I wasn’t sure about doing this…

I’m trying to be an open book when it comes to mental health, particularly when it involves postpartum issues. I recently wrote a blog about my struggles with PPD/PPA. When I wrote that I was not ok. I thought if I wrote about it, it would make me feel better.

 

I started spiraling out of control. I started to feel hopeless again. I started having intrusive thoughts again. I pushed myself in to a dangerous, deceptive corner. I started to feel like I wasn’t the right mom for these three beautiful girls. I thought a lot of things.

 

I thought too much.

 

I decided to go get inpatient treatment, and it changed my life. I’m not ashamed about this, and I hope by writing this I can help another person struggling. My family (LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, THEM), didn’t want me to blog about this. It was kind of like, ” You don’t need to air your dirty laundry.” I respect that very much, but I also know that by writing about this and hoping reaches others, that I will have done something good.

 

I started noticing OCD issues.

 

I discovered I had rituals. I discovered that this OCD was interupting my my life. It caused my brain to spin, spin, spin at night so I never could sleep. I started to feel scared leaving the house, because I was certain something would happen. Maybe we would get into a car crash? It just goes on and on and on.

 

I thought I had tackled my postpartum issues. But, if theres anything I can learn from this is that… you’re not alone, and this shit takes time. Some of us need extra help, outside of the home. I was terrified for everyone to know I was in a psych ward for eight days, but those eight days changed my life. I walked in terrified, and I left with such happiness and bliss.

My entire family gave me so much love and support, whethere it was driving from Illinois to help with the kids, or my step-dad who drove 10 hours by himself to make sure he was here if we needed anything. My mom came too and organized all of my closests like a champ. I came out of the facility feeling so grateful and so loved.

 

The I want to share this, not only because I think it’s important, but also to reach out to everyone who is struggling. Life is worth living.

Let me repeat that.

Life is worth living.

To my fellow mamas… Your life is worth living. You are cherished and loved. If you need a reminder of that, hit me up and I will remind you how awesome you are. There’s also no shame in admitting that you might have a postpartum thing going on. Everyone wants to keep it quiet, because they probably dont know the correct response to something like this eithe.

I have some much to be grateful for.

 

My family. My family in Chicago, my family on the east coast… they came all the way out here to make sure Ryan and the girs were ok. We had wonderful babysitters that helped too.

I never thought I would do what I did, but I also know that because this happened I am healthier, happier, and eternally grateful for my entire family that supported and continously supports me.

 

Postparm diseases take away love, hope, sensibility, and your sanity.

 

I’m a warrior. I’m not going to let those things bring me down ever again. I hope you know that you are a warrior as well.

 

We got this mamas, we got this.fullsizeoutput_1c83

I took a deep breath.

” I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart; I am I am I am” -Sylvia Plath

 

I am blissful. I am beautiful. I am bountiful. I am alive. I am a warrior. I am brave. I am strong. I am loyal. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a daughter.  I am a sister.

 

I am worthy of all the gifts the world has to offer. I am.IMG_2554*I got this tattoo for my 31st birthday to remind myself of all of these things*

 

I am. I am. I am.

 

Struggle.

When I started this blog, I thought I would fill it with funny stuff. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of that. As I continue finding my voice through writing, I find myself leaning towards wanting to share the beauty of motherhood. It’s not always beautiful. Sometimes, it’s scary, it’s ugly, it’s hurtful, it’s lonely, its desperate, it feels like it will break you. It’s also magic. It’s unbelievable. It brought my soul to life. (That’s some really sappy BS, but I’m serious.)

 

My three strong willed daughters test me to my limit every single day. Sometimes, they smack me. Sometimes they poop on me (or in that DAMN BACK PACK). Sometimes, they frustrate me. How freaking hard is it to put on shoes, a coat, and your backpack? It takes 75,000 million hours to try to get to preschool on time. We’re always late. Whatever. Sometimes, they take the entire box of goldfish crackers, dump them on the floor and stomp on them like they’re Lucy and Ethel stomping on those grapes in the wine barrel. Sometimes, they pull each others hair and throw punches. Sometimes, they run down the street half naked trying to follow their Dad’s car to work at 6 am on a Tuesday morning. Sometimes, scream so loud that I’m POSITIVE my neighbors think we are running an insane asylum. (Which, is pretty accurate.)

That’s kid shit though. That’s what they do.

 

My strong willed daughters also shower me with unconditional love. I spent my entire life needed that. Craving that. Searching for that. I know my parents love me. Sometimes, I think maybe my husband loves me. But, this is a different love. My favorite is when Fiona snuggles up with me and says, ” I know you told me, but I want to tell you too that I made you a mommy.”

 

… I melt into a pool of emotions when she says this.

 

When I’ve been out for a few hours talking to my Drs about my crazy ass PPD/PPA, my Maeve girl comes CHARGING through the house to hug me, as if I’ve been gone for a decade.

When Lucille wakes up in the morning the first thing she does is smile, reaches up for you to pick her up, and then nuzzles her sweet face into your neck and gives the BEST HUG EVER. I mean she’s almost nine months old and her hug game is STRONG.

 

All of these things are great, but what prompted me to write this is that the past couple days and weeks have been a little hard over here. Life stuff, you know? There’s always life stuff. But, this morning I felt Fiona crawl into bed with me, she put her arm around my chest, put her nose to my nose, and woke me up with nose kisses.

 

MY FOUR YEAR OLD WAKES ME UP WITH NOSE KISSES.

 

It is the absolute best way to wake up.

 

I”ve been doing a lot of yelling. I’m stressed. It has nothing to do with them and yet all I do is take it out on them. I’m struggling with the anxiety hard core right now. I hate it. It’s all consuming. But, my precious daughter wakes me up with nose kisses and that’s what keeps me going.

 

These kids are alright, you know? They’re worth every minute of it, the good and the bad.

 

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