I first noticed my brain being broken when I was a senior in high school. The official diagnosis was anxiety with mild depression. Not sure how the “mild” is measured. I didn’t see the therapist long enough to find out. She fell asleep during one of my sessions. Needless to say, I didn’t go back.
The anxiety part is most noticeable for me. I’ve had a few panic attacks. And I had a hard time managing it during my last pregnancy. But it comes and goes in waves. Like the bouts of depression, I can just ride them out. I don’t feel like myself, but I get through the days.
I tell you all of this because last week was the worst week I’ve ever had with my broken brain. And the only way I can process it right now is to write about it. Trying to live my word of the year: fear less.
Jeremy had to leave town very unexpectedly Monday night deal with a family emergency. Like, bought a one way ticket. So We didn’t know when he was coming back.
I’ve been a mom of 2 for almost 7 months now. I still struggle some days with being overwhelmed. Being alone with them all day is so easy some days and the hardest thing in the world others. I am still terrified to take them to the store by myself. The thought panics me. So being solely responsible for them for an unknown amount of days was not an easy thing to come to terms with. Again, the panic.
As the week went on, I got worse. I felt like I was drowning. I felt so hopeless. So much worse than ever before. I felt like a burden to those offering help. I felt my emotions out of control. I felt a way I never had before. I was scared.
I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want to let my husband know how bad it got because I didn’t want to make him feel guilty for leaving. I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t okay. I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t in control of my own brain. I didn’t want anyone to know I was a bad mom. A weak person. Depression hurts. Depression lies.
My girls sparked some of the feelings. But they were also the ones that made the week without my husband bearable. They are my joy. My little, frequent happy moments. Everything lovely. I am so glad that they won’t remember some of my moments this last week. I hope Avery doesn’t remember when I was short with her on Thursday. And the tears I couldn’t hold back during bedtime stories on Wednesday.
I am grateful for her unrelenting hugs. And the unsolicited outbursts of, “I love you Mommy!” For the silliness. For the smiles.
When I found out Jeremy’s ticket home was booked, I was able to focus on that. There were still frustrations and hard days. But I knew it would be better soon.
Now that he’s been home for a couple of days I’ve relaxed a little. The feelings are lingering. The self hate and self-doubt are stubbornly sticking around. But I know they will leave too.
I guess in, writing this, I want to feel less alone. I want to know everything will be better. I want to let my daughters that my brain was broken before they were around. That even though it might seem like they cause the problems, they are actually the cure. And if they someday feel they way I do, I am here for them.
I really need something to change this year. I can’t have anything like this happen again. Ever. Maybe I need to go back to a therapist. Maybe I need meds. Or meditation. Or something else. Or everything. I just need to find it.