Those close to me know I’m unapologetically straight up about how much I’ve struggled with being a mother since becoming one almost five years ago.
The plain and simple truth is that motherhood has worsened my anxiety. It had always been simmering in the background, but it wasn’t until my first child entered the world that discovered I didn’t have all the answers - or couldn’t control a single thing anymore.
The pressure cooker would burst.
He couldn’t without nap me for longer than 10 minutes.
He’d cry hysterically from 5pm to 8pm and nothing I did soothed him.
I used to rock him for 40 minutes only to have him sleep for 10.
I would prepare every meal under the sun, only to have it end up all over the floor.
I used to watch the clock and became tethered to a routine that would make or break my day.
In short; parenting was all-consuming, unrelenting, underwhelming and I didn’t enjoy a second of it.
It brought out a side to me that I never knew existed: the yelling, the frenetic rushing, the irrational OCD and the fear of someone else taking care of my baby.
It took me another two years and the impending arrival of Finn’s baby brother, before I convinced myself that it was time I’d check into therapy. I felt like I just need to sort out my shit before throwing a second child into the mix.
My perinatal psychologist helped me unpack my feelings about my planned but unwanted caesarean. I wanted to stop yelling. I needed to let go and go with the flow. I had to relinquish control in this aspect of my life, because it was stopping me from asking for and accepting help - help that I evidently so desperately needed.
With the help of CBT and my wonderful counsellor, I managed to turn a corner in the year after I gave birth to Otis. It’s been a long and winding road, but to feel and see the strides I’ve made is something that I remind myself of when I start to feel like I’m going off-course.
Some things still remain unresolved, but I can see so clearly now the anger was my anxiety talking. My need for control is in my bloodline. This is who I am, but it’s not what will define me.
I’ve started seeing my psych again in light of the past couple of months. I’ve also started a course of anti-anxiety meds which, in hindsight, I should have done two years ago. For so long, I coasted along, thinking “I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine…” until I realised, well no, I’m not. And I can’t do this alone.
I often make light of how my kids sent me into therapy - only to now realise that the darkness I was enveloped in at the time was, in fact, a gift to my future self.
Getting help gave my children back their mother.
Comments