I wanted to start off by thanking everyone for their kind words and support. So many people let me know they read and offered their support and help if I needed it. Even relatable stories and wisdom of "It gets better" are more help than you'll ever know. Someone even shared a song that lifted my spirits and has been on constant repeat on my playlist.
I think there may have been a small misunderstanding of sorts that I wanted to clarify though. I don't feel like I'm failing at being a parent. I'm a good mom. If there's anything I know - it's that. I love my daughter with everything that I am. That is actually, in fact, my problem. I want to be spending time with her and spending all of my time doing things for her and learning things about her and to help her that I can't seem to find time for anything else.
Parenthood isn't overwhleming to me.
Every other aspect of life is.
My mind can do nothing else but concentrate on her and things having to do with her.
Past, present, future.
She consumes me.
A majority of thoughts that run through my head during the day start with "What would happen if..."
I have problems trusting people with her. This isn't because I think they're irresponsible - but she might not be their main focus. Then what? What if they don't do things the way I do? So many times I hear people say "Oh, she's fine" or "She will be fine".
It's that "it won't happen to me" mentality that I don't have.
PTSD and trauma steals that oblivion from a person.
In my mind it can happen and in fact it probably will.
"No one else will love her like you do," my therapist says in response to my confession.
I nod.
It was my first therapy session this week so it was mainly a lot of fill in the blank, who is who, history type questions session. In between questions she would casually ask questions about my PPA/OCD.
"Do you have any trouble concentrating?" she asks.
I shake my head no but then I look up from my coffee cup.
"Well..." I start out. "Sometimes when I'm doing stuff I get easily distracted."
"Can you give me an example?" she asks as she begins to write.
"If I'm doing something like looking for a utensil in a drawer because I'm making something I will start to instead organize that drawer and then when I go to put something else away in a different place I end up organizing that area... does that count?" I'm unsure of myself.
"Anything else?" she asks.
She knows I'm not done. How does she know that?
"Yes," panic is starting to sit heavy in my chest now. "When I try to sit down to do work I have a million other things running through my head and even though someone else is usually watching the baby I feel a constant need to go in by them or I will remember that there are a pair of the baby's dirty pants laying on the floor from earlier that needs to get put away."
She stares for a few seconds before asking "So, then what?"
"I have to go put them in the wash bin before I continue what I was doing."
She nods. "And if you didn't?"
I stare blankly. "I don't know. I can't go on unless I do it. An hour of work turns 2 hours because I can't concentrate."
There it is. I said it.
Apparently, I can't concentrate.
I tell her about my constant fears.
I tell her how I fear death.
My death.
My husbands death.
How the death of my child would break me in ways that are irreparable.
How these thoughts are constant and unforgiving and never lessened or reassured.
She asks about my hobbies. What do I do in my spare time?
This leads into a conversation about the OCD part of my postpartum.
I have spare time in the evening when my husband comes home.
I spend it doing things for the baby.
Cleaning bottles.
Doing her laundry.
Filling diaper and wipe bins.
Organizing drawers.
Cleaning up toys.
Rearranging toys and bins.
Preparing diaper bags.
Do these bottles really look clean? Maybe they're not. I will rewash them.
I probably shouldn't sleep until the wash is done.
Maybe her toys got dirty from being on the floor. I should wipe them down.
Research about feeding cereal and solids.
Research baby led weaning.
Catch up on mom groups.
"Have you ever tried to go to bed before this stuff was all done?" she asks.
"Yes. I have," I say proudly. I leave the silence a dead weight hoping she goes on to the next question. I pray she doesn't ask a follow up.
"What happens?" she asks.
Damn it.
"I start to get ready for bed. I want to go to bed. I'm tired," I stop right there because I can no longer see her face through my tear filled eyes. I breathe in deep. "I can't. Whatever it is that needs to get done, it has to get done now. Before I go to sleep. Sometimes I make it into my bed but I lay awake and the thoughts clutter my brain and I end up getting up to go finish all the baby chores so that I can sleep soundly."
She nods.
"And during the day?" she asks.
"I try to do as much as I can. It takes all I can do to get a few things done while the baby is sleeping - which is not often or for very long. I feel really guilty if I'm not playing with her or sitting next to her while she plays so I don't get much done. She isn't always satisfied playing indoors so we try to go for lots of walks because she enjoys the scenery. She's crabby lately and doesn't like to be put down or to sit in one spot. It's hard to get things done with one hand. I'm working on trying to get a carrier that is easy to wear her on my hip with. Sometimes I get a meal made or accomplish a big feat and I feel really proud of myself, like I'm making progress slowly. We have a routine and I think it just takes time to get used to everything else."
In the last 5 minutes she asks about my emotional support system.
Do I have people to talk to that will listen?
Will they listen without judgement, offer emotional support?
I leave her office feeling worse than when I arrived.
Hearing all of those things confessed out loud made it all the more real to me.
My sister watches my daughter that day as I work a long day.
I get home and she has washed bottles and folded and put away the baby's laundry.
I'm grateful for her. I'm so very grateful for her help and how much she loves my daughter.
Just like my husband, she accomplished things throughout the day - while watching the baby.
Why can't I do that too?
Why is everything so overwhelming?
Why can't I just walk away from her and leave her to play?
Why does fear have to seep into everything I love and do?
I'm sick. I'm hurting the people I love.
I just want to be normal again.
