(Un)Happy Mother’s Day Part 2

May 23, 2018

Got a chance to start again. I was born for this. It’s who I am, how could I forget? I made it through the darkest part of the night and now I see the sunrise. – Macklemore

Hello again. I know I haven’t written for a bit now; after my last post I needed a little break. Talking about my PPD in such raw terms is a very vulnerable and, frankly, scary thing for me to do- especially because it is still a current struggle for me. They say everyone loves a comeback story, but what if you’re still coming back? Can that be loved, too?

As I mentioned in my last post, there was no overnight cure once I started the antidepressant. It takes about 6 weeks for the medication to build up in your system enough to make any difference, so for quite a while nothing really changed except the fact that I knew I was working towards getting better. During this time, I continued to feel, well, nothing. I told my therapist I fluctuated between feeling comfortably and uncomfortably numb. She remarked how profound I was for saying that; little did she know I was just ripping of Pink Floyd lyrics.

I would say this period was hard, but the truth is I really don’t remember it. It breaks my heart to admit this, but from the time my son was about 3-9 months, my memory is just a black hole. It almost feels like my psyche was protecting me from myself. It’s devastating to have missed out on so much of my son’s early life, but I am grateful for all the photos I took. My lowest moment came when Fox, my parents, and my therapist all agreed my parents should take my daughter with them to Washington for a few weeks to give me a break. Even though I knew it was for the best, not being able to fulfill my role as a mother made me feel the worst.

Once the medications started to act in my body I started to feel more again. Unfortunately, it was mostly bad feelings at first and I found myself wishing I could be numb again. I remember having a disagreement with Fox one night and I started to tear up out of frustration; we stopped arguing, he held me close and told me it was nice to have me back again. I still mostly saw a stranger when I looked in the mirror, but at least I could catch glimpses of myself now and then.

As luck would have it, as I started to be numb less and less, life decided to throw me more and more. Through various circumstances unrelated to the depression, I was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with my job, but I stuck it out because we had reason to believe the Army might be moving us soon anyway. This move would mean Fox would have to do some extended training as well so we made plans for me to move back to Washington with the kids for a few months. As much as I hated the idea of breaking up our family, I couldn’t wait to live around a larger network of support. But Uncle Sam is a fickle ringmaster and all of that got canceled. The “break” I had been so hoping for was pulled right out from under me; I started to really backslide and spiral into a bad place again. In a fit of spontaneity-fueled-by-panic, I told Fox I needed a change and somehow convinced him we should move into a small apartment in a town further north. Subsequently, this made the commute to my work too far and I quit. I was desperate for a change and, if I couldn’t change myself, changing my surroundings was the next best thing.

And that brings me up to today. If you ask me how I’m feeling I’ll probably say I’m fine. But the truth is some days I’m good and some days I’m really not. Just last week I locked myself in the bathroom and sobbed. Fox came home from work to find me like this and I’ll just say it wasn’t my proudest moment. But the fact that days like this are the exception and not the standard anymore is indicative of my progress and I am proud of that. I am still on medication and I still go to therapy weekly (albeit with a different therapist who has been much more supportive and therapeutic). I don’t know how long I will stay on the meds or with a therapist, but I need them now and that’s okay.

In addition to becoming my best, I am attempting to restore what I lost while I was at my worst. When my mental health suffers so does my physical health; I am an emotional eater and let’s just say I ate a lot of emotions. And despite exercise being something that helps clear my head, I often couldn’t muster the energy or care to work out. I am now working to get healthy and look and feel my best. I’m also trying to better invest in the relationships that I neglected while I was in what Anne of Green Gables would call the depths of despair. At my core I am an introvert and when things become overwhelming I tend to withdraw from friends and family. So if I forgot your birthday or take 6 weeks to reply to your text, rest assured it’s not you- it’s me. I’m sorry. And beyond grateful to those who love me when I can’t love myself.

