What I hate About Postpartum
I have been deep in it for almost a year now. When I say deep in it, I mean DEEP. I have felt feelings that I never thought I could ever have. I thought things that I never imagined I would. I have done things that I wish I could erase. Most of all, I have lost moments that I wish I could get back.
As I am nearing the year anniversary of my son's birth, not only will my youngest be the BIG "1", but it will be the "magical year" of my postpartum. I was told that postpartum as severe as mine would most likely last a year. Maybe longer. That maybe part scares to poop out of me. I am so done! I hate postpartum so much! I want to be me again!
I hate the fact that for a year now my husband has had to pick up my slack. Many of mornings he has had to take care of all three kids. Get two of them ready for school. All while I layed in bed paralyzed by the thought of another day. In my head I would be telling myself to get up. Telling myself that it wasn't fair for him to do it all alone. But I just laid there. Motionless. Staring off into space, wishing I didn't wake up at all. Wishing I didn't have to be a mom.
I hate that too! All my life all I ever wanted was to be a mom. I thought the miracle of creating a child and bringing them into this world was the most special gift of them all. I wanted tons of kids. At least 4. But because of the postpartum I actually wished I wasn't a mom. Ugh! Just the thought makes my stomach turn. I love my children! I love them so much that I would do anything for them. Well, this past year I wouldn't have. This past year I was so far gone that I have failed them time and time again.
God, I HATE that! I wasn't there for my kids the way I should have! I didn't enjoy their laughs. I didn't want to spend time with them. I didn't take in their hugs and kisses. I didn't cherish their special moments. My youngest son is almost a year and I missed it. He is such a joyful child. Seriously, his smile lights up a room. However, I was still in the dark. I literally coasted through the year and didn't get excited about his first words, his being able to sit up, his first steps, his first anything. I use to get excited about everything. I loved life. I loved new things. And here I was, hating life. Wanting to just stay in bed. Not enjoying anything about my children. Sometimes, wishing I was dead.
Wishing I was dead?!?! I hate that most of all I think. I actually almost did it. Can you believe that? Three times I actually planned it out, and one time I literally was about to do it. By about to, I mean seconds away. I was going to end my life. Granted it wasn't out of selfishness like most people think suicide is. I was going to do it for my husband, for my kids, for my family. I was so lost and felt like such a liability that I figured that if I wasn't here they would all be better off. They wouldn't have to worry about me anymore. My kids wouldn't have a mother that was short tempered and disconnected. My husband wouldn't have to do it all while tending for me. If I wasn't here, it would all go away. That is what I thought. I was actually going to do it for the love of my family not for the desperation of myself.
Desperate.That word says it all. I am so desperate to not feel those feelings anymore. So desperate to not have to rely on everyone. Desperate to enjoy life again to its fullest. Desperate for change. Desperate to not feel anxiety every moment of every day. Desperate to not get an upset stomach anytime I have to leave the house. Desperate to not be tired all the timed. Desperate in every sense of the word.
With all of that being said...I am starting to see the fog lift. Maybe that is why I can see how this past year has been. I have been on Zoloft for almost a year and I have been going to counseling. It is working, but it has been a fight. There has been many struggles and tears. Now that the fog is starting to fade a little, it is starting to get easier to see.
I wish I could get back this year. Take back the fact that I literally attacked my husband. Take back the times I ran away and left my husband to worry about where I was and what I might do. Take back all those special moments that I missed. But I can't. I can only keep on fighting to be myself again. I have lots to forgive myself for. I have even more to be thankful for.
As I am nearing the year anniversary of my son's birth, not only will my youngest be the BIG "1", but it will be the "magical year" of my postpartum. I was told that postpartum as severe as mine would most likely last a year. Maybe longer. That maybe part scares to poop out of me. I am so done! I hate postpartum so much! I want to be me again!
I hate the fact that for a year now my husband has had to pick up my slack. Many of mornings he has had to take care of all three kids. Get two of them ready for school. All while I layed in bed paralyzed by the thought of another day. In my head I would be telling myself to get up. Telling myself that it wasn't fair for him to do it all alone. But I just laid there. Motionless. Staring off into space, wishing I didn't wake up at all. Wishing I didn't have to be a mom.
I hate that too! All my life all I ever wanted was to be a mom. I thought the miracle of creating a child and bringing them into this world was the most special gift of them all. I wanted tons of kids. At least 4. But because of the postpartum I actually wished I wasn't a mom. Ugh! Just the thought makes my stomach turn. I love my children! I love them so much that I would do anything for them. Well, this past year I wouldn't have. This past year I was so far gone that I have failed them time and time again.
God, I HATE that! I wasn't there for my kids the way I should have! I didn't enjoy their laughs. I didn't want to spend time with them. I didn't take in their hugs and kisses. I didn't cherish their special moments. My youngest son is almost a year and I missed it. He is such a joyful child. Seriously, his smile lights up a room. However, I was still in the dark. I literally coasted through the year and didn't get excited about his first words, his being able to sit up, his first steps, his first anything. I use to get excited about everything. I loved life. I loved new things. And here I was, hating life. Wanting to just stay in bed. Not enjoying anything about my children. Sometimes, wishing I was dead.
Wishing I was dead?!?! I hate that most of all I think. I actually almost did it. Can you believe that? Three times I actually planned it out, and one time I literally was about to do it. By about to, I mean seconds away. I was going to end my life. Granted it wasn't out of selfishness like most people think suicide is. I was going to do it for my husband, for my kids, for my family. I was so lost and felt like such a liability that I figured that if I wasn't here they would all be better off. They wouldn't have to worry about me anymore. My kids wouldn't have a mother that was short tempered and disconnected. My husband wouldn't have to do it all while tending for me. If I wasn't here, it would all go away. That is what I thought. I was actually going to do it for the love of my family not for the desperation of myself.
Desperate.That word says it all. I am so desperate to not feel those feelings anymore. So desperate to not have to rely on everyone. Desperate to enjoy life again to its fullest. Desperate for change. Desperate to not feel anxiety every moment of every day. Desperate to not get an upset stomach anytime I have to leave the house. Desperate to not be tired all the timed. Desperate in every sense of the word.
With all of that being said...I am starting to see the fog lift. Maybe that is why I can see how this past year has been. I have been on Zoloft for almost a year and I have been going to counseling. It is working, but it has been a fight. There has been many struggles and tears. Now that the fog is starting to fade a little, it is starting to get easier to see.
I wish I could get back this year. Take back the fact that I literally attacked my husband. Take back the times I ran away and left my husband to worry about where I was and what I might do. Take back all those special moments that I missed. But I can't. I can only keep on fighting to be myself again. I have lots to forgive myself for. I have even more to be thankful for.
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