And is all that’s lost, really lost at all?

^^ this is an excerpt from my personal journal. You’ll find I share these random tidbits. I stumbled across this entry that seemed to be some kind of poem I wrote a few months before things in my life started changing.

For anyone that has struggled with anxiety (for me specifically at this point, it was postpartum anxiety) you can probably understand the idea of the jumbled mess your brain feels. Like there’s a battle between your rational and irrational thoughts and you know somewhere in there is clarity, but it feels mostly like a total clusterfuck. The effort it takes to try and make sense of it is all consuming. For me, journaling was a way to alleviate some of the pressure that all of those thoughts put on my brain. Like by writing these things down it might someone help them leave my body and make a little more space for myself, even just temporarily.

At this point my life revolved around everyone but myself. I didn’t talk to my friends anymore, my husband and I didn’t really go on dates, I didn’t coach volleyball or go to work anymore. My hobbies were making birthday cakes for my kids and sewing Halloween costumes. I cleaned, cooked, kept up with the laundry, spent all day reading, playing with, and teaching my kids. And you know what? Overall, I got to where I was pretty good at handling all of it- despite juggling life with four tiny tyrants. My house stayed clean, we had homemade meals, I spent quality time with my family, but somehow it wasn’t enough. And ya know what else?… it made me feel GUILTY.

Why wasn’t this enough? What’s wrong with me? Am I that selfish and ungrateful?

I have a wonderful, hardworking husband who is also a super involved dad. I work hard every day and my job of being their mom is the most important in the world. Above all else, I wanted this! All my life I wanted a bunch of kids and to stay home. (in the words of Moana) WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

It was like I knew I could handle more. Like I knew I could still be a good mom and partner, but I could do more than just be good at those things. I would literally have thoughts like, “if I die tomorrow am I really only going to be known for being good at cleaning my house?” Then cue the guilty thoughts because if being a mom is all I ever do why isn’t that enough? Am I trying to seek approval from others? Why do I care about other people’s opinions of me? And cue the spiral of anxious thoughts right down the rabbit hole..