Life 3 years on
I never tend to write much on my here and tend to focus more on recording photographic evidence of our little family and anything we do, but there is something I feel the need to write about for posterity…
PND- so many people are happy to open up about post natal depression now a days which is fantastic as anything that helps another person going through it is a blessing. Anything that can make those mums face another day and fight that fog is amazing!
With the arrival of Amber and these 8 months with two kiddies I realise just how awful my PND was. I still get teary when I go back to that place and mine was mild compared to some mother’s experiences but nonetheless for me it was something I don’t wish to feel again. I was so scared about taking maternity this time round because I didn’t want to relive any of that again, but I am a different person this time round. This difference is not a conscience one, I didn’t do anything to avoid PND it was just not there this time. I think obviously circumstances are different this time round. For instance, I have already been mothering for 3 years so whether I am good or bad it is an established routine (the change to my lifestyle is minimal) my time to dwell on anything is non existent and ‘me time’ is something I struggle to recall now. I am so far down this route I can’t even recall how it was before, let alone miss it much.
3 years ago when Aydi was about 6 months old things really got cloudy and the fog really came down. It had been brewing slowly but I thought it was just hormones and me being emotional, I mean having a child is life changing (that’s inevitable and not an exaggeration). But then like a kettle that has bubbled away slowly and suddenly cannot contain its content, I overflowed and I found myself having meltdowns the moment Hal was ready to go to work. I would start each morning with a fake smile and upbeat attitude hoping that day would be different but then as Hal grabbed his coat and bag the deepest most awful despair kicked in. Like a massive fog I could not see through. What was I meant to do? Alone with this little thing that demanded so much and gave so little back? What was the point of all this? How would I cope another day alone? Another day of what felt like easily a 50 hour day. Time stood still the moment Hal walked out of that door. I had panick attacks at the thought of facing it again, each day I begged him to stay home. It felt like my only life line, keeping him with me time moved at double speed, alone it seemed to stop. Obviously, someone had to work so the door shut in my face and despair, dread, panick, loneliness, joined the party of one. I felt I had lost myself completely in this new role, nothing of free childless me was allowed because I was always with a baby and anyway everyone else was working, so who would I cling too. I was a hopeless Mum because I couldn’t enjoy my gorgeous boy 100%, because he wasn’t sleep trained, because he slept on me constantly (and that was wrong!), because I didn’t love every tiny thing he did, because I got moody and frustrated when he cried and I didn’t know what to do (shouldn’t I know what to do instinctively), because I didn’t dare go out with him too far or too long and risk everyone else seeing my ineptitude. I over analysed everything he did and worried every second, felt impotent in the face of all this massive task. Every negative feeling, self criticism, doubt, boredom (not to be taken lightly), every demon was at the surface of my thoughts. And the guilt, the awful guilt about not feeling happy every instant, about not staring lovingly at my baby through his crying and screaming, or bathing in the joy of this time together, was always there to ensure I didn’t lift my head above this fog. Not to mention the shame of having all these feelings in the first place. Thank goodness I never had thoughts of harming him or myself, with me it was sheer boredom, apathy and self pity. I desperately mourned the life I had prior to motherhood and felt completely and utterly caged in this new role.
I remember the day I cracked, it was one of the many baby weigh ins I had gone to and kept my poker face, when the health visitor said ‘how are you doing, Mum?’ This particular day I couldn’t fake baby bliss and I burst into tears and told this wonderful kind face everything. She didn’t look at me with disgust, shock, horror or pity, she simply reassured me that I was a normal and I just needed to get out try to meet other mums and give myself break. She reassured me of my sanity and understood having anyone around, being alone all day was not easy combined with being tired and overwhelmed. I walked out of there with a little glimpse of hope and decided to take control and not seek medication from my gp etc which was always available. I forced myself to try to meet people. Thank goodness for a local mums group on Facebook, I plucked up the courage and arranged coffee mornings with other mums (this alone shows me how low I was because I would never in my right mind do this, imagine the disappointment if no one turned up! But I was pretty desperate), I made sure I went out every single day even if it was for 1hr. This didn’t make the PND disappear but it made it bearable most days. I forced myself out and talked to other mums where possible, though that came with its own turmoils, but I just tried to cope.
Unfortunately many mums were not welcoming, they already had their ‘mums gang’, were happy just with their babies and needed no other interaction or simply looked far to busy with more than one child (which was so intimidating seeing a Mum coping with 2, when I couldn’t handle 1 that didn’t even walk or throw tantrums). It is not a joke that meeting other mums is like going out on the dating scene again and you get rejected too often. All of which made me feel even more rotten and alone. I was excited and happy all day if someone spoke two sentences to me in wriggle and rhyme time and then another day no one even looked at me and I wished I hadn’t even bothered to leave the house. I had my fair share of both of these and the highs and lows of something this trivial really resonated then. I can honestly say feeling lonely is absolutely terrible not being alone because that can be great but feeling lonely is dismal.
Anyway among all this I found a small group that I met with regularly and 1 friend that I really clicked with and went on to meet various times a week, slowly the year came to an end and I went back to work which brought with it a bit of the old me, interaction with others, an escape from being alone, a commute to work which turned into ‘my time’.
This time round my maternity leave has rushed by and I have never felt the despair I felt then, though in general motherhood is a challenge for me. I won’t pretend I love every moment or that I don’t miss going out for a drink, thinking about myself, sleeping and doing nothing without anyone needing me. If I am brutally honest every Wednesday evening (or Thursday morning) when I know the next two days I will have both kids, I have a little panick and a knot in my stomach and I go into flight mode before I talk myself out of it because once again logically it’s a day with my kids not swimming with sharks! But my mind goes irrational and starts thinking – I will cope with them? What I will do to entertain them? which is completely ridiculous. But I think PND, depression and all our emotions rely little on logic they are more basic than this, we don’t feel things after thinking for a while we feel and react instinctively.
Logically none of what I dealt with in my 1st maternity leave or in this one is dangerous or life threatening, I wasn’t dealing with a tiny grenade, a python or anything that put my existence at risk, but mentally every single day I felt like I was being slowly suffocated. It was all emotions overriding any sensible logical thinking. Logic would have been- wow this baby is healthy, adorable and a times unsettled and moany but overall we are dealing with each day without any real danger or trouble. I am taking care of him and he is perfect! And I did tell myself things along those lines repeatedly but the feelings remained, I still felt miserable and not that I didn’t want or love Aydi because I did through all of it, I never wanted to turn back time and I cuddled him and loved him throughout this doom but it was such a personal emotional turmoil. I have never questioned my love for him and frankly if you look back on Instagram and photos you would never suspect I had those feelings at all. I think this is important because everywhere I looked mums seemed blissfully happy but I realise I am the same, from the outside people would never have suspected anything.
I look back at my year with Aydin with a huge amount of regret (even now I don’t cut myself any slack) I should have just enjoyed him because everyone was right, they do grow quickly and that time is short. I am sorry I was not all there to take it all in and cherish every teeny tiny moment and I am even more sorry that even now with hindsight I still struggle to enjoy every moment. But I console myself with the thought that if we are all brutally honest we don’t cherish, enjoy or even like our kids (or anyone) 100% of the time. Right?
I'm Jo and this is my little place to record the moments I cherish of everyday life. I know I would never remember all these so at least this way I can capture them, and not only I but family and friends, can take a dip into the past when desired.