While I have been walking a bumpy, uncomfortable road the past couple of weeks and days in my personal and professional life, apparently there have been scores of people sounding off on the topic of PPD and whether it is a "trend" as well as if, in the words of another blogger out there, it can be overcome by "manning up." I don't generally weigh in on the debates that surround motherhood, and while I read all PMD related media voraciously, I tend to ignore what is not super relevant, weighted in research or extensive personal experience, or written by people I completely trust (thanks, friends- the few of you know
exactly who you are!). But today, as I mediatated in a particular yoga pose I was overcome by the need to share. To share my experience and thoughts, of today and of two years past, hoping and praying that it might clairfy, shed some light, or at the very least offer me an opportunity to nurture myself through writing.
After months of good, and even sometimes great, sleep I have been battling insomnia and anxiety again. Racing thoughts, concern for what I have said or left unsaid, and insecurity about some of my relationships are the fodder of my late night wakefulness. Last night, I got home from work a little after nine and finally retired to the couch about 10. After a brief encounter with the nightly news I stumbled upon some very mindless (albeit annoying-as-Hell) cable reality shows. Hooked and not sleepy enough to go to bed, I lay vegetating til nearly midnight (so unlike me!). When I finally retired, as soon as I lay down I discovered my husband's snoring was loud enough to distract me from meditating and praying my way to sleep and I headed to the guest room. I tossed and turned for about 3 hours when M finally came in, turned the overhead light on and I startled him by my presence in the room. It was 4AM and he was getting ready to hit the gym. Off I went back to our bedroom, where I debated taking something to help me sleep, knowing it would be just a couple of hours until I would be awakened by L. A couple of hours being better than none, I broke off a small bit of my occasional sleep aid, swallowed and eventually drifted off. What seemed like seconds later, I heard L calling my name. The clock read 4:47AM. "Are you effing kidding me?," I thought. Off to his room to take him to the potty, return him to bed, rub his back and convince him that ,
NO, it IS NOT time to get up. Back to my bed and again what seemed like a few minutes later, M is back from the gym and has greeted me with an exurberant "good morning!" It's 6AM and I am lucky to have gotten TWO FLIPPIN' TOTAL HOURS of sleep. Fast forward a few hours (during which time I have returned emails, put all the laundry away and straightened up the house) our babysitter arrives for a 4 hour stint scheduled so I can go to yoga and run a couple of errands. I am so tempted to crawl back in the bed and give her 5 bucks to take him to an inflatable playground. But. I. Don't.
THIS, my friends is what toughing it out is. It's going to yoga class anyway. It's doing all the poses I can do, as well as I can do them, no matter how flippin' tired I am because I know that I (and my family) will benefit. Because my anxiety is always better after a yoga class. Because I am better prepared and able to stay calm while I discipline my child. Because I bought a package of classes and it has already expired from lack of use. Because doing all I can to be physically strong and healthy is a part of being a good wife and mom. And then, it's going to Target and buying the stuff I need to in order to use the coupons that expire this weekend. And then it's coming home expecting my son will be napping, but when he's not, instead of getting mad and yelling or
tweeting how pissed I am, going in, kissing his face, and offering to rock him until he's tired...even though I just want to collapse into my own bed. It's writing this post because I want and need to and hope that these thoughts being fresh will make it better than if I had waited until I had gotten some sleep.
Here's when
toughing it out ain't an option...
When you have a five month old at home and your mother is turning 50 that weekend and you decide that a day at the spa for the two of you is just what the doctor ordered. So you book a 5 hour package for both of you, hire a babysitter you trust implicitly (probably a little more than yourself at this point) and head off into town for sheer bliss and relaxation. Except, you haven't even gotten your clothes off and laid down on the massage table when the thoughts start racing. "What if he doesn't eat enough and I get relaxed from all this spa stuff and then when I get home he isn't full enough to sleep well and then I am super tired and he won't sleep and then I start having those ideations about running away or selling him or dissolving into the hardwoods like the wicked witch of the west?" And when the well-trained, gentle, yet strong, massage therpist begins the work on your neck and shoulders, just where you need it, she can't get her hands in the right place because you are so tense with anxiety. Or when your hands and feet are shaking too much for accurate nail painting and by the time you've "mustered" through your massage and facial you can barely stand all this pampering and luxury and you nearly run to the car in order to get out of a place where relaxation is mandatory and the pressure to do something that you are so completely incapable of at that time is so overwhelming that you are ready to faint. What do you think now? I guess I shoulda just pulled up my boot straps and enjoyed that spa experience regardless of how "challenging" it was, right?
See, PPD, PPA, and PPOCD aren't just about not being able to HANDLE life or motherhood. They are about having a significant mental health issue
so severe that it affects areas of your life completely removed from being a mom. That the activities you enjoyed most before this evil bitch entered your life are now either meaningless or in and of themselves become triggers for your anxiety and depression symptoms.
If you haven't experienced it, then you are probably right. You CAN'T imagine it. You CAN'T describe it. And frankly, you shouldn't be commenting on it. So, say a prayer, count your blessings and lend a hand instead. And keep your ignorant bliss to yourself.