I know its been a while since I've written - ohhh...just a year and a half or so. I'm here to explain myself!
After I wrote my last post, I took some time to reflect on life and on myself - I realized that I was in the beginning stages of postpartum depression. I *wish* I could say that I immediately saw my doctor to have that remedied but unfortunately that's not the case. I went on like that for two more months before I finally broke down, crying, and called my doctor. I realized that no one should have to live that way - the way where you cry, you yell, you're generally miserable, and you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel and you don't know how you're going to make it to the very next second of the day.
I was doing my children a great disservice. Those sweet boys, Channing and Finn, depended on me for everything - one of them being 18 months old, and the other just a newborn. I went through the motions - I nursed Finn, I changed his diaper, I gave them baths, I cooked meals for Channing, I changed Channing's diapers, I put them down for naps, I gave them kisses and hugs - but I was like a robot. I felt like a shell of a person that never felt so alone or anxious than in those months of my life. Sometimes I still struggle with the anxiety and loneliness - I was telling my husband the other day that often times I feel like everyone else's lives go on around me and without me while I'm stuck in one place.
So one day I just decided that I couldn't do that anymore. I made an emergency appointment with my doctor and took the boys with me so that I could see her. The best way I could explain it to her was that most people have a scale of coping, numbered 1-10. 1 being the most calm and 10 being out of control upset and that when I had something triggery happen for me, I skipped 1-10 and went straight to 11. There was no grey area for me, I was either completely calm (robot status) or I was off the charts freaking out, anxious to my very core. And once I'd calmed down, I dealt with overwhelming guilt for treating my family like that. She prescribed some medication for me, Prozac (safe with breastfeeding) and recommended some free groups that I could go to so I could speak with other people dealing with similar issues. I left that appointment still feeling off my rocker, but empowered.
Luckily for me, the first medication I tried worked for me. In 6 weeks (which felt like an eternity), I felt myself return to normal. I was balanced, my coping skills were much better, and my relationships with the people around me bounced back. I was, dare I say, HAPPY?!
So much has changed since Finn was 3 months old. I feel like I've grown immensely. I have hobbies now, I have friends, I've joined the local Moms Club, Channing has turned 2 and then 3 (I have a 3 year old?!), Finn turned a year old and is half way to 2, and our family world just keeps on spinning.
There are times that I still feel out of control, but the difference is that now I can identify that the flood gates are about to be breeched and I can reach out to those around me and ask for help. I am no longer ashamed to say, "Please help me, I'm struggling." And I am lucky enough to have a wonderful family to get me there.
At the encouragement of a friend, I plan to keep this blog updated - I will tell some back stories to catch you guys up and tell some new stories as they come along. And even if no one ever reads this, I am glad that I've come back to this place to write so that I can have a log of the best stories of my children's lives. That's why I started this blog, after all.
Peace and blessings,
Smart Mouthed Mama
