Through a Valley
Did you know that it isn't possible to maintain a shield of "I'm fine" indefinitely? I didn't either, except now I do.
9 years ago, I was diagnosed with postnatal depression. I allowed others around me to convince me I was fine. That motherhood was hard, and that I was merely not being grateful or mindful of the joyful bits. That I needed to pray more, or that my faith in God was weak. To be honest, I resented being told that I was somehow not grateful. I couldn't communicate that I trusted God, but wondered why on earth he felt I was suited to motherhood. I couldn't communicate that while I loved my family, I hated my life. I couldn't communicate that I felt they would be better without me in the picture, if I were hospitalised or just somewhere else. I couldn't communicate how badly I seemed to be failing at everything.
Life went on. We had more children, more big changes. I was simply too busy to take on the burden of dealing with the uncomfortable emotions. So I threw myself into domesticity. Told myself that I simply needed to try harder, to work harder. To some extent, that worked. Until very recently, when it wasn't working at all, and I kind of fell apart. Until this year, I had at least one child at home, and having moved twice in as many years, I was so busy making sure everyone else was settled and happy, that I hadn't considered my own feelings. I had worked so hard to craft this "godly wife and mother" persona, that I stopped allowing myself to express any emotion other than contentment and happiness. Rather like Unikitty, from the Lego movie. I functioned like this for years. YEARS. I realised that all of those emotions were there, festering, and would come out in an ugly torrent when I became distressed. Basically, every single morning and every single evening with my precious children was tainted with anger and frustration. I felt incapable of enjoying my family at all. In short, I wanted to just go to heaven already, and be done with this silly world. It's a longing for eternity, really. It's the knowledge that this life, this earth - it isn't as it should be, and it's just so wretchedly painful, that I could no longer bear it.
Recognising that I need to be able to function on this side of eternity, and that I wasn't currently able to do so on my own strength, I went to see my doctor, and together we have a plan for becoming okay again. More than okay, according to her. So for now, I need to travel with the uncomfortable emotions, sit with them in the quiet, and allow them to have their say. Then, when I have heard them out, I can kindly show them the door, and wish them well. They may come back to visit, and when they do, I will allow them to visit, but very firmly will not allow them to stay.
---
I saved this as a draft, because I wasn't quite ready to share these thoughts with everyone. I was not yet emotionally strong enough to stand up to judgement from anyone, but especially those closest to me. Two months on from writing the first part of this post, I can report that I feel...JOY. I feel alive again. I still feel all the emotions, but they don't consume me. My path through the valley includes medication, counselling (psychological, nutritional, and physiological), much prayer, mindfulness, and time. I'm not healed, and I believe that will take some time. For now, though - I feel as though I am waking from a very long sleep, and just noticing everything around me, with an intense delight and curiosity - "Has the sky always been so BLUE???" It feels marvellous to simply feel emotions without being afraid of them. I don't even know if that last bit makes sense, but I suppose to anyone who has experienced depression and anxiety, it would.
I am thankful for those of you who have been quietly supporting me as I work all this out. We're not meant to be alone, and I want you to know that it has meant a great deal that you would care for me in the ways that you have.
Signing off (because if I don't my children will have to go to school in pajamas!!) until next time,
Sarah
9 years ago, I was diagnosed with postnatal depression. I allowed others around me to convince me I was fine. That motherhood was hard, and that I was merely not being grateful or mindful of the joyful bits. That I needed to pray more, or that my faith in God was weak. To be honest, I resented being told that I was somehow not grateful. I couldn't communicate that I trusted God, but wondered why on earth he felt I was suited to motherhood. I couldn't communicate that while I loved my family, I hated my life. I couldn't communicate that I felt they would be better without me in the picture, if I were hospitalised or just somewhere else. I couldn't communicate how badly I seemed to be failing at everything.
Life went on. We had more children, more big changes. I was simply too busy to take on the burden of dealing with the uncomfortable emotions. So I threw myself into domesticity. Told myself that I simply needed to try harder, to work harder. To some extent, that worked. Until very recently, when it wasn't working at all, and I kind of fell apart. Until this year, I had at least one child at home, and having moved twice in as many years, I was so busy making sure everyone else was settled and happy, that I hadn't considered my own feelings. I had worked so hard to craft this "godly wife and mother" persona, that I stopped allowing myself to express any emotion other than contentment and happiness. Rather like Unikitty, from the Lego movie. I functioned like this for years. YEARS. I realised that all of those emotions were there, festering, and would come out in an ugly torrent when I became distressed. Basically, every single morning and every single evening with my precious children was tainted with anger and frustration. I felt incapable of enjoying my family at all. In short, I wanted to just go to heaven already, and be done with this silly world. It's a longing for eternity, really. It's the knowledge that this life, this earth - it isn't as it should be, and it's just so wretchedly painful, that I could no longer bear it.
Recognising that I need to be able to function on this side of eternity, and that I wasn't currently able to do so on my own strength, I went to see my doctor, and together we have a plan for becoming okay again. More than okay, according to her. So for now, I need to travel with the uncomfortable emotions, sit with them in the quiet, and allow them to have their say. Then, when I have heard them out, I can kindly show them the door, and wish them well. They may come back to visit, and when they do, I will allow them to visit, but very firmly will not allow them to stay.
---
I saved this as a draft, because I wasn't quite ready to share these thoughts with everyone. I was not yet emotionally strong enough to stand up to judgement from anyone, but especially those closest to me. Two months on from writing the first part of this post, I can report that I feel...JOY. I feel alive again. I still feel all the emotions, but they don't consume me. My path through the valley includes medication, counselling (psychological, nutritional, and physiological), much prayer, mindfulness, and time. I'm not healed, and I believe that will take some time. For now, though - I feel as though I am waking from a very long sleep, and just noticing everything around me, with an intense delight and curiosity - "Has the sky always been so BLUE???" It feels marvellous to simply feel emotions without being afraid of them. I don't even know if that last bit makes sense, but I suppose to anyone who has experienced depression and anxiety, it would.
I am thankful for those of you who have been quietly supporting me as I work all this out. We're not meant to be alone, and I want you to know that it has meant a great deal that you would care for me in the ways that you have.
Signing off (because if I don't my children will have to go to school in pajamas!!) until next time,
Sarah
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