Three

I’m on 3 different psychotropic medications.

Three.

When I told my primary care physician that I was feeling down and unmotivated, she suggested it was surely just my ADHD having a hard time “getting back into the swing of things” after having a baby.

-Enter Psychotropic #1-

About 6 months later, I struggled with the will to live… every.single.day. No matter what I did - and believe me I tried it all - I wanted to die.

-Enter Psychotropic #2-

8 months after that, the depression felt controlled, but my hallucinations had gotten so out of control they were interrupting my perception of reality, causing panic attacks and getting in the way of day to day activities.

-Enter stage left, Psychotropic #3-

Three is a cool number though, right?

Its how many strikes a pitcher must get for an out. Its the number of outs each team gets in an inning.  

Its usually how many games of rock, paper, scissors my husband and I play to decide who has to change a poopy diaper.

I have 3 pets.

I have 3 sisters.

Most of my workouts are in sets of 3.

Lithium is the 3rd element on the periodic table. Did you know that? Lithium is also, a psychotropic drug. (not one that I am on, for the record)

Christianity is based on the Holy 3 – The God, The Son, The Holy Spirit.

October 3rd is Mean Girls day, I’m pretty sure…

3’s not so bad??

…… no???

Here’s the thing, I hate taking medicine.

It took months and near death or major loss for me to be okay with any of my prescriptions.

But I am doing it. For my husband. For my son. For myself. I’ll take my meds.

Hmph, look at that, 3 reasons….

I don’t want it to be this way forever.

Even typing that made my eyes water.

One by one, I’ll ween off of each one when I’m ready.

I can’t wait til I “feel ready”. When I can handle life on my God-given strength alone.

I’ll get there. I just need a lil help for now.

We’ll celebrate… with a big funfetti cake and in cursive, blue icing it’ll read, “you did it”

….another 3.

today, i took a shower.

I found the following entry in my journal, from a little over a year ago…

The girl who wrote this was trying so badly to find light in her dark. She carried the weight of a sinking depression and hid it almost TOO well.

I wish I could tell her how well she was doing, how cool that lil 4 month old would be in a year. I wouldn’t tell her that this was the beginning of his sleeplessness that lasted another 9 months. But mostly, I wish I could tell her how she overcame this, and I wish I could tell her that she WILL make it out alive.

“June 3rd, 2020

Today, my teething, sleepless 4-month-old fell asleep in his walker. I took pictures of the cuteness and picked him up, fully expecting this to jolt him awake as normally any mundane sound does.

He stayed asleep.

I took him into his bedroom, turned on the sound machine and laid him in his crib. I expected his eyes to flutter open and to hear him start his rebuttal.

He stayed asleep.

I walked away and shut the door behind me. I stood in silence, waiting for his final “got cha” moment.

He stayed asleep.

Immediately I thought about every little thing I needed to do to make this the most of this unexpected nap.

I could finish up my homework for my master’s program. I could wrap up the work project I had been working on for a few days (mostly in the early morning hours when the baby would fall back asleep at 4 am and I knew I was clear until my husband left for work at 6:30). I could finish our taxes. I could make that call I’d put off for a few weeks… or a month, I’m not quite sure at this point. I could do the dishes. I could fold the laundry. I could strip the beds and wash the sheets. I could start prepping dinner.

The list kept going.

I looked at the monitor, he was OUT. None of those things, not today.

Today, I took a shower.

I washed my face, like really washed it, not just quickly taking my make up off or rubbing soap on it hurriedly while my conditioner soaked.

I took the time to find my good face wash, my circular brush, and I washed my face.

I washed my hair, I even ran a deep conditioner in and shaved my legs while it “settled”

I glanced at the monitor; he was still asleep.

I sat down and let the water run over my face, something I haven’t done since my pregnancy. I started to cry.

To be honest, I was surprised it took me so long. Teething has done a number on my normally restful, right on schedule, happy baby. He hasn’t slept in a few days. He has screamed most of the day. He has refused my nipple, a bottle, and a spoon feed… except for at 1 am, or 3 am, he seems to be okay eating then.

I sunk into the water.

Up until now, today I felt like I lost. Just like the day before. Defeated by noon, once again. I was tired, I was angry, I was overwhelmed, I was easily flustered-with my work, with my son, with my husband, even my dang dogs had sent me over the edge.

And then, I took a shower.

Today, I took a shower. Because I wanted to, not because the baby needed to, or because I hadn’t in a while, or because I got pooped on, or whatever else.

Today I showered, for me. Something routine I used to take for granted truly felt like a gift.

Today, I took a shower. I learned that self-care is not just ‘self’-care when so many are depending on you.

Today, taking a shower was the best thing I could do for my son. It was the best thing I could do for my marriage. It bettered my family, it refreshed my mind, it restarted my day.

I am levelheaded, I am rested, I am restored.

Today, I took a shower.”

the beginning

Let’s start from the beginning. As in, my very first primitive blog post on instagram….

(see instagram for all post prior to publishing the website in july 2021, y’all know I don’t have it together enough to go back that far)

At 3 months post partum I started to feel an overwhelming amount of guilt. The pressures of everyday life were to much to bear, and the main thing that pulled me through were the moments I got to breastfeed my son.

I slowly started recognizing how bad things were getting. It hurt to get out of bed. It hurt to think about all the things that needed to get done. I was constantly putting pressure on my self to “be productive”. That’s when the ~thoughts~ started.

It started off as “if I didn’t exist, x wouldn’t be a problem” or “They deserve someone better, who can handle this”

It slowly developed to “I could drive into to headlights”, “It would look like an accident”, “they would be better off if i were dead”

A sweet boy with a sweeter smile who was attached to my hip (well, my boob), was my constant reminder of the little life who depended on me, and I would absolutely never put him in harms way. Every moment with him saved my life, day after day.

And then it was time for him to start daycare so I could work. That’s when panic set in. I was afraid to drive. Afraid to be by myself. Afraid I would do something impulsive. That’s when I was sure this was bigger than me and I could no longer manage it on my own and I started seeking help.

The day I sought help, I became a better wife, a better mom, and a better me

Seeking help changed my life, but it didn’t put an end to my problems. It really was just the beginning of my journey