adjusting to motherhood

One thing that amazes me about being a mom is how natural it has felt. I thought there would be a struggle to adjust to having a little person depending on me, especially considering that there used to be days that I had trouble getting out of bed or doing basically anything for myself. (Depression is great!!!) But, no, it turns out that my urges to lounge around pale in comparison to the ones I have to nurture this little person who depends on me for literally everything. I’m glad it worked out that way, because I really don’t think it works like that for everyone.

I struggle with judging other parents. I struggle with seeing that some parents with multiple children have obvious favorites. I struggle with hearing about parents who hit their children. I struggle the most with instances of child abuse where CPS is already involved and the children remain with their abusers. I know I am powerless to do any more than I already have in these toxic situations, but sometimes I get upset about it anyway.

Love looks different to different people. To me, it looks like struggling with trying not to help Lorelei as she searches for the right answer. I just want to make things easy for her and solve all of her problems, but I know that’s not how people learn. It looks like acknowledging her emotions when she gets upset and letting her know, “I hear that you’re upset”. It’s making sure I play with her, but not having playtime all day long. It’s important for her to be able to entertain herself – and she does a great job of it. It looks like sending her to her room for time-out. It looks like apologizing when I lose my temper – and I mean, a real apology, one where we sit down and really talk about what happened. I need her to know that I am only human, but I also need her to know that I will try my hardest to be a good one.

It is not all cuddling and hugging and goodnight routines. It’s the uncomfortable stuff, too.

I thought that adjusting to motherhood and all of its hurdles would be uncomfortable, but even this instinct to allow her, and myself, some occasional discomfort feels natural. I do my research via books and the internet (and of course, the parent friends I have whose parenting skills I admire) and talk through things with her doctor to get a good idea of whether or not I’m taking the right steps.

I’m glad adjusting to this stage of my life has been relatively effortless, minus the portion where I was bedridden from my dang thyroid. I’m glad that’s behind us now.

pre-medication adjustment

Seasonal depression always hits me pretty hard. I’m surprised it didn’t really make a dent until December this year. Usually, my mood drops pretty dramatically in early September (cool holdover from past trauma!). Finding a way to cope in the past was, frankly, not as important to me as it is now. Having a toddler who depends on me has made a huge impact in my desire to find solutions rather than just sitting in bed and eating dry ramen.

Been there, done that. It’s still an oddly appealing option, but I don’t succumb to the urge. I thank my meds.

After my daughter was born in October of 2015, a social worker came into my hospital room and asked me questions about my mental state. In the past, I may have dodged these questions out of self-preservation. Sobriety (not just abstinence, but a commitment to personal growth) has taught me to do otherwise. Giving birth terrified me. It was the reason I didn’t want to have children up until this point in my life. The inevitability of giving birth was, to me, a thousand times more daunting than any part of motherhood. I admitted that I had suicidal thoughts and that I self-injured during my pregnancy.

She called CPS.

The woman my family and I worked with during my daughter’s early life had no desire to take her away from me. She told us flat out that she didn’t think she needed to be involved, but we were required to continue through the process anyway. We were required to have routine inspections, take Lorelei (my daughter) to her checkups, and I was required to go back to therapy and see a psychiatrist. The idea of trying medication again, after many failed attempts, was daunting, but I was not willing to risk losing my little newborn.

I tried a small handful of medications before landing on the ones I’m on now – Rexulti and Effexor. I know it disappoints some people that I’m on medication (namely, my mom), but I’m not sure if I’ve ever had such clarity as I do when I’m on the correct dosages. If there is some amount of mental willpower that I need to exert in order to feel this way, I don’t without my medication. I don’t have the drive. I am too easily distracted by my anxiety and my mind racing with absurd hypotheticals (if you don’t hold your breath until the light turns green, a car will smash into the passenger side and you’ll die!).

To bring it all back, I am sinking.

Today is my last day before I move up to 2mg of Rexulti. I am making this adjustment because the suicidal thoughts have come back. When Lorelei sleeps, I sleep. And she sleeps a lot, so I do, too. My paranoia is creeping back in, too. I recently half-convinced myself that my partner was cheating on me. A friend brought me home from work and I decided to surprise him by not telling him that I had gotten a ride, but when I reached our apartment door, I was struck with the realization that I should have messaged him to give him time to let his lover leave. At least I haven’t deteriorated into believing that Greg (my partner) is in touch with my rapist and that they’re conspiring some way to ruin my life and then murder me. I’ve believed that one before, with many of my partners. (I would venture to say most.) (Yeah, I still write stories, they just don’t typically leave my head.) This paranoia caused tension in a lot of relationships, but I don’t feel it so much when my medications are at that sweet spot. My unfounded paranoia is one of many symptoms of my mental illness.

May tomorrow be better.