Self-Reflection Sundays: Jesus & Therapy (Post-Partum)

I was blessed to be able to celebrate turning 35 this past Wednesday! Here I was starting a new chapter, and the next day was the start of a new month. For some reason, I felt a sadness start to creep in and I can't even give a viable reason for why it happened. Thursday was a busy day that took a toll on me emotionally. It started out with anxiety and progressed quickly to irritability. That morning, I took my infant to the doctor for his two-month checkup. At the appointment, I was given a form to fill out which asked questions about my mental health since having the baby. I answered honestly about my feelings and the doctor consequently asked me if I'd thought about talking to a counselor or therapist. I definitely have. Not even because of having a baby, but just because of life. I had seen therapists/psychiatrists before including in college and even while working as a teacher. In recent years, I hadn't made it a priority although it could have been beneficial. My husband and I have mentioned it in previous conversations but I still never actively looked into it. Now that I was a stay-at-home mom with an infant and a toddler, I definitely would like to go for it. But I have a supportive husband and Jesus. Wasn't that enough?

Earlier that morning, my husband told me to stand up. He said put your hands on your hips and look up. He wanted me to repeat after him saying "I am superwoman". I couldn't buy into the activity completely, even though I wanted to accept the compliment. My mind kept telling me that I was not superwoman, I'm not doing a good job. But the truth is, I am superwoman. Not because I'm getting it all done, but because what I accomplish is needed and helpful and what I don't get done doesn't take away from the love that I give my family. Even superwoman has a weakness (I think so anyway. I know superman has kryptonite). The point is that the title of superwoman didn't mean that I was perfect. It simply meant that I was perfectly me. My husband sees and appreciates me. He sees what I do, he loves and supports me and wants me to be the best me that I can be. Even with all his encouragement, I still felt inadequate and sad.

Later that day, I went to Subway for lunch and the song "You Say" by Lauren Daigle was playing. Oh cool, I knew that song. I started to hum as I watched the worker make the salads for my husband and me. I then left and went to Dollar General and the same song came on while I was in there. Okay God, I hear you. I am strong even when I think I'm weak. I believe it, but what happens when I don't feel it?

Much of my reservations of going to therapy have to do with having the time to actually see someone. I'm aware that I can schedule sessions as frequently or as seldom as necessary, and that they probably would be virtual due to the pandemic. Seems convenient! But any session would mean planning to be "free" ahead of time and I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to commit to carving out that time while taking care of the babies. Isn't that weird? I mean in retrospect, I would be taking care of the babies by taking care of myself. I believe in therapy but I still have the feeling that me admitting that I need help is somehow admitting that I was failing at being a mom; that somehow I was unappreciative of the fact that I had a loving, supportive husband, that somehow I was insufficient and too incompetent to complete the tasks that every other person who signed up for the job was able to do. I mean, they're able to do all the mommying, take care of all the housewife duties, and still show up for things outside of the house. I was mulling over the fact that on top of everything happening inside my head that day, I still had two other commitments later that evening. I should have been able to handle all of it, but honestly, I was drained.

I know I am a great mommy because I show up and I love with everything in me. Even on days when I want to drive away for 15 minutes to an empty parking lot to scream or cry, when I want my toddler to wake up and fix breakfast for himself and the baby so I can sleep the whole day, when I feel sad for no apparent reason, I am still the best. I recognize that my feelings are real and valid but they don't define me and they don't lessen the effect of the help and love that I'm given from others. Sometimes it takes someone else to help me put it all in perspective (maybe even give a diagnosis). I guess I have some research to do and an appointment to make...