My journal entry from February 2, 2011
Written first-thing in the morning:
Affirmation of the day: I AM CAPABLE.
Today, I am staying home from the partial-hospitalization program to be with Emmy. My therapist suggested this so I can put my coping skills (and everything I’ve learned) to use. Then tomorrow, I can talk about it in group therapy.
I am feeling confident that this day will go well. I know what I need to do, and I can do it. I will persevere!
Written later that same day: I am feeling discouraged right now. 3-4pm seems to be the time of day that gets me down. It’s really frustrating. Right now, I feel like, “How can I do this everyday? Is this really my life? When will it all be over?” I know I’m not supposed to project predicaments into the future because I’m going to feel different then, than I do now, but I can’t help it. I don’t know what I need.
I was doing so well this morning.
Now I feel very discouraged and incapable.
It scares me because it’s not who I really am.
It doesn’t make any sense.
My dream was to be a stay-at-home-mom.
So why is this happening to me?
Why am I so miserable?
This isn’t supposed to happen to me.
I feel like I’m being punished.
– – – –
The latter is just an example of how mixed up my emotions could be. I felt like this e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y. for months. I’d wake up chipper and confident, then throughout the day I’d feel like my world was crumbling apart and I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Over and over… again and again. It. Was. Exhausting!
I recently ran my first 5K. It’s the most I’ve ever ran my entire life. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to give up and walk. But I promised myself from the beginning that walking was not an option
. I was going to run the whole damn thing!
The race wasn’t a straight line. No, it would be too easy if you could see the finish line. Instead, the race took me through neighborhoods, downtown offices, and a lake–turning and swerving all the way. [Just ask my poor unsuspecting collar bone who got a nice jab from the elbow of a 6’5” man.]
& just like the race, Postpartum Depression took me through numerous turns and swerves. As soon as I was confident that my triumph was finally coming to an end, BAM! another curve would pop up.
Damnit… it’s not over yet.
Okay, just a little bit more….
You can do it.
Just keep breathing.
You’ll get there.
Don’t let yourself down.
I imagined my husband in the sea of cheering people, running alongside me, shouting encouraging words: You can do it, Katie. You’re doing great, Sweetheart. You’re almost there. Just a little bit longer. Look! You can see the finish flags!
My husband was my #1 supporter and encourager during the toughest stretch of my life. Not a day went by where he didn’t tell me he believed in me–that I’m a wonderful mother. I was surrounded by many people who told me it would get better. And just like the race had to come to an end at some point, so did my postpartum depression.
I just had to keep moving, believing, and persevering.