As I mentioned in the last post, I am not sharing this because it’s unique or special. I am sharing because I know I am not alone and I want to help others realize that, too. Depression, in all its forms, is nothing to feel guilt or shame about, although I’ll admit that’s easier said than done. I also want to impart that PPD doesn’t always look how we think it will, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I had a hard time accepting my diagnosis because I wasn’t crying every day and I didn’t have thoughts of wanting to hurt my kids. It also doesn’t always occur when we most expect it. Many women are prepared for an initial case of “baby blues” due to the hormonal drop you experience after you give birth, but did you know PPD can start at any point during the first post-partum year? We need to start doing a better job of checking in and asking moms how they’re really doing- and not just during the newborn phase. If you have any questions or personal experiences to add, I would love to hear them. Let’s talk and take care of each other.

We got this, mamas, even if it forever feels like we don’t.

The Reluctant Housewife

April 25, 2018

There’s nothing more gangster, nothing smarter, nothing more powerful than a housewife. Suckers work. Smart people find other people to work for them. – Chris Rock

Welp, it’s official. I am now a stay-at-home-parent parent (or STAHP as I like to refer to it, which also sums up how I feel about being one). At least for the next several months. Despite my best efforts (you can read about one failed attempt in my Not Fit for Duty post), I wasn’t able to get a job lined up within my very specific timeline. We even tried to find a nanny for while Fox is at training, but that didn’t pan out either. It seemed no matter what I did, it just wasn’t in the cards.

So, I am now writing this while watching soap operas and eating bonbons.

Hahaha. No. I will now continue to work just as hard as ever but without a paycheck, sick leave, or a designated break(down) room. Because moms are free, right?

Let me be clear: I know that being a STAHP is a privilege. I know there are countless people throughout the world who choose to sacrifice so they can stay home with their kids and love it. And I know there are countless more who would give anything to be able to do so. I do not take this luxury lightly. Unfortunately, though, it’s a luxury that doesn’t entirely fulfill me.

I adore my littles, but when I’m not working outside the home something feels like it’s missing. Maybe it’s the fact that I felt called to nursing long before I ever became a mom. Maybe it’s because working in an ER gives you these crazy, adrenaline high moments where you literally stare death in the face and get to say, “Nope. Not today. Not on my watch.” Maybe it’s the ungodly amount of money I spent on my degree and want to get as much return as I can. Or getting a chance to communicate with other like-minded individuals (ER nurses have a very special, twisted sense of humor you can’t find just anywhere). Or maybe I simply miss the paycheck. I can’t say what it is for sure, but I can say that I am a better person, wife, and mother when I am also able to be a nurse.

So, in truth I am scared. Scared of what these next few months will look like. Scared that those months could turn into something more long-term. And ultimately scared of who I become when such a defining aspect of who I am is removed.

I have learned from my past experiences during maternity leaves that having one parent working and the other not can cause a real sense of imbalance in the relationship. Now, to his credit, Fox has never put me down for not working and always shown appreciation for what I do with the kids. He has also shown an ability to shoulder the weight of being the sole breadwinner. But… that hasn’t stopped me from utterly resenting him. As nice as it is to stay warm under our covers when he gets up at 6am, I know my “alarms” will be going off soon enough and with so much more voracity than his. It’s hard for me to look past the fact that he gets to have a family and a career, while I watch his family so he can keep his career. See the imbalance?

STAHP-ing also brings my feminism to her full-strength. And that’s not a bad thing. But it is a lot of energy floating around with no clear place to channel it. Like how do you smash the patriarchy when you also rely on the patriarchy to pay your mortgage? In many ways I feel as though I am letting down the millions who fought before me for women to be allowed, recognized, and valued in the workplace. How would my own grandma, who wanted to be a nurse as a young woman but had to care for and raise 8 children (and frankly a husband or two) before she finally got a chance to go to nursing school in her 50’s, react to what I am doing now? And, yes, I know I am being dramatic about this. But I told you- not working brings out my strongest feelings.

