perspective Archives - Page 20 of 23 -

I Know, Right Now You Can’t Tell

May 4, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

“I feel like a fraud.”

Two friends, on the same day, during separate conversations, making the same statement. Two moms struggling with postpartum depression and questioning whether their struggle is real. Whether doing something to get help is valid.

I get this. Had, in fact, just written about it. That post didn’t even end up articulating what I meant when I started writing it. My question to myself and, by posting it, to others, was: Am I making this up?

We all have good days. On those days, we question why it’s so hard at other times. We wonder if perhaps it’s all in our heads. It is, in a way, at least from a biochemical standpoint, but it’s the nature of the depression demons to make you lose sight of things.

When I am okay, I can’t really remember what it’s like to feel not okay.

When I am not okay, I really can’t imagine ever feeling good again.

It’s not like this is something I could put on a calendar and prepare for, like this:

Monday will be a good day, and you should prepare to go to work and not worry about whether you are going to be forcing down anxiety attacks in the middle of meetings.
Tuesday will not be a good day. You will not feel able to go to work, but you will have to so pack your happy mask and pretend you are all right.
By Wednesday, things will be on the upswing again and you’ll feel better, saner, calmer. But in the back of your mind you will know that you are still on this roller coaster and it’s going to be a while after you get off before you really know you’re not on it anymore.

If you’ve been following along, you’ll know that I’m not working right now. I took four weeks of leave, which has turned into longer than that (more on that in another post). When I went into work to talk to my boss about taking leave during what was initially a vacation week, I threw on jeans and a t-shirt and a ball cap and prayed there wouldn’t be very many people in the office. I had stuffed my pockets with Kleenex just in case and would have given anything to teleport in and out of his office so no one else would see me.

If I had gone in today, I would have been showered and dressed and looking mostly normal. If someone would have asked me how I am, I would have said “okay”. That would have been true and they probably wouldn’t have been able to tell that I’m a bit loopy from medication. But on Friday I was also okay – pretty good, actually – and then late that night I got some bad news. That slope is awfully slippery, and Saturday was one of those days where I spent the day crying and wishing I could die.

In the ratio of bad days to good over the past few weeks while I’ve been off work, the bad days are holding a solid lead. But that’s slowly shifting as each and every day I’m learning more about what I need to do to ensure the good days start to outnumber the bad, and so that eventually the bad will be few and far between. But for now, I still have really bad days and I know the process I have to go through to get past those is not an easy or a fast one, so when the good days come I try to feel grateful and not like a fraud.

Given the choice, I would actually be happy for it all to be in my head. One day it will be, but only as a memory.

Post dedicated to my friends T and T, who are not frauds, and to D, who was listening to “Unwell” by Matchbox Twenty with me. He had the same light bulb moment when we heard the chorus (below) and correctly guessed it would turn into a post.

“Hold on
I’m feeling like I’m headed for a
Breakdown
I don’t know why

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be”

(YouTube won’t let me embed this video, but I’ll give you this image as a link. Because Rob Thomas is cute.)

Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: depression, perspective, we're not alone

On Motherhood and Losing Yourself

April 27, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Losing a piece of yourself seems to be part of becoming a mother, almost like a rite of passage. The problem is, following a rite of passage people often expect you to be wiser and acknowledge your readiness for your new role. You’re given access to knowledge or tools you didn’t have before.

When you become a mother, all you get is coupons for diapers, a free can of formula (whether you intend to formula feed or not), and unsolicited advice from people who are a generation or two out of touch. You might get a bunch of pamphlets pointing you to local resources and telling you things like how to bond with your baby and when you can expect certain milestones to happen.

What they don’t tell you is that feeling like you have NO IDEA what you’re doing is normal. Or that the sleep deprivation might feel like it’s going to kill you, but it probably won’t and will (eventually) end. Or that if you don’t feel overwhelmed with love for your baby, that’s okay too, and if it lasts for a while and you really feel like you can’t cope you might want to ask for some help.

