My mental health journey

As Mental Health awareness month comes to a close, I thought I would share a little bit about my mental health journey, and why it has led me to want to help other moms struggling “in the thick of it.” What I mean by that is when you lose yourself in all that is your life now as a mom. We all tend to do that in some way shape or form. Some, find our way back pretty easy. Whether you pick up where you left off, go back to the things that you love, or simply know who you are and step back into that light. Some, though, really struggle with figuring out who they are (🙋🏼‍♀️) and completely lose themselves in motherhood. That was me. 

Things happened throughout my life that shaped me into this person that honestly, hated herself. I mean, really, I did not like who I was, and it ate away at me every day. I can’t explain how I got there, but if you know what I mean, then you get it. When I became a mom, there were certain circumstances happening in my life at that time as well, and it took everything in me to not fall apart. Imagine, you just had a baby and your whole world flips upside down. I can still picture those days in my mind. The police station. The questioning. The bags of clothes. Me, my back sliding down the door of our basement, out of sight, sobbing uncontrollably. The yelling in the background. Yup, it’s still all there. It doesn’t hurt as bad because I have processed the Sh*t out of that in EMDR therapy, which saved me, but that’s another story for another day. These things take us and break us, and we decide how we come back from it. I didn’t fully break then, but the hate within me grew. The only way I could let myself come back from it was to strap a nice load of unrelenting guilt onto myself that weighed me down so much that it eventually did break me. 

Let me tell you real quick about my first born. God must have looked at me and said, “I’m going to send you my brightest star and she will bring you back from your broken heart.” He really must have, because that’s exactly what happened. She was so full of life and personality at such a young age. She always filled the room with laughter and her undeniable light that she just radiates every where she goes. She truly saved me from fully breaking, and she has no idea that it was her that kept me going. Her middle name is Starling, after my Grandmother. Everyone called my Grandmother Star. I felt it was fitting for my baby girl, as if she fell from the sky to light up our lives in such darkness. And, boy she did. 

Becoming her mom was such an honor to me, and I didn’t take that lightly. In fact, I took it so seriously that I kept adding to the luggage of guilt every time I felt that I wasn’t enough. “How could I bring a baby into this situation.” This awful and heartbreaking situation. It wasn’t her fault, and she is feeling the effects from it. I HATED myself for that, for years, and sometimes still do. Hate, guilt, anything else I can add on here? Maybe add in some, childhood trauma, generational curses, unspoken genetic mental health disorders, and a partridge in a pear tree? It was not fun. 😑

I started to spiral a bit, anxiety peaking and depression at my door. It was really hard but that’s when my first born was growing up and seeing her grow changed my life back then. She jumped in and pulled me out of my own torment. I was lucky at that time. Honestly, if I went down the way I did 3 years ago, I don’t know if I would’ve made it. 

The years went by and I moved on from that previous relationship. When my first born was 3, I started dating a guy that I was friends with, but always in love with. It was 6-7 years before he got his act together and realized I was made for loving him. But, that’s beside the point. He was everything I ever wanted, and I was so scared that he wouldn’t want to be a step-dad. But then one day he took her out on a zoo date, and sent me a picture of her on the carousel that was there, and I knew in that moment that he could fill those shoes. I became pregnant with my second baby while we were dating, and he knew before me, naturally typical guy notices your boobs are bigger. 😂 We went through some things with this pregnancy though. Bloodwork was off, they called me and told me our baby may have Down syndrome. It was a lot to take in. I ended up getting a chromosomal test done that showed the baby did not have it, and at only 15 weeks, we knew we were having a boy. We were so excited to have a baby together. Sometime into my pregnancy he had my first born little girl run up to me with a ring and said “daddy.. (she asked to call him daddy one day and I sobbed, he of course said yes) but back to the proposal.. she said “Daddy has a question for you” and handed me a ring box. I fell to my knees crying, so happy, he obviously thought I was going to say no 😆 I know, I’m dramatic but it makes life fun. I naturally said YES! 

