Confession

My last post was September 29th. We’re looking at two months here, folks. I know I had promised to write more frequently, to be more consistent. But the last several months have been hard.

Ever since I had had Jordin I didn’t feel like myself. I blamed it partially on the stressful year I’d had. It’s practically impossible to feel like yourself when your life is flying off the tracks. So I ignored it. And ignored it some more.

Then, finally one day I was messaging my best friend over good ol’ Facebook, complaining.

I don’t feel like doing anything.
I just want to curl up in a blanket and watch Netflix all day long (which I did, quite often)
I feel like I’m failing at everything
My stupid boobs won’t work. I HATE pumping, pumping hates me. I CAN’T FEED MY BABY WITHOUT FORMULA?!?!
I don’t even have the motivation to shower
I just spend all day pumping, taking care of the kids, and doing nothing much else.

Just a lot of complaints. A ton of tears. And just generally feeling like crap about everything.

Her response “Have you thought to get checked for Postpartum Depression?”

Light bulb.

It made sense. What else could explain these unfamiliar feelings? I don’t have depression. I’m a pretty happy girl. Overly anxious most days, sure, but never depressed. I had damned good reasons to feel sad, confused, scared, and worried with everything that had been going on. But I have never found myself being actually depressed.

But for months I was crying all the time. Feeling like a failure. Feeling bitter and resentful towards everyone and no one at the same time. I would assure myself that Josh could handle everything with work and home if I just wandered off for a few weeks. I would snap at Josh for the smallest, innocuous, comments.

For example: I had just had a breakdown to Josh about not being able to take a shower that day because Jordin was on a roll. All he said was how about I go take one. “I’ve got Jordin. Go take your phone, listen to music, take a shower.” I flew off the handle. Tears, snot, and shrieking followed about how insensitive he was! I can’t, I have to pump! I don’t have time! Are you saying I smell?! Yada yada yada. Bless his heart, he let me have my mental breakdown. He rubbed my back as I mashed my face into his stomach, sobbing and snotting all over his shirt….calling him every name in the book. Once I calmed down he led me into the bathroom, waved away my apology, and made a pot of coffee for when I got out. God, I love that man.

I had absolutely zero motivation to do anything. I got to the point where I didn’t even want to leave the house, which completely clashed with my desire to just pack up and disappear for a while. Forget the nice weather. Forget it all. I just want to sit in my ugly green chair and do nothing.

So after some long heart to heart discussions, I took some steps to get this figured out.

And in the last month or so, I’ve been doing so much better. I’m not 100%, but I’m no longer logging 7 hours every day on Netflix, eating Ramen and Mac and Cheese and chocolate because I have ZERO motivation to actually get off my butt and cook myself a healthy breakfast and lunch. I’m not sitting around with headaches because I can’t force myself to get up and fill my water bottle.

But I am shaving my legs more than twice a month…because I have the motivation to actually do more than just jump in and out of the shower. AND I am wearing more than just pajamas all day too.

Have you ever spent MONTHS taking off the dirty pajamas, showering, and changing into clean pajamas? I have.

I’ve even started writing again. I just hit 68,000 words last week!

Things were definitely heading into “Who is this homeless chick?” territory.

Don’t get me wrong. I still have those days. A few days ago, for example. I blazed through 7 episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Didn’t shower. Didn’t change out of my pjs. Just didn’t do anything productive. But the following day I dragged my sorry butt into the shower. SHAVED. Wore real clothes. And I did some writing, played with the kids, and did the dishes…plus an episode or two of Grey’s. Not the most productive day, but infinitely better.

And look at me today. A blog post.

So that’s my confession. Postpartum depression.

Postpartum

It’s no joke. It’s scary to not recognize yourself during the time that you should be enjoying and embracing change. It’s terrifying to wake up one day and not want to move or do anything. And it’s heartbreaking to realize just how many times I had wondered if Josh would ask his sister or a stranger to watch our kids while he was at work…if I decided to just walk down the street and disappear for a few weeks.

I’m not usually one to admit when something to this degree is wrong. I’ll keep it deep deep inside so I don’t inconvenience anyone. But you know what? I’m going to inconvenience the heck out of people. Because I’m feeling better.

Because I’m proud of the fact that I’m inching towards normalcy. I’m proud of the fact that I’m smiling and laughing and joking more than I’m crying and snotting.

And I’m ecstatic over the fact that I’m proud of myself.

So, please bear with me. I’m trying my best to be me, I’m trying my best to take charge of my life again. I won’t blame you at all if you leave this blog and stop reading because “Holy crap, she posted three times last week, and only once this week. SLACKER” because this time around I can’t promise that I’ll be consistent. Because I just don’t know.

What I do know is that this too shall pass.

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