As a matter of fact, none of the pamphlets I skimmed through or the books I read or the prenatal classes I attended told it like it really is. Which is:

You will lose a part of yourself when you become a mother.

You probably won’t be able to do all the things you’re used to doing, at least not at first, and your husband or partner shouldn’t expect to either.

You will likely be transformed by this experience in ways you could never imagine and no one could ever accurately describe to you.

Some of those changes will be great. Wonderful. Magical, even. Some might make you feel like you’ve figured out the meaning of life, even if it’s 3 a.m.

And some of those changes will be hard. Really hard. It doesn’t matter if you’re a cashier or a cook or a CEO, being a mother will be the hardest job you’ve ever had.

That was certainly the case for me. I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea just how hard it would be. Some of the changes were absolutely not okay with me but it’s difficult, I discovered, to convince a newborn who won’t sleep to see reason.

I realize it’s not this hard for everyone. For me, postpartum depression (unrecognized and undiagnosed for 18 months) made it almost impossibly hard. I absolutely lost myself and have battled for almost three years to find myself again. It turns out the person I was is not coming back, and I’m finally learning to be okay with that. To embrace it, even.

When I started blogging and was trying to choose a name for my blog, I wanted to acknowledge that the crazy, raging, anxiety-ridden person I had become after having a baby was not who I wanted to be. That person was a stranger to me, and to my husband, who took the brunt of a lot of my exhaustion and anger. That stranger was a big part of me for a while, and will always be a part of who I’ve become. But it’s time to say farewell.

As she slowly ceases to be part of who I am, I watch her go. I send her acceptance and gratitude, both for what she’s taught me and for retreating when asked, but I don’t wish to see her again. I’m ready to accept what I’ve lost and embrace what I’ve gained instead.

Farewell, stranger. I wish you well.

Filed Under: Motherhood · Tagged With: expectations, perspective, telling the truth

Good Enough Is the New Perfect

April 27, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Just a quick post to let you know that I have a short piece up at The New Perfect.

“Good enough is the new perfect” is a concept I’ve been trying to embrace. Since, you know, up until I had a baby I was perfect (of course) but then suddenly I wasn’t and that doesn’t feel so good.

Maybe I should get a Good Enough tattoo. On my forehead, because clearly I need to be reminded of this every time I look in the mirror.

Anyway…

Please hop over and visit me there. And while you’re there, why don’t you share your story of how you’re good enough?

Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: perspective

The “Difficult” Child

April 12, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

When Connor was really young – I don’t know how young, but young enough to still be considered an infant – I got a book from the library called Raising Your Spirited Child. My husband saw it on the stairs and gave me a funny look.

“Oh, you better believe we’re going to need that,” I assured him.

I skimmed the book and my resolve fled in fear at some of the descriptions of “spirited” behaviour. I don’t think I actually got to the how-to-deal-with-it stuff before promptly sliding it down the library’s return chute, out of sight.

I’ve thought of the “spirited child” concept many times since and I now know exactly what the author is talking about. The complete and utter meltdown because I’ve put his water in the wrong cup. The sheer determination this child shows in refusing to go to sleep easily or stay asleep once there. His spirit – unless sick – seems to know no bounds.

A Today’s Parent article about parenting the “difficult” child has me thinking about this again. “Difficult” isn’t really a word I like in the context of children and, besides, saying he’s “difficult” doesn’t really help people who don’t have difficult kids understand what’s meant by that. I do, however, like how the article’s author defines it:

First let me say that by “difficult” I mean kids who are more difficult to raise. In fact, more is the operative word here — more active, more inclined to explore (read: get into things), more emotional, more likely to question, more labour-intensive, more just about everything — apart from obeying, sleeping and playing by themselves.

This describes Connor exactly. Everyone who meets him comments on how “busy” he is. He gets into everything. He comes by his emotional nature naturally (ahem) but even I’m surprised sometimes at how immediate and explosive his reactions are. My mom once commented that he’s the type of kid who needs four parents. Let me assure you – as one of the two parents he has, I’m well aware we’re understaffed.

