There was a time when I felt incredibly helpless.
I found myself at home alone for ten days as my husband was away for work. I was constantly surrounded by my three-year-old and my three-month-old unless I could “escape” to work. (Oh yeah, did I mention I had JUST returned to my full-time job one week prior after a four month maternity/disability leave?) I had the help of my parents and my friends, thankfully, but these weeks were still a dark cloud in my postpartum period.
I remember looking forward to going to work because I could go to the bathroom by myself (mostly), be called by something other than “Mom,” and could eat my lunch without sharing with a greedy toddler. More kudos to you stay-at-home-moms but I realized quickly I was grateful to have a job to go to – essentially to “escape.”
About a week into this single-mom experience, I lost it. I would find myself so angry at my three-year-old for asking me for another orange or to watch Trolls for the millionth time. Simple requests that I for some reason, could not process in a rational way. Don’t get me wrong, I believe anger is a normal emotion for mothers and can be healthy in the right situation, but I knew I had hit a wall when I had to walk outside of the house for a minute and scream. Legit walked outside and screamed at the top of my lungs. It was a Thursday afternoon and I’m sure if there had been a neighbor nearby, they thought something crazy was going on at my house. I even had to keep myself from punching a wall later that same day when the littlest was doing his best to fight his nap. At the time, I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong as a mother that my child did not want to sleep. I was so frustrated… instead of punching a wall, I went outside for screaming round two.
With no further options, I called on my friends. My tribe. My village. These three women have gotten me through the last year of my life (mostly) unscathed. We all have little boys now with the oldest being three months ahead of the rest. I kid you not, three of our sons were born within a week of each other… something was in the water last year. All but one of us have older children as well. We keep a running group chat daily that I couldn’t live without. Anything is asked from “is anybody awake?” during 2 AM nursing sessions to “did you see what happened on the Bachelorette this week?” The best piece of advice they gave me during this bad week in my life was to call my OB. No one judged me, no one tried to “solve” my problem. “Just call your doctor,” they said. So I did.
I was crying as I was talking to the receptionist and nurse. I couldn’t stop. I felt overwhelmed. I felt exhausted. I remember the nurse saying “why don’t you come in in an hour?” And I said I couldn’t because I had my two kids and would need to find childcare. It didn’t even cross my mind to take them with me. The nurse assured me they wanted me to bring my kids and they would help me with them. That’s how I knew something was wrong. My mind just did not feel like my own.
I did go to the appointment that day with both kids in tow. I cried to the nurse practitioner a lot as I explained these emotions of disappointment and fatigue. She listened to every word I had to say and assured me I was not alone. She did not give me a label – which, in hindsight, I truly appreciate. I’m sure what I was feeling is similar to postpartum anxiety and/or depression. She wanted me to try a low dose of an antidepressant to see if it would help me especially with the anger.
Fortunately, my husband is very supportive. He talked to me throughout the entire time he was away as if he was sitting right there with me holding my hand. He even sent me a book I’d been wanting to read (How To Talk So Your Kid Will Listen & How to Listen So Your Kids Will Talk) which was his way of showing love and trying to improve my relationships with my children especially the oldest. I decided to hold off on the medication until he came home (side effects can include drowsiness, nausea, etc. which I didn’t feel I could risk being the only adult in the house at night). Finally, three days after that appointment, he returned. Not only did he return, he came right in and took over. He wanted me to book a hotel room and be by myself for 24 hours doing whatever I wanted to do with no work and no kids.
The one thing I knew I really wanted to do (besides sleep) was exercise – specifically run. I had been in physical therapy for lower back pain and had just been released to go back to my normal training regimen days prior. As soon as I ran that first mile, I felt more like myself. I started running any day that my husband and I were both off work, usually while the kids were asleep. I try to get out at least 3 times a week, including a class or two at Orange Theory Fitness. Exercise has been my saving grace. I also trained for my first half marathon after the birth of my first child in 2016 and have completed four since then. I am currently training for a 10k/half marathon challenge in a few months and possibly a full marathon (with my husband!) next Spring. These goals have helped me put the antidepressant high on the bathroom shelf, having not needed to reach for them. I find that as long as I can get myself out running, I feel more like the person I was before I had children.
I’m not saying don’t take the medication. I believe there is a time and a place for medicine, no doubt. I guess my point is – find what makes you still YOU. Even after having a child (or four), you need to know what makes YOU happy. For me, running is my antidepressant. My village is my antidepressant. My family is my antidepressant. Spending some quality time alone has undoubtedly made me a better mother and wife. Take time to realize what or who it is that you need to lean on. Don’t be afraid to take some time for yourself. You may be surprised how much better you feel.
