Hey Momma. I see you there. It’s the end of another long day of parenting your little munchkins. “Mommy, can I have a snack?” “Mommy, can you read me one more story?” “Mommy, can I have a glass of water?”
Your little one’s have asked you for everything under the sun, in relentless high-pitched, squeeky, outdoor voices, and you’re just done.
I know you probably just want to go to bed, and I know you probably just can’t even anymore, and I know taking care of yourself probably isn’t even on your priority list.
Bringing a child into the world is one of the hardest transitions a woman can go through. Being thrown head-first into the late night feeds, the crying, the soothing, the epic diapers, and the sleep deprivation, you’re already hanging by a thread. Add postpartum depression to that mix, and coping with motherhood seems utterly hopeless.
I know. I’ve been where you are and you’re not alone. You can cope.
Valentine’s Day is synonymous with showing the people in your life how much they mean to you, how much you appreciate them, how much you love them. It could be your spouse, your friends, your kids, or even your dog. The list of the people you love could be endless.
Postpartum depression is the single hardest thing I’ve ever had to contend with in my life. Don’t get me wrong, giving birth was no picnic either, but having my recovery sabotaged by a dirty little mental illness just made everything so much harder.
Postpartum depression is a sneaky little bastard that creeps up on you when you least expect it. It hides in and among your already-raging hormones, stealthily camouflaging itself, and prays not to get caught.
But I did. I caught that bugger red-handed, treated it and now I’m the best mom I can be.
But how do you Know You Have postpartum depression?
Before I was a mom, I was a doormat. A dirty, dusty, filled-with-other-people’s-shit doormat. The more I put before myself, the more I got ground down to the bottom, where the scuzzy water from soggy winter boots pools…and festers.
I spent most of my life making other people happy, pushing my happiness further and further aside. When anyone took advantage of me, judged me or took me for granted, I was always ok with it. I never said anything. I didn’t get angry. I always understood.
To me, being a people-pleaser was better than the alternative of having no friends at all. The idea that people might not like who I was terrified me, and besides, I kinda liked making everyone else happy, so it was a win-win.
As soon as my daughter was born, all that garbage became just that, GARBAGE. Here are five ways that motherhood has turned me into the woman I was meant to be.