The “except” part of that description applies too. Obey? Not so much. And he’s not good at playing by himself – less so, even, than the average almost-three-year-old. And have I mentioned that he doesn’t sleep well? There have been times it felt like he didn’t sleep at all.

The Spirited Child book offers the same observation:

Research shows that spirited kids are wired to be “more”—by temperament, they are more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent, and uncomfortable with change than the average child.

“More” sums it up perfectly. Everything about Connor is “more”.

I’m a Type A and an introvert (which are not, as you might think, mutually exclusive qualities). I like to be busy, but on my terms. I like to have control over things. And at the end of the day I like to come home and decompress with a little quiet time. Having all of that and being a mom to a toddler – especially one who is “more” – do seem to be mutually exclusive. I know it comes with the territory, but it’s tough for me. Really tough.

My husband and I have always talked about how we think this side of him is a good thing. I’d much rather have a happy, active kid than one who sits there like a barnacle on a rock.

I’m starting to appreciate what this actually means. The summary of the Spirited Child book notes that spirited children “possess traits we value in adults yet find challenging in children.” Quite coincidentally, my therapist pointed this out recently too.

Connor is smart, curious, creative, active, attentive and really, really loving. I do value those qualities in him now, even if I don’t always appreciate the side effects.

I really, really hope he carries those qualities with him to adulthood, and I’m willing to do my part as his mom to support that.

Filed Under: Motherhood · Tagged With: mom's instinct, my wish for you, perspective

Stolen Joy

April 8, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

At first I didn’t even realize it was missing.

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” – Rajneesh

I had never had the experience of being a mother before, so I didn’t know exactly what it was supposed to be – I just had my own expectations.

“Being a mom is the most rewarding experience you can ever have…You get to birth them into the world. Raise them right, see them grow…The first time they wrap their little arms around you and give you a tight hug… it is just all so wonderful.” – post on Yahoo! Answers

The first month I thought it had been given to me – the amazing experience of being a mother. I sensed my motherhood in his tiny hands, wispy hair and beautiful baby cheeks. I thought we had it figured out.

“Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Early in the second month, things started to be different. It wasn’t the start of my battle – I now realize that started much earlier – but during this time the thieves came and, bit by bit, stole from me.

He was fussy. He took a bottle for a while (freedom!) and then refused outright for months (despair). He didn’t sleep. He screamed and then he screamed some more.

I cried when he cried. I lay awake at night totally unable to sleep. I yelled at my husband. I went to play dates and pretended everything was fine but felt like an imposter.

“Nothing else will ever make you as happy or as sad, as proud or as tired, for nothing is quite as hard as helping a person develop his own individuality especially while you struggle to keep your own.” – Marguerite Kelly and Ella Parsons

Why was this happening to me? Where did it come from? This was not the experience of motherhood I wanted to have. I didn’t want to be angry, frustrated, and sad. And so resentful. Resenting my experience of motherhood consumed me for months.

I look back on those days with love for him – so much love – but not the joy I had expected. The joy of motherhood had been stolen from me. Postpartum depression took it away.

“No one can go back and make a brand new start, my friend, but anyone can start from here and make a brand new end.” – Dan Zadra

Eventually, I accepted that things weren’t just going to get better. I had to ask for – and accept – help and after I did things got better for a while. And then worse again. Over nearly three years I’ve battled a series of ups and downs – waves that crashed over me again and again and finally coughed me up on the beach, spent.

“And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.” – JK Rowling

I’ve seen rock bottom – a place in me I thought didn’t exist. Thoughts I believed were for others to think, not me. I stared in the face of the easy way out and chose not to take it.

I have a child. I am a mother. This is my experience – the good and the bad.

Because of something I didn’t see coming, something that is not my fault, the experience of motherhood I wanted was stolen from me. And now I’m taking it back. It’s time to rebuild.