She sighs, in the penumbra of the small and softly lit lamp, as her baby snuggles closer to her neck, his chubby fists opening and closing. He exhales and relaxes his body with a small rattled whimper. She waits, her eyelids drooping more with every passing second, supporting him, waiting for that tell-tale moment when the weight of sleep brings a random tingle or two to her forearm.
She stands up slowly, using muscles in her thighs to lift her upper body as she does so, careful to not move a muscle touching her now sleeping infant. Eyes flutter shut as she puts one foot in front of the other, a walk she has perfected in just a few weeks, heading for the crib. Baby shifts, stutter sighs, nuzzling further into her neck. She gently moves her hand to the back of his head, rubbing it softly as she whisper hums their song.
She manages to lay him down and leave the room, pulling the door closed as quietly as she can, holding her breath as it latches in silence.
She crawls into bed, her calves sinking into the mattress first, then the exhaustion surges upward until her eyes slam shut until morning, all of an hour and a half away when she will wake up to a hungry baby, a dog with a full bladder, and a toddler who has probably strewn cheerios over half the house because the doggy was honghee.
Motherhood.
It changes us.
Mentally.
Physically.
For some, motherhood is a warm field on a sunny day filled with laughter, babbling brooks, playful deer, dancing butterflies, dandelions underfoot, and an intoxicating joy breezing through untethered hair.
For others, motherhood is a dark room in the bottom of the keep, covered with bars, the key well beyond our reach. We fight, we scream, we rage against the thick door but it won’t budge. We see the warm field basking in the sun from the window at the top of our room and long for it – long to take walks with our little ones as the warm rays caress our faces, invoking a smile and giggles, but instead, we are trapped inside our own special hell, the dampness invading our very souls, drowning us a little more with each raspy breath.
Motherhood without a mental illness is not the easiest road to tread, either. Heck, life in general requires some level of tenacity. One of the most frustrating things I am faced with is not discounting the struggles that each of us go through – respecting the journey of every single mother without demeaning the journey of another. And yet, it’s my goal.
Over the past several years, I have been privileged enough to meet some of the most amazing and resilient parents. Parents who fight for themselves, for their children, for their relationships, for life. Parents who work through even deeper hells than I can imagine and still manage to parent their kids, all the while, worrying about how their experience will affect their children, their marriage, their jobs, their lives. Yet, every morning, they wake, get out of bed, and take another step forward toward healing, even if they are absolutely exhausted.
A friend of mine posted a quip about hockey players being a different breed on FB. He was commenting on Rich Peverly’s alleged desire to get back into the game despite having experienced a cardiac event on the bench. Any other sport and the player wouldn’t be thinking about getting back in the game, right?
The same is true of mothers battling against mental illness; whatever form it may take for us. We want to get back in the game. We want to play, we want to body check the hell out of this asshole beating us down, toss off our gloves and throw a few good punches, maybe knocking out a few teeth for good measure.
We want to laugh. We want to be free to just be….…without the burden or restraint of our mental health on our souls. THIS is why we cherish the good days and wade through the bad ones. Why we hold on so tightly to every single glimmer of hope crossing our hearts.
We are a different breed.
We aren’t worse.
We aren’t better.
We’re just different.
We want to be loved for who we are, not what you think we should be or could be.
We just are.
Love us anyway?
Lauren Hale is a two time survivor of Postpartum OCD and has also survived antenatal depression as well as Postpartum PTSD. She is the founder of #PPDChat on Twitter, the first support community for families in the Social Media realm. Lauren is also a co-producer of LTYM in the Lehigh Valley as well as a member of the Postpartum Progress Editorial Team. She occasionally still writes at her blog, My Postpartum Voice and has also been published at The Good Men Project and various other websites. You can find her on Twitter.
The 7th Annual Mother’s Day Rally for Moms’ Mental Health is presented by Postpartum Progress, a national nonprofit 501c3 that raises awareness & advocates for more and better services for women who have postpartum depression and all other mental illnesses related to pregnancy and childbirth. Please consider making a donation today, on Mother’s Day, to help us continue to spread the word and support the mental health of new mothers.
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