The Stinking Truth: PPD & PPP

The Stinking Truth: PPD & PPP

Once upon a time, I had it all figured out. I knew what it felt like to have all the odds against you and still stand firm, unwavering in beliefs and goals. I knew what it felt like having to prioritize myself, lose friends, and live a life of consistency. Somedays, I'd lose my mind due to boredom and emerge in unhealthy distractions, but the universe always had a way of making me pay for those diversions in the end. Making me really appreciate the balance and stability I was creating for my kids and myself. I like to believe I still have that same mentality towards the present and future. Mainly when it comes to obstacles and certain challenges. There is no insurmountable odd that I cannot overcome. Right?

I keep telling myself I can handle it. I've done it before. I worked and went to school, I moved out on my own, bought a car, traveled, and took care of my kids. Even now being married, I am building my credit, trying to start a non-for-profit, focusing on my family, and making smarter decisions. The goals have changed, but the mindset hasn't. At least, that's what I tell myself. On the surface, I am handling it. Internally, I am losing it. I've been a bit naive about the seriousness of my mental health. Saying, "I'm fine" when I really want to lash out. I am so exhausted to the point where I no longer care what I look like or what I wear. The stress has been so bad, my hair has been falling out these past few months. I often find myself biting the skin off my nails or the inside of my cheeks, other times I dread getting in the shower. For someone who always knows what to say, I can't find words anymore. Not even for small talk. This isn't me; I love fashion, confidence, self-care, and having my shit together. That makes me who I am. This makes it possible for me to thrive and reach my potential. I guess what it all boils down to, is adjusting to being a mom of 4, with a special needs son.

It's not that I am ashamed or am seeking pity by stating how life's been an adjustment since having a son with special needs. It's that, I am still internalizing how he won't live up to the milestones I once hoped for. That sounds blunt, but it's the truth. As amazing as he is, he also comes with a load of responsibility. Responsibility that leaves me dedicating my days, to taking care of him. I've sacrificed and given up so much, just to prioritize his care. There are therapy sessions, specialty doctor appointments, home visits, workshops, and whatever else may come. In between all this, I didn't even know my first-grade son was learning to write paragraphs or that my fourth-grade son missed his best friend's birthday party. I gave up on waking up early enough to exercise or see the big kids out the door for school. I gave up on caring about nutrition or dieting. I even gave up on making individualized dinners, the one thing that showed my kids I didn't favorite one over the other. Why? Because it just exerts energy that I don't have anymore.

I keep telling myself don't be so hard on yourself, as times are different now. I just can't help but to be hard on myself. The more I think about what he can and cannot do, the harder it makes my days. It isn't fair. Not to AJ, my family, or myself. I've worked so hard to create a better life that didn't align with the stereotypes of being a teen mom or a racial stigma, but now I am back living in that same fear. Only this time, it'll be the ostracization against kids with disabilities. When the time comes, will I know what to say when he's getting bullied or questioning his self-worth? Will I remember to ask my kids, "How are you really doing?".

Some people may think I am idealizing a fantasy about life for AJ. While that might be true, their reasoning is wrong. It's not because I can't accept him or his disability, it's because I don't know how to be me with his disability. In spirit I am here, but my mind... it feels absent, secluded, defensive, on edge, emotional, and tense. I can't stop the thoughts. I think, "Am I making enough time with my other kids?", "Will they find answers to their questions from someone else?", "Is there too much pressure on my mom to help me out?", "Am I being a good sister, friend, and aunt?", "What about a good wife? Should I be doing more?". In a fictional reality, I am superwoman, supermom, and super wife. In this reality, I am just one woman wearing one to many hats, that don't all fit my head. This can't be IT for ME. I just don't see how this is going to work. I prefer balance and stability, but this here is a shit show that's slowly starting to reek up the room. How naive of me to think that things would be fine once AJ came home and got all the services he needs. All it has done is create more pressure.

When I first gave birth to AJ, and he spent months in the NICU I struggled horribly with my mental health for months. Every check-up I had with my obgyn, I'd tell her how depressed I was due to everything going on and I'd cry. She was empathic, and continued writing prescriptions for the Zoloft I was previously given while in the hospital. In the beginning, the medication was working, so I stopped it. Then I'd become overly emotional or angry, so I'd start it again. The pattern continued until I looked in the mirror one day and noticed how much weight I had gained. I was barely shedding any of my baby weight, despite breast pumping and going to the gym, it had to have been the medication. I went back to see my obgyn, emotional about the weight gain, she told me to ween off and suggested I see a counselor. Well, this counselor started me on Wellbutrin. The order of events is a blur now, but I do remember feeling extremely suicidal, seeing things and hearing voices, drinking and eating heavily, having nightmares, and seeing chunks of my hair fall out every time I ran my hand across it. After some time, I went cold turkey and stopped the Wellbutrin. Through all that, I still managed to spend hours, days, and nights with AJ at the hospital. I cared about what was happening to my body, but I didn't care enough to accept that I had a serious problem with my mental health. I think if I'd allowed myself to just feel what I felt and not have so much built-up resentment for it, I never would have suffered as much as I did. Maybe even, I never would have willingly accepted the Zoloft, days after I had given birth.

Eventually, the feelings I once had and bad habits I picked up surrounding my depression, just went away. Or so I thought. I don't feel depressed, but somedays it's hard to be this person I currently am. Things are different now and I am learning to be more involved without being overbearing and how to not have every detail of my life planned out. This is a serious challenge for me, as you can tell. I am a scheduler, a planner, and that friend whose house is a bit cluttered, but I know exactly where I put that one paper from 4 years ago. It's time I learn to develop new and healthier ways to manage my stress and calm my mind. Maybe even aiming for more obtainable goals. While I won't change overnight, I sure hope I love the rediscovered version of myself.