Another Attempt Out of the Ashes

An attempt. Isn't that the most that can be expected?

Yesterday, after a rollercoaster-weekend of tantrums, frustrations, elation, etc, I asked a friend to hold me accountable to work out in some way. So, last night I did a 25 minute HIIT workout from TurboFire.

After months of inactivity, every muscle in my body screamed at me. My knee burned with the fires of a thousand hells. My lungs felt as though they had been put through a shredder. Every fiber of my being wanted to give up.

I did it, though. It took all the energy I had, but I finished the workout. Afterwards, my mind wasn't racing, I wasn't anxious, I wasn't melancholic or morose. I settled into the soreness of my legs and the feeling of accomplishment. I let my heart rate decelerate from 176 BPM to 130...115...100 and I came to rest in the pulses of equal energy and exhaustion running through my body.

Was it a success as most would explain it, probably not.

For me, for the darkness wandering in my brain, this proved to be a light that dispelled the blinding darkness.

This 25 minutes of movement, discomfort and heightened senses blew away the tension.

Maybe...just maybe...a second attempt is in order.

In the last year and a half, I’ve experienced emotions all over the spectrum. After finding a good mix of medication, therapy and hobbies, I was in a good place with my recovery. However, a myriad of events in the last year and a half added on, until this point where I find myself searching for a slightly different path.

Moving to a different state, difficult goodbyes, a not-so-ideal living situation, buying a home, moving again, a toxic work environment, leaving ministry, beginning a new job...adjusting...adjusting...adjusting.

All of this adjusting added more and more pressure until I began to crack my freshly healed shell. My depression started showing through again, I started gaining more and more weight. I felt lost and overwhelmed. Today, after a day with my little family, I decided to check the scale...I am at my highest weight ever. This is extremely disappointing, though not surprising. For a month or so, clothing hasn’t fit correctly and I felt more uncomfortable than usual.

In the last two months, I have struggled a lot with identity and a lack of belonging. I have felt constantly exhausted, unmotivated and unable to focus. My memory and mental processes are not as sharp as they should be and it is extremely frustrating. Currently, I am working with a doctor to manage my medication, and I am also seeing a counselor to learn coping mechanisms. I do know, however, that I have to find the motivation to get moving to lose weight. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I know I have to.

I have to keep fighting.

I’ll keep adjusting my path, my approach, so that I don’t lose my way and my hope.

Postpartum Depression and Anxiety: My Journey

This post was originally shared on The Millennial Mom Blog for Maternal Mental Health Awareness Month, April 2016. I wanted to share it here as a part of my journey in motherhood. 

*Trigger Warning PPD*

Like most expectant mothers, my pregnancy was filled with people exclaiming “Having a baby will change your life!”, “It’s the best thing you will ever experience!” and “This is the happiest you will ever be.” I had very high expectations to be a glowing new mom with a happy baby and a feeling of absolute joy. Through the months of discomfort, morning sickness and preparation, I imagined a movie-like experience of motherhood. However, my dreams and expectations quickly came crashing down 3 days after delivering my beautiful son.

When I arrived home from the hospital, I showered and changed as we had visitors stopping by. As I got dressed, I felt a deep, gut-wrenching sadness. I wasn’t sure what it was, but something felt “off”. After the excited family members left, everyone reassured me this was just the baby blues. However, over the course of a week, I had two panic attacks and cried constantly. I felt alone, even though I was surrounded by family and friends who supported me.

I knew something was wrong, but I continued to be reassured it was just my hormones and the baby blues, even by doctors. It took 3 weeks, before I finally reached out to my mom and husband, and explained that I needed help. I contacted my insurance to get information about a postpartum support group. It took 2.5 weeks to get in for an evaluation, where I was diagnosed with Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. After the evaluation, I was able to start attending weekly meetings, run by a counselor, with about 12 others moms and their babies. This group helped me tremendously. It gave me a reason to leave the house, regardless of how low I was feeling. It made me push myself to overcome my anxieties about walking downstairs, driving and even packing a diaper bag. Most of all, though, it helped me understand that I was not crazy, horrible or alone.

PPD/PPA is a horrible darkness that overcomes the sufferer. After a week or so of being home, I began struggling with Intrusive Thoughts. These thoughts were vivid, horrifying images of my son getting hurt as I walked downstairs, drove or even held him. I was terrified. My anxiety was extremely high all the time and I felt hopeless. One of the worst parts of the PPD was the fact that for three months after my son was born, he didn’t feel like he was mine. I knew I loved him and I always made sure his needs were met, but I felt no connection to him. I struggled a lot with this connection being that I created and carried him for 9 months. I cried, because I felt like I was watching someone else’s baby, not my own.

To this day, 10 months later, I’m not sure what triggered my PPD and PPA. I have a history of anxiety and depression from my teenage years, which increases the likelihood of PPD. I don’t think there was one factor that triggered it, but I know that I’m still working through it. After attending the group, I began seeing a psychiatrist and a therapist. I did not want to take medication initially, but I realized that I needed the help in order to really be able to fight this battle. I am still on medication and still see a counselor regularly; my hope is to learn to cope with the anxiety and depression so that eventually I will no longer need the help of the medication.

The support and encouragement of my husband, family, a couple of close friends and an online community has been extremely important in this journey. From cooking meals, to date nights, to babysitting, I have overcome a lot with their help. Along the way, however, I’ve also encountered negativity from people who don’t understand PPD/PPA. As a new mom, was told “every new mom experiences this, thousands of people have done it this is no different,” “you should be happy, your son is healthy and not be such a bummer.” As a nursing mother, I was told I was “poisoning” my child because I was taking medication. I encountered people who thought I was dangerous for my son, because their only experience with PPD was reading about mothers who killed their children. I wish no mother suffering with PPD/PPA would have to encounter these negative comments. I wish they would be able to find resources to help them fight.

To those moms who are struggling and fighting, I want you to know that this does not make you a bad mother, a monster and it does not define you. I want to encourage you to advocate for yourself and reach out for help. I want to encourage you to search for community resources (there’s not nearly enough, but there are some) to help you overcome this. I want you to know that asking for help makes you a good mother, because you are doing what you can to be the best mother to your child. I want you to know that you are strong enough to overcome this.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

The Paths of Life

Life.
Faith.
Childhood.
Education.
Marriage.
Parenthood.
Career.
Death.

These aspects and experiences have three things in common...

1) They all involve people
2) They all are challenging
3) They all provide various paths in the journey

Over the span of my life, and especially in the last 5 years (of marriage and parenthood), I have truly come to understand the importance of paths. From a daily walk, to which lane of the freeway you drive on, selecting a path is important to the final goal.

As we move through life, we select paths that might look enticing but turn out to have a drop off into the abyss. Other times, we might see a path that seem rocky, unstable, painful but after selecting it and journeying on this path for a bit, we see that it transforms into a beautiful environment. Another time we might be required to find a detour from our path. This detour may seem like it is detracting from the journey, but instead it may be making the destination that much more desireable.

As we embark on a journey we often feel the need to be prepared for anything, so we pack and we plan and we search for the easiest path. However, we tend to forget that this journey, life, is not meant to be easy, painless, without detours or without discomfort. We should plan, yes, but we should also be adaptable to what the varying paths have in store for us.

Life.
Faith.
Childhood.
Education.
Marriage.
Parenthood.
Career.
Death.

Each with its own labyrinth of paths and goals, with its own joys, pains, detours and delays.

This blog is a rest stop in my journey, a place to recover, recharge and reevaluate the paths I have selected.