Shadow self.

I understand why she did it. 

That is the only thought running through my head in the shower tonight as I tried to force what was left in my travel size body wash onto my loofah.

I understand why she did it.

This is often the only thought I can clearly identify on a near nightly basis for the last month.
When my mind has reached that point I can usually follow up with an explanation and it's normally the same answer: because she lost who she was.

Maybe she lost who she was. Maybe it was just a matter of no one telling her that she had just simply morphed into someone else... but it really isn't that easy to accept.
Motherhood strips you of who you are. At least for a little while it does. You double the amount of people you're responsible for and somehow you are at the bottom of the list.
Sometimes it's harder for some people... and with that comes shame and fear. Fear that if I tell you that I have a postpartum mental health disorder you might think I'm an unfit mom. I might make you uncomfortable. You might not know what to say.

We need to learn to celebrate and acknowledge the people we become when motherhood is added to the ever-growing list of things we juggle.

When I first heard of Sasha's passing I told myself that would never be me. I cried for her babies. I wanted to pretend that I didn't understand. The more I learned about Sasha, the more she sounded exactly like the things that people would say to describe me. That scared me even more.

I could be her.
That could be me. No, that could never be me.
And then, within a week, I had a moment of clarity in which I understood her.

That's what I'm thinking about as I'm showering at 7:30pm as my daughter lays outside of my bedroom door crying for me. That's what I'm thinking at 9pm when my husband and daughter are asleep and I realize that my son has blown out of his diaper onto the pjs I just dressed him in and on my own freshly changed clothes. That's what I am thinking when I type this next to a kicking, cooing, wide awake baby.

Is motherhood shameful?
Because that's what it feels like.
Sometimes it feels like punishment.
I happily live sleep and breathe my children but at the end of the day I'm not entirely sure what it is that leads me to identify and sympathize with Sasha Hettich.

Maybe like me, she felt really lost.
And felt really alone.
And overwhelmed.
And under-appreciated.
And she felt like no one noticed all the things that mattered.
Like she didn't matter.
Like being here was far more frightening than feeling like this for the rest of her life.
Of being afraid for her children.
For what the world would do to them.
For what she would contribute to who they become.
Failing them.

Two under two has very quickly forced me into the realization that any type of career or work outside the home is nearly impossible unless I am ok with giving my entire paycheck over to a daycare provider and essentially pay them to raise and make memories with my babies. At the end of any day I knew that I wouldn't want to take my last breath and think to myself "Why couldn't I have worked more and spent less time watching my children grow up?"

So, I succumbed to the fact that I would need to temporarily be at home with the kids instead of continuing to follow my own path.
My own path... or maybe the path I was on that led me here.
Maybe they are my path?
Maybe I'm here for them?
Maybe my purpose in life was create them and allow them to grow into the people the world needs them to be.

I used to be human.
I used to be someone who contributed to society in a way that society is willing to recognize.
I used to be able to answer the allusive question of What do you do? with an answer that I was proud of because it gave some illusion that I "was somebody". The truth is that I'm now more important than I had ever been.
What do I do?
I work 24/7.
I nourish my baby with my own body.
I do everything humanly possible to make sure my kids are happy and healthy and thriving.
Learning and growing and safe.

But on the other hand my children dictate everything I do or don't do even down to the clothes I can wear. Taking care of them 24/7 leaves me in a struggle with my travel size soap at 7:30pm trying to figure out how to become someone recognizable.

That's how I end up here every night.
Sitting in my own head.
Sometimes honestly wondering if I am still alive or if I'm in some strange purgatory where I only think I'm alive and contributing to the world. Maybe when we die, life just goes on and we think we are part of it.

I'm overwhelmed.
But tomorrow is a new day and in the morning I will sing song good morning to my daughter with my son tucked underneath my arm as I let light through her window. And she will smile and say "momma!" in the sweetest voice I've ever heard.

It's not my children I'm afraid of.
It's the rest of the world.

Sasha, I'm sorry if you felt like you weren't human.
You weren't.
You were fucking super human. And you deserved to feel that way.