Parenting With Anxiety and Depression

“As your kids grow they may forget what you said, but won’t forget how you made them feel.” — Kevin Heath

Motherhood has been a wild ride so far. I’ve been faced with obstacles I had no idea existed. I searched for answers where only hopeful bits of information and “probably this,” stared me in the face. There were no absolute reasonings for anything. It was all shots in the dark and hoping for the best.

As I weathered the storms of tantrums and cleaned up the same mess for the 10th day in a row, I would need to close my eyes and breathe. Whether it was to find the strength or keep from having a panic attack.

Anxiety and depression while parenting is difficult, to say the least. There is a long list of misunderstood reasoning for your actions and a lot of “suck it up” responses to seemingly ridiculous excuses. These illnesses are “invisible” but very real. We break ourselves down and exhaust our brains with a reality we’ve concocted. It makes sense to us and is difficult to overcome daily — seemingly simple — tasks.

Anxiety

My anxiety is constant. I’m not sure where it started, but I’ve always been on edge and hypervigilant. It may have started when a girl I considered my best friend tried to get me in trouble with our teacher by saying I used swear words. Or when she made fun of the fact, I hadn’t yet started shaving in the 5th grade. This triggered my concern for what others were thinking about me because there was obvious talk about me while I wasn’t around.

It could have been brought on by my mother’s spiral into alcohol and opioid addiction. She would drive me around, drifting into other lanes, while her eyelids struggled to stay open. I’m that passenger who secretly presses on a nonexistent brake as we approach a stoplight. The one who lets out a short scream when we’re stuck in traffic, and someone swerves in front of us.

Perhaps it began earlier than I remember. Locked away from memory. Unable for me to deal with the full value of it.

Regardless of origin, I hold my breath far too often.

Anxiety in Motherhood

The anxiety surrounding motherhood began during pregnancy. When I first found out, to be specific. Suddenly, my entire world melted before my eyes.

I had just begun making progress at the company I worked for. My company acknowledged me for my hard work and dedication. Irreplaceable due to my level of skills within the company. I was working 45–50 hours a week. There was no way I could dedicate that much time to a career while raising a child. And, who knows what a babysitter would do to our child. I’ve read about lethal Benadryl doses given to babies to get them to sleep.

Our daughter arrived in the world screaming. I took a deep breath and tried to put on a “mom hat,” but it seemed that I did not possess one. Suddenly bombarded with advice, I was overwhelmed and insecure. My husband returned to work after using vacation days to help us get situated. The day he went back, I cried. How could I do this on my own? I never left my daughter’s side. What if she pulled a sheet over her head and suffocated?

My daughter soon developed colic. Now the feeling of failure punctured my heart. When a baby cried relentlessly for hours on end, even the calmest of parents will become upset. My husband’s frustration was directed towards me and what I was feeding her. I was breastfeeding, so it was something I was eating. I was so tired, I couldn’t remember. Failure mother, failure wife.

As she got older, the messes began. I would clean up mess after mess. All the toys would be put away only to be faced with a pile of books. I never lost it with my daughter, but I knew I had to keep a clean house. I felt so overwhelmed that other tasks fell at the wayside. Dishes would pile up, and laundry wouldn’t get folded. I would struggle to make it to the store for baby essentials because I worried my daughter would begin crying and non-stop.

Then, there were the nightly checks to make sure she hadn’t stopped breathing.

Depression

Depression comes in waves for me. It’s called cyclothymia. Similar to manic depression or bipolar disorder, only on a more mild scale. This doesn’t take away from the feeling of depression.

If a wave of depression hits me, all I want to do is lay down while the crushing feeling of depleted energy sets in. Nothing in my life seems to matter, and if I tried to do anything, my mind would tell me it’s useless.

Sleeping is my getaway during the darker times. I would shut the curtains and sleep until dusk to enjoy the quiet of nighttime.

Depression in Motherhood

I was never diagnosed with post-partum depression. I’m also not saying that I was evaluated.

For mothers, you know. Each wellness check-up your new baby has — typically monthly or more — there is a questionnaire given. You check off your little one’s accomplishments to make sure they are developing properly. Then, at the end of the baby questions, there are the mama questions. I checked off the “I feel fine” boxes, and the doctors were non-the-wiser.

For any new mama, please take this as a sign not to lie.

I hated myself as a new mother. The advice I was getting — all seemingly well-intended — sounded like judgmental statements about how I was doing as a mother. We used a pacifier because of colic, and I received questions that sounded like snide remarks regarding my decision of soothing solutions for my daughter.

I hated my body. I didn’t want to go anywhere because nothing fit anymore. Forget that I carried an almost 8-pound human in me and stretched different parts of my body. And, now that I was breastfeeding, my boobs didn’t look as cute as they once did. Outside was a scary world full of wrong decisions and staring eyes ready to rip me apart.

All I wanted to do was stay in my daughter’s room and spend time with her in the safety of my walls.

Then she got older. She wanted to go outside. She wanted to go to the park, the beach, the pool. Anywhere but inside.

Holding my head high

We do anything for our kids. We do our best to be the best of ourselves because they are a mirror of their parents.

I wanted to show my daughter the world. Not fear it.

Anxiously brave

Anxiety, for me, is like a little voice in my head telling me these horrible thoughts.

When I became a mother, these voices were louder. Telling me about all the people looking at me, judging me, and thinking comments to whisper to their friend. Reminding me of all the terrible things that could happen to my daughter.

I had to hold my head high and stand with conviction with every decision. This backfires once in a while as I spit defensive words back towards those who truly have well-intended statements to share with me.

Reminding myself that “it’s okay to be vigilant” while at the mall as the thought of someone ripping her from my grip and running away with her clouds my mind.

I consider the anxiety I have a blessing and a curse. I know that I will do the best I can to keep my daughter safe, and I will always be aware of my surroundings and where she is at all times.

Swimming through depression

Luckily, with depression inconsistent, I have the ability to be present — at least- 50% of the time. My daughter has a way of bringing me into the world to remind me of its beauty.

I used to be like her. Always outside and wanting to climb trees. Ride rollerblades with no helmet. Diving into mud puddles completely naked. I thank my daughter for pulling me into the sunlight to breathe fresh air at the park. Pulling her to the playground in a wagon and running next to her while she speeds around on her scooter.

Some days, I ask her if she wants to watch a movie and pick a yummy snack. She lays next to me — glancing every so often in giddy-happiness — while we eat popcorn and candy in bed.

It isn’t easy for everyone.

Parenthood isn’t always easy. There’s no manual, and pre-existing mental illness struggles — ones that were locked away — are brought to the surface with a vengeance. I made a promise to myself not to let my daughter down. To never bring her down with me. To be the best I can be for her and to be an example for her.

I’ve recently begun a gym routine and have shifted my diet to be healthier. In this aspect, I feel more in control and confident in my outer appearance. I’ve found ways to push through the darkness to be there with my daughter and to give her the love and attention she deserves.

I have a lot to learn, and I’ve come a long way.

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Previously Published on medium

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