So, where does this leave me? Besides on the couch with those bonbons, of course. Well, I am going to try my damnedest to embrace it. To be the best mother-effing mother you ever saw. I’m going to funnel my energy into the things that were hard to squeeze in while working full-time. I’m going to bake crap. I’m going to take my kids on educational adventures that they’ll never remember. I’m going to take pictures of those soon-to-be-forgotten educational adventures and arrange them into quaint photo albums to prove we actually left the house some days. I’m going to make nutritious, well-rounded meals (like, for sure, they’ll still be eating dino-nuggets, but I’ll give them a cucumber or something on the side). And I’m going to continue to write in hopes of finding my voice. Even if no one’s listening to me. And, believe me, in my house- no one ever is.

Not Fit for Duty

April 19, 2018

If the Army wanted you to have a wife, they would’ve issued you one.

If you’ve been a military spouse for more than 8 minutes, you’ve heard the above quote. I don’t know who said it first (likely a grumpy, old bachelor), but I can say with certainty it rings loud and clear. My go-to response has always been, “Yeah, too bad they can’t afford me.” Which is true and fine with me so long as I can work to make up for the things (material and immaterial) the Army can’t give me. For the most part, my little plan to be a full-time nurse and full-time army wife works okay. For the most part…

A little background: about 2 months ago I quit my job working in an ER at a large hospital south of where I lived. My husband, Fox (name changed to protect his innocence) and I were moving further north and the commute was just becoming too much. I took about a month “off” to sort, sell, donate, pack and move all our earthly possessions from one home to the next. Mostly by myself. With two small children who were more than happy to unpack as I packed. NBD.

Conceited though it may sound, I really wasn’t too worried about getting a new job. Nurses are always in demand, right? Right. Except that I apparently forgot that I am a military spouse, which adds about 168 additional hurdles to finding employment. Case in point: Fox is scheduled to go away for some extended training this summer which means I’ll be playing the single parent game for a while (is it even possible to win at that game?). And unfortunately, our childcare arrangement does not allow me to work the 12-hour shifts to which I am accustomed without a second parent around. So, my only options are to either find a short-term contract job that I can start and finish by the time Fox leaves or take a job with shorter shifts. Both of which can be incredibly difficult to find on such a short notice.

Long story short, I have been working with recruiters and sending out applications like someone whose unemployment is about to run out. And I’ve been offered several jobs. Good jobs. Like Johns Hopkins good. But due to my scheduling constraints I have had to turn them all down. Which for a career-driven lady like myself is hard. I am a better person, wife, and mother when I am also able to be a nurse. I put much of my identity into my job and not having one feels like I’ve lost a part of my self and purpose. And that’s not even getting into the resentment towards Fox’s career steamrolling mine. *Deep breath* But that’s a topic for another day. For now, I will let the conversation I had this morning sum up my thoughts and frustrations…

*Representative for Army hospital on the base where Fox works*: “We have a position we would love for you to fill. Do you have any restrictions we should know about?”

Me: Well, my husband is active duty and is being sent away for mandatory training this summer. I can work any time you need me between now and then, but once he’s gone I can only work 8-hour shifts.

Rep: Oh, wow, ok. That’s tough.

Me: Yeah…

Rep: Do you know if he will have to go to any more trainings in the future?

Me: Well, it’s the Army so…

Rep: *laughs nervously*

Me: But he’s not scheduled for any more at this time.

Rep: But that could change?

Me: It’s the Army. It could always change.

Rep: Yeah, I’m sorry, but I just think that situation is going to be too complicated.

Me: You’re telling me.

I mean, when the Army tells you that the Army is making your life too difficult to manage, where do you even go from there? The Navy? No, I have Navy spouse friends and life isn’t any easier for them.

The truth is spouses, simply in our existence, are an inconvenience to the military. Sometimes it’s subtle and others it’s painfully overt, but the feeling that you don’t really belong is always there. It’s something military spouses have been battling since, well, battling began. I myself have been fighting against it for the past 12 years (8 married plus 4 dating) and, because Fox only joined one year before he met me, I will continue for at least another seven. I won’t lie: it is daunting and I sometimes curse my former self for encouraging him to make this his (sorry, our) career. To be honest, I don’t know if it’s worth it or not. But I do know Fox is worth it. And so we will continue to fight together to find where I fit in this unwelcoming home.