Ever since I was about ten years old, my dream was to be a writer. At first, I wanted to write children’s books. As I grew up my dream shifted to wanting to be a journalist. However, like everyone, my life took many twists and turns. Although I have yet to become a journalist or write a children’s book, I did become a mom; and that journey is where I think my real-life story began. 

My road through motherhood has not been easy. Like every mom there are good and bad days, highs and lows and moments when you don’t think you can handle another second. My goal of this blog is to be transparent and share my honest journey through motherhood and the added challenges of being a mom with a mental health diagnosis. 

I’ve lived with depression and anxiety for over half my life. My early twenties were spent in and out of the psych ward. I often joke that it was a miracle I ever graduated college. I learned a lot of life lessons the hard way. I’m blessed to have a solid support system. I’m proud to say that 2010 was last psych hospitalization. 

I met my husband Matt in 2012. I tell him all the time that if he knew me when I was younger, he never would have dated me. He usually just smiles and laughs, but I know he knows it’s true. I am a strong believer in God’s timing. I’m blessed to have crossed paths with Matt. We’ve been married for seven years, and he is by far my biggest supporter. 

The sickness and in health came early into our marriage. I got pregnant with my daughter in September of 2015. She was a planned pregnancy, but that pregnancy was far from what we had envisioned. 

Depression…

Major depression…

A depression that almost cost both mine and my daughter’s life. 

We made the decision to ween off my psych medications with the help of my psychiatrist. We thought it was what was best for the baby. 

Wrong, that decision left me in one of the darkest periods of my life. 

Silence. 

Radio silence. 

I am a very talkative person, but I became speechless. I didn’t talk. I was full of emotions but dead inside. Any mention of the baby would be met with daggers followed by tears. I felt like I was in a living hell. 

I hated being pregnant. I hated being alive. I had morning sickness all the time. Every day I lost count of how many times I threw up and eventually I just stopped eating. I lost over 40 pounds. I cried all day long. I started to have very dark intrusive thoughts. 

I told no one. I knew that I was supposed to be happy. I wanted this pregnancy. I dreamed of being a mom ever since I was a little girl. However, this pregnancy was a nightmare. I did not want to be pregnant. I wanted to die. 

After several tough weeks, I finally spoke to both my OBGYN and my psychiatrist. It was decided that for the baby to be healthy, I needed to be healthy. I needed psych meds. I went back on a low dose of antidepressants and slowly started to feel more like myself. 

By week twenty I was no longer in denial that I was pregnant. I could talk about the baby without tears rolling down my face. I started to fill out my registry and decorate the nursery. 

Fast forward to June 2016 and I gave birth to my beautiful baby girl. 

She was perfect. 

She was also super tiny and couldn’t regulate her temperature, so I got discharged and she stayed a few extra days. Those five days seemed like forever. My anxiety that had been somewhat held at bay was now out in full force. 

Postpartum anxiety…

I didn’t even know that was a thing. I had it though. I was head over heels in love with my daughter, but my anxiety was sky high. I worried about everything. I was constantly checking on her to make sure she was breathing. I kept thinking something bad was going to happen to her. I barely slept. I know no one sleeps with a newborn, but I refused to sleep. Too much needed to be done and I needed to make sure she was breathing. 

A month in I was starting to relax a little bit. Breastfeeding was going well. She was healthy and I started to sleep a little bit more. When my daughter was a month old, my mother, who had been battling Alzheimer’s disease moved in with us. 

I became her full-time caregiver. 

It was rewarding.

It was life changing.

It was exhausting.

Being a mom to a newborn is exhausting. Being a mom to a newborn and a caregiver to my mom was beyond strenuous and overwhelming. I felt like everything had to be perfect. The sleep I was just starting to get went away. There were schedules and lists that needed to be followed. 

My anxiety skyrocketed even more when I went back to work. I couldn’t handle it. When my daughter was six months old, my mom was placed in a nursing home. Anxiety and guilt were my new closest friends. I was still anxious about everything. I wouldn’t take my daughter anywhere. Leaving the house was near impossible. 

I unknowingly battled postpartum anxiety and I had no idea. It wasn’t until my daughter was about two years old that I realized how much of my life revolved around my anxiety. 

Motherhood is messy. 

Mental Health is messy. 

Marriage is messy. 

Life is messy, but we don’t have to go through it alone.

Please follow my blog as I continue to share my many trials and triumphs of my life.