We had our baby boy and that delivery was anything but normal. After only about 3-4 hours of labor, he was here and not really making much sound. They could tell he was struggling to breathe and I got to see him for a very short time before they rushed him off to the NICU. He was there for a week, developing his lungs. He was a colicky baby and cried nonstop,  the poor buddy. It was a difficult time in my life. A new baby, another child to care for, not sleeping, and trying to stay sane. I felt postpartum depression set in, and I was not myself. This time I was able to fight back and slowly bring myself out. My husband was always really good at knowing exactly what to do to pull me out. He was and is always my saving grace when my mental health starts declining. 

Fast forward to when my son was in Pre-K. We had an unimaginable family occurrence that shook us to our core. On the phone sobbing, falling to the floor, family members rushing over, kind of occurrence. That story isn’t my own to tell, though, so I will leave it at that. The guilt and the hate grew so much that it became so heavy to carry. I would lose my breath sometimes just thinking about how much I disliked myself. Things weren’t directly my fault but as a parent, you blame yourself for so many things. It becomes natural to carry that cross. Boy, was it heavy. 

To top things off at that time of my life when all of this was happening, I was pregnant with my third child. And, also planning a surprise wedding in the Outer banks, NC for Brian and I. It was chaotic. Though, carrying so much, I was able to hold it together. Then it was Covid and things were very different and difficult for our small family business. Life seemed so not real at that time. Mental health became a lot harder to manage, and people were really struggling. I think that’s where my fear really began; the fear of death and those around me dying. It was a fear I always had, but it felt more “within reach.” Like it was right there, staring at me, waiting for one of us to make the wrong move. I really struggled during the Covid years. However, it wasn’t until the vaccine started becoming available to people that I would go down. When I say down, I mean it was so bad that I wanted to end it all : to put it mildly and sugar coated a bit. 

The vaccine was being given at an old supermarket in our neighborhood, and I had signed up to go and get it. People around me were saying not to get it, others were saying to get it or you might die. It was a very confusing and divided time. The chairs in the waiting area for the vaccine were like sitting on rocks. It made the waiting process even more stressful. The scene was like I was on a movie set for a zombie outbreak. People were lined up, scared, waiting their turn for what they thought would be their saving grace from what was lurking in the air. It was too quiet, like no one wanted to even speak to each other because what if they had COVID and gave it to them? Everyone stayed in their own lane, six feet apart, barely making eye contact, and probably all thinking the same thing: “is this even real life right now?”

I got the vaccine that day in the old supermarket make shift health center, and felt indifferent about it. The next day, my MIL was leaving to go home from the Christmas holiday, and she was getting ready to go when I had the worst panic attack I’ve ever had. I couldn’t breathe AT ALL. It was so bad that she called my husband and he came rushing home. He was trying to get me to breathe slowly but I couldn’t. It took hours to calm down, and even still I felt like I was dying. I was having such a hard time breathing that I had to sleep sitting up, and had a vaporizer going next to my face. I was not myself anymore. It was pure panic. It was pure anxiety, not eating, not sleeping, and crying, lots of crying. I started taking huge amounts of melatonin to try and sleep but my body never relaxed enough to sleep. I was listening to sleep sounds and sleep exercises. I was trying anything to get some sleep. Nothing was working, so things went from bad to worse real quick. I truly believed I was dying. I drove myself to the hospital at 12am two days after my panic attack and waited to see someone in the ER. They took a X-ray and said I had slight pneumonia and gave me steroids and sent me on my way. I was so relieved thinking, “OMG I finally have a diagnosis as to what is happening.” I went home and tried to sleep, but still couldn’t relax. I remember I ended up going to get another chest X-ray, saw a pulmonologist, talked to my pcp and no one seemed to understand what was going on. I was freaking out. Finally, the pulmonologist said to me, “we’ve thrown the kitchen sink at you, and nothing is working. I think it’s time to see a psychiatrist.” I was slightly embarrassed at the time, but so thankful now looking back. Trying to see a psychiatrist at that time, probably due to the mental health crisis from COVID, was HARD. No one had any availability. I was waiting and waiting for a call back. All while my breathing was getting worse, and something in me snapped. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping, and my mental health was fading quickly. All I could do was lay on the couch. I gave up on myself. It was clear that I was in a mental health crisis. I remember one day pulling my phone out and typing out a text message to my mom saying,  “mom, my mental health is fading, and I need help,” I never sent that message. I was too ashamed. One day my husband came downstairs scooped me off the couch and helped me up the steps to the shower. He placed me in the shower and stood in there with me, clothes on and all. I was lifeless. He held my face up and said, “let it out.” I scream cried for 15 minutes. I never felt so sad, yet seen at the same time. He helped me put clothes on, and I could see on his face that he was hopeful at that moment; that I was ok now. I wasn’t, but GOD I tried to be. In that time frame I went to my sister’s house to hang out. I was blank. There was nothing there anymore. She saw it. She sobbed when I left, and called her husband frantically. He immediately texted me and said that he was going to help me. I was praying to God that she could tell I wasn’t ok when I was at her house. I couldn’t say it out loud. I was dying inside and I couldn’t accept that I needed so much help. Not too long after that, I thought to myself, “if this is normal life, I don’t want to live anymore.” I know. It’s a lot to take in, but this is real life and mental health is tip-toed around like it should never be spoken about. I’m here to change that. So, I’m telling you the truth. I wanted to die. I went from being so afraid to die, to wanting to just take my own life. That’s how mental health works. It progressively gets worse if you don’t take care of yourself. 

