SuperMom's Wave White Flags

SuperMom's wave white flags 

Sometimes, my 3 year old calls herself a superhero. One time recently she asked, "Mom, can you help me fly today?" To which I replied, "Let's eat breakfast first." I pick up this blog. Then doubts creep in and I stop writing. I started writing about lifestyle as I was inspired by the book, Giada'sFeelGoodFood. I didn't know how to feel good at all at the time. I wanted to feel good period. I felt like I was trying so hard and coming up empty. I was calling my husband because I could barely make it through the day. My tank was empty and living a lifestyle described in the book of clean eating, manicuring, and socializing seemed unattainable. I got bitter and then I fell harder down a rabbit hold of depression. 

Asking for help was the bravest thing I ever did. I started slowly by making an appointment with my family doctor and balling my eyes out, but it felt so empowering. Then I started lacing up my tennis shoes because I knew when my doctor prescribed thirty minutes of walking a day that it could help me. I also looked at the warning signs - red flags - people waved at me. My nurse friend said my Mom experience was not normal and that it was more postpartum depression sounding. That scared me. I thought that postpartum depression was when you can't take care of your children at all sit in a room away from them and cry, but that wasn't the case here. I took care of all basic needs and doted on them, but then the simplest things would completely exhaust me. It felt like I was taking care of a 3 year old and a 1 year old with an elephant stomping on me. The fatigue was unreal. My concentration shaky. Experiencing depression as a Mom of two looks so different than when I experienced it as 15 year old (wearing black, listening to Pearl Jam, and being moody). I grew up, minored in psychology, and learned how to mask things better in a socially acceptable way. I hardly ever wear black. I smile a lot. 

One red flag was my lack of self-care. I blamed motherhood, but it was an excuse. Was my self-care lacking because I was still in the postpartum phase of pony tail/showermaybe/uglyclothes and my baby was over one year. Check. Was I crying a lot and flying off the handle with any extra stress? Check. Was I having tons of anxiety about my baby becoming a toddler and walking. Check. Was I having trouble eating and calling scraps left on a highchair, floor, or carseat my meals. Check. Were things getting out of control to the point where I could not handle simple life tasks? Check. 

Finally, when I'd had enough of my pain, I asked for help and then I kept asking until I got the help I needed. I got loud. I needed help, so I had to get loud. I'm feeling better. I wanted to put this out here if you are in your journey to wellness and think cutting your hair, clean eating, or learning to garden will dig you out of a pit. If you think you'll just survive while your kids are young and then when they're in school you'll concentrate on you? Can you even remember what you enjoyed doing for activities/hobbies prior to having children? You need real professional help, family, and friend support. Put out the white flag -- don't sink anymore - and call anyone that has every encouraged you in the past to lean on them. I can't believe I let an illness rob me of so much joy the last year because I was seeing things so differently. I've learned so much about God's grace and this is what I found myself write on a scrap piece of paper: 

As I get better, I feel like maybe I'm a fortunate one

I'm coming up for air, finally 
plugging into the world again. Recharged. 

Did I just see geese flying in a V out my window?
What else did I miss?

Was everything always so vibrant and it just seemed so gray for so long that I forgot?

My children - right here underfoot- baby dolls I get to tickle, hold, and love. 

At 9 years old, I wanted to be Supergirl. I would tuck towels in my shirt, run, and jump in the blazing hot Texas sun. I was convinced that one day it would happen. I would fly. I can be strong headed like that. There is something about finally being honest with my struggles that feels like I'm fearlessly flying.