Therapy.

Everyone has heard of and respectfully fears PPD and PPA, but perinatal depression and anxiety were a new term for me.

I didn’t need to have a label or check certain boxes to be able to say I hadn’t been coping well. I was very aware of that- which is what landed me in my first therapy session yesterday afternoon.

Therapy is something I’ve always been an advocate of. That is, for anyone but myself. Being the super reader nerd I am, I’ve read the books (Maybe You Should Talk to Somebody, What Happened to You, Good Morning, Monster- to name a few). I believe in the power of talking to a therapist and the transformative reflection that can arise from it. I’ve considered it, even when my mind was in a great place, and always said therapy is something everyone could benefit from, no matter their circumstance.

My circumstance came to a head when my chiropractor asked me, “How are you?” in the usual conversational way at my appointment last week. I don’t think he was prepared for the crying breakdown he got as a response.

I’m not well. I was humiliated but didn’t have the strength to hold it together on that day, in that moment.

I’ve been struggling to maintain “okay” practically this whole pregnancy. I don’t think I’ve once said “I’m good” or “I feel great” since November. The further along I get, the more difficult it’s becoming to exist each day and look to the future with anything other than fear and dread.

I sat down to write this three different times, typing and then deleting. I journaled and asked myself, why am I sharing this? This is deeply personal and not something a person would typically choose to shine a light on, but that’s exactly why I feel called to tell my story.

I want to shed the shame and embarrassment of struggling, normalize mental health battles, hold myself accountable for doing the work to feel better. I want to gift myself the opportunity to make someone else feel seen, lighter and validated because I know my struggle is not unique, but my willingness to be open is. By doing this, I hope for community and support for all of us.

For some reason, it’s easier for me to talk about this into the abyss of no one real person but every person at the same time. It weirdly feels more guarded for me.

But control is undoubtedly an issue I’ll be working through in therapy :)

I left my first therapy session feeling lighter, likely due to the number of tears I cried, than I have in months. Turns out the distance between knowing and doing is pretty fucking grand, and what a relief it is to have a third-party person mirror back what you already know deep down.

My anxiety manifests as a deep need for control. It is abundantly evident in the way I’ve parented and why this transition is eating me alive. It will be impossible for me to make it through the next few weeks, months, and years without being willing to ask for and accept the help I need.

I have love and support around me. I know that. I am realizing I’m the reason I’m not getting enough from it. I keep my burdens close and believe we all live our versions of hard. My hard shouldn’t inconvenience anyone else. My actions landed me in my position, and I own that. But I’m denying people who love me the opportunity to care for me in a way that suits their desires. I’m not capable of making anyone do anything for me, so when they offer, take it at face value and believe it’s coming from a place of love. Receiving help, in any form, is not an admission of failure or incapability. Humans were not meant to go through life alone.

But with all this said, I also need to flex my honesty muscle and have the confidence to say, “That’s not helpful” or “That doesn’t work for me,” when advice or offers are made that drain me as opposed to lift me up. My life is hard, and I don’t need to make it harder by people pleasing or placating others’ feelings. I am working on putting myself higher on my totem pole. This totem pole has a lot of important people on it, and if I’m not cognizant, I’m the first person to get dropped off. The mental reframing is if their offer comes from a place of love, then they’d be happy to know how to support me best and wouldn’t want to do something that adds more to my plate or makes me feel bad.

People don’t know how to help if I don’t tell them.

I think I’ve always been a person who deals with anxiety/control issues, and it shows up as anger and frustration when my ego is threatened. That’s a part of me, I believe; I understand well.

It’s the lows that have been more frightening and harder to bear. I find I don’t have the words, but they don’t appear as commonly, and I have faith in the process.

I went into therapy with an open mind but just a single appointment to get my feet wet. I left agreeing to weekly meetings until I have the twins. I got lucky by vibing with the first therapist I tried; I know that’s not everyone’s experience. I looked for a practice that specialized in moms. I know my situation is a niche one, but I needed that mother-to-mother understanding, and thankfully, I found it.

The good news is despite checking all the boxes for perinatal depression and anxiety, it doesn’t always translate into postpartum. She said sometimes the baby comes out, and hormones and your brain do their thing, and there’s nothing to worry about. But it also gives us a bigger heads-up to pay attention to my postpartum experience (as we should everyone).

I don’t have to suffer in silence and soldier on; neither does anyone else.

Let this be it if you are looking for a sign to do more for your mental health. My therapist looked me in the eyes and told me how much I matter and that doing the work on myself benefits all those around me. I believe her. And you matter, too.

P.S

This post is super disjointed, and the writer in me hates it. But the truth-teller in me is just happy to get it out. Thank you for reading.