At that point, I was ready to accept any help. My family gathered at my house and we talked about options. I was ready to go, anywhere, any time. I needed help. I remember sitting in my kitchen listening to the fear in everyone’s voices. It was a moment I will never forget. My husband decided to take me to the hospital crisis center, and I cried the whole way there. From there, they transported me to a behavioral health hospital, where I would spend 3 weeks of my life, learning about mental health and how to cope with everything that takes it down. The people I met in there changed me forever and I am now grateful to have had that experience. I was quickly humbled and grateful for what I had. Life was still hard after those weeks. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t myself for 2 years. It was an ongoing battle for a long time. I finally met the psychiatrist I needed though, and started working with the therapist I needed. I started EMDR therapy and that saved me. It took my most painful memories and rewired a new emotion tied to it. The original emotions and feelings attached to that memory were gone, and that healed me in way I never knew I needed. I finally got on the right medication and boy was that a battle. Trying to find the right “cocktail” for your body is one of the hardest things I ever had to do, and I gave birth naturally once so that’s saying A LOT. It was an endless cycle of going on one, not working, coming off, trying another one, and so on. It was excruciating difficult. But then you find the right one and your whole world comes back. You are not so deep in it anymore, and can finally breathe. It took two years to get to that. I fought for my life for two years. I never typed that out and really thought about it until right now, but I’m so proud of me. So damn proud. 

I went from loving life, stressed, but doing good, to having a massive panic attack, spiraling downward, hating life, and wanting to take my life. That’s how quickly life can change. Mental health is a REAL THING, and needs to be taken seriously because when it’s not cared for, we can lose everything. So when I say, fill your cup; babe. I’m saying, take care of yourself. Do the things that make you happy. It is so important. 

If you are struggling. Please know that life is so worth while. Don’t give up. Keep fighting. I’m so beyond grateful that I did.

The pictures posted with this entry are from my days in the hospital. The card is from my husband. It was Valentine's Day when I was away, and he dropped off some of his hoodies sprayed with his cologne, and cards from our children and this one from him. Justin Beiber's song "ghost" was big at that moment, and I would always sing it. I sobbed like a baby when I opened that card and read those lyrics.

The second picture is of the collages (dream boards..if you will) made in the hospital to show the life I wanted and what I felt about my life at the moment. I still look at them to remind myself that life is always a work in progress; that life is ever changing, ever fleeting, and to take time each day to create the life I cut out and carefully glued together that day. In a time of brokenness, these dream boards gave me hope.

If you are struggling with what you want in life, I encourage you to make one. Hang it somewhere where you can see it every day, and time block a part of each day to achieve it.

Keep fighting, babe. I'm rooting for you. :)