath.

My struggles with mental health changed me.

This is one of the most personal essays I may ever write, it discusses postpartum depression and mental health, which may not be for everyone. Feel free to skip this week’s newsletter if these concepts trigger you.

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May is mental health awareness month and I would not be who I am today without my own two year struggle with postpartum depression, an experience that brought me to my knees. The birth of my son changed my life, and not just in the heart bursting glorified sense that society often promotes. I spent my first two years of motherhood as a shell of myself, locked inside a darkness I cannot quite explain. I spent most of my days pretending that I was perfectly okay and all of my nights crying uncontrollably in my sons nursery, convinced that the walls were closing in around me.

My struggles with postpartum depression were further complicated by a hormonal birth control that I started 6 weeks after my sons birth, I didn’t think the ‘baby blues’ could get any worse, but as it turns out I hadn’t seen anything yet. As the weeks turned into months, I honestly thought I would be swallowed by the darkness and repeatedly dreamt of disappearing, floating away, seizing to exist. I later learned these thoughts are called escapism, as my mind imagined a fantasy world full of comfort and safety that was not available to me at that time.

Motherhood was not what I expected it would be and my life felt nothing like I thought it should. I had been conditioned to believe that motherhood meant newborn snuggles and adorable onesies, mixed with a handful of sleepless nights. Nothing on my baby registry or in my pregnancy classes could’ve prepared me for my mental health struggles. I would’ve returned every single color coordinated outfit and beautiful board book for someone to save me from my own darkness, for someone to tell me that I would someday be okay.

The moment the doctor handed me my son was the same moment I lost myself. It took me a long time to begin to understand the tricks my brain was playing on me and a whole year before I received a diagnosis and began working with a therapist. It would be another year, and two psychotic breaks before I began rearranging the puzzle pieces of my life and the process of putting myself back together again has been anything but easy.

A psychotic break occurs when a person loses touch with reality due to a decline in their mental well-being. My first psychotic break occurred when we tried to get a handle on my postpartum depression through medication, less than an hour later the darkness became too much to navigate and with the help of my doctor and therapist we quickly switched to a non-medicated alternative of increased therapy rather than hormones. I should note that I would’ve willingly continued with medication had this option worked for me, medicating for mental health absolutely saves lives and should be explored. However, it often takes multiple attempts to get these types of medications right and my health was so precarious at this time we opted not to push it.

My second psychotic break occurred the day I quit my job, I had been on my lunch break when I suddenly found myself alone in my parked car, unsure where I was and unable to get myself back onto the road. I promptly called my husband who speed dialed my therapist, they coaxed me back to reality and straight into my office, where I promptly quit. Saving my career was no longer the priority, saving my life was. I left my career behind to tend to my mental health and I would choose to save myself over my career again and again and again.

During these two terrible years I did my best to survive, all the while nursing my newborn and showing up for my life as a ghost of myself. I did my best to stay ahead of the darkness, and I sought out the help that ultimately brought me back to life. That incredibly dark time defined me and I am without a doubt who I am today because of my struggles with mental health, rock bottom became the foundation upon which I rebuilt my life.

I never imagined myself as a stay at home mother and being home with my 2 year old son while tending to my own mental health was challenging. I wanted to love the uninterrupted time we had together, I wanted to enjoy the music classes and the library time and the park playdates. I wanted to settle into this new version of me, that seemingly worked best for everyone else, but mostly I missed the pre-kid version of myself who was free to pursue her career and her independence and who didn’t know the hurt my struggle with postpartum depression had caused.

Selflessly throwing ourselves into motherhood is something society often promotes, but staying home was equally hard on my mental health. I know as I write this that there are plenty of women who long for that choice, who wish they had the opportunity to be home with this kids rather than stuck at a job that merely paid the bills. While this privilege is not lost of me, the alternative, at least for me was to not exist, to slip away, to disappear. I knew that if I was going to remain true to myself I needed something else.

I was not prepared for the impact motherhood would have on my identity and my sense of self and my career. It turns out I didn’t need 10 different varieties of bottle nipples or hundreds of pacifiers, my son refused to take them anyway, what I needed was the stories of other women who had navigated the worst and somehow survived. The minute I met another mom who admitted that she too was sacrificing parts of herself to stay home, my whole life changed. The day I met another mother on the preschool playground simultaneously reaching for more, slowly digging herself out of staying home by building her own business with three young kids in tow, my entire perspective flipped.

Being a mother requires being honest with ourselves about which needs can be met through motherhood and which needs must be met through the continued development of self. My own mental health struggles are my why, they are the reason I built my first business and they are the reason I eventually closed it. The pandemic was hard, trying to keep my brand new business afloat and my family safe, at times felt impossible. I refused to choose between my kids and my career, but most importantly I refused to ignore myself. The moment I felt my own mental health start to slip, was the same moment I broke my lease and let my dream go. I refuse to be that shell of myself ever again. I am acutely aware of what I need to be the best version of me because I have survived the worst. I most certainly did not want to find myself right back where I started, staying home, but once again that sacrifice was worth it if it meant that I could remain whole, heartbroken but whole.

There was a time, not that long ago when I wanted to speed up this process, where I wanted to find the missing puzzle piece, where I wanted to put this mess behind me, but then I decided to make this mess my message because this is the conversation that I want to continue having.

Just last week, I found myself in yet another extreme motherhood scenario where my daughter was home sick, yet again, for days on end. I did what I am incredibly good at doing, and martyred myself right back into ground, throwing myself at the problem rather than protecting my own time and sanity.

I tried to write and think and work, but my brain mostly felt like mush as Bluey played on repeat in the background. I tried to make time for exercise and meditation and all the things I know I need, but I was exhausted from countless late night wake ups and the anxiety of caring for a kid with a repeatedly high fever of 104-105 each night.

A few days in, my husband found me hiding in our room and told me to leave, to take a break, to quite literally run away and you know what I did, I froze. I looked at him and said, Where would I go?! What would I do?! I was convinced that one hour away couldn’t solve the mess I found myself in. In a matter of days, I had completely forgotten everything that makes me, me. After some not so gentle coaxing, I dragged myself out the door. Almost immediately I felt my shoulders loosen, I had been cooped up inside for days on end, which is the antithesis of what I want and how I want to spend my days.

Outside the birds had been chirping and the flowers had been blooming, I was so focused on the task at hand, i.e. caring for my sick kid, that I forgot the world was right outside my door. I took myself for a one hour walk, through my neighborhood and straight to my local coffee shop and by the time I returned home I remembered who I was. Maybe you can relate, maybe you too have found yourself in a season that demands entirely too much of YOU. I am here to remind you that you can love your kids and still need a break. You can love your career and still love your kids. You can choose yourself over and over again.

Motherhood stripped me of everything I once knew, everything I once was, everything I once had. And for the longest time I viewed these changes as a loss, but now I am beginning to see that motherhood made me, me.

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I wrote these words, late one night in an almost semi conscious dreamlike state, and that is how I know they are true. I also know these words aren’t for everyone, I know these words could hurt those who are not yet ready for them, I know others will judge my decision to share this truth. I hesitated writing them but these are the exact words I needed so I know that someone, somewhere needs them too. 

I am not a psychologist or medical doctor and do not offer any professional health or medical advice, I simply write from a place of experience. If you are suffering from any psychological or medical conditions, I encourage you to seek help from a qualified medical professional. I am happy to answer any questions you might have about my experience, simply hit reply or leave a comment below.