What’s that? You think that yesterday’s post about being blindsided by motherhood was my basis for waltzing into a therapists office and turning into a puddle on the floor?
You think the reason I take zoloft to get through the day is because I’m just a disillusioned 20something who chose to have a kid at such a young age?
Motherhood is hard. I pictured it differently. I’m tired. So what? You’re right, that is not postpartum depression. That doesn’t warrant medication or official diagnoses. Do you know what does?
Not being allowed in your son’s room during the night because of what happened that one time.
Thoughts. Thoughts that shouldn’t ever, EVER be thought.
Nine months of trying to “man up” and not being able to.
Holding your crying baby and coming up with ‘ways’ to make it stop.
Being so irrationally anxious that no amount of calming from your husband can bring you back to earth.
There. Are you happy?
Do I qualify for your online-diagnosis checklist of a certain mental illness? Does it feel better to know that I actually am a horrible person and not just some overwhelmed young mom running to the pharmacist because I had to change 4 (4!) poopy diapers today and because “everybody’s doing it”?
I hope it does, or else this wasn’t worth sharing.
Written in response to these posts from yesterday: