This morning was one of those really hard PPD mornings. You know the ones where you cry, all the time. Where smiling at your babies doesn't feel second nature like it normally does. You go through the motions. Getting breakfast for them, sinking down with a coffee and then moving silently through the home dodging everyone, trying not to interact as you feel too weary and the anger nudges it's head up with every whiny request.
This morning I wanted my old life back. One not ridden with irrational feelings, one that allowed me to sleep away the weekends or go to new places discovering wonders on my timeline. A life where I worked with recognition and made a solid pay check that was the result of my hard efforts. A life where quickly popping out for a cup of coffee was not a monstrous task and having the choice to go to that quaint one a little further away... just because it was better.
I know I am not alone in these feelings. But we have a difficult time sharing them.
One line that is often shared is that we mums have so much to be thankful for. That there are women unable to stay home with their children or unable to bear their own babies and so we need to be ever grateful for the blessings our children are. And goodness, I agree! I am grateful. I could weep at the thought of not having these two jewels in my life and would give my life protecting them! But just because another cannot does not mean we need to live our lives hiding our difficult days for fear of offending. I do not know the heartbreak of realizing you are unable to bear a child of your own but I know the agonizing guilt after getting angry with my newborn for wanting to feed just a little bit longer. I know the defeat of handing my baby over to my husband because I just can't take anything anymore. I know the dagger thrust in my gut when sadness seeps from my son's eyes after I have yelled at him because he tried and failed, resulting in mess, time wasted or his sister crying. And I know the nauseating anxiety that hits when the smallest situation arises and it feels like hell is breaking loose and enveloping my every sense.
My pain does not minimize your pain and your pain should not cancel mine out. Motherhood is hard. No more "but at least you have children," or "but at least they are healthy," or "but you will miss this stage." These lines may all be true, may all be exceptionally valid. But I am tired, like scientifically sleep deprived tired. I am stretched daily. And sometimes it really is all I can do to get through the day without hiding in the bathroom, letting the kids cry and standing in a hot shower to drown out all the anxious and ragey thoughts.
It is not always rational. But it is real.
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