I remember my first time.
π πΈπ’π΄ π΄πΈπ¦π’π΅πΊ. π πΈπ’π΄ π―π¦π³π·π°πΆπ΄.
I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and had never felt more lost and confused in my entire life.
Ohβoh! Wait! No, no, no. Not THAT first time.
The first time I truly experienced anxiety in motherhood.
I was completely naΓ―ve. I thought that I had come out of my pregnancy, labor, and delivery unscathed. I didnβt feel invincible, by any means, but I thought maybe, juuuuust maybe, postpartum anxiety wouldn't come knocking at my door.
π π°ππ¬ π¬π¨ π°π«π¨π§π .
The idea of leaving the house with a newborn always made me feel uneasy, as there were so many things that I thought could go wrong. Iβd ask myself a million questionsββwhat ifsβ, reallyβof what could happen when we were out. What if I got into a car accident? What if the baby falls asleep in his car seat and his airway gets blocked? What if a blanket, that is buried in my trunk, miraculously becomes unburied and falls over the babyβs face and he suffocates?
Some of these thoughts, I knew in my head, were completely asinine. The blanket thing literally could never physically happen. However, I could feel that powerful monster of anxiety slowly taking hold of me; its hands squeezing tighter and tighter around my throat.
Every single time I would muster up the courage to get everyone ready, have the diaper bag all packed, and load everyone and everything into the car, I would find myself just sitting in my driveway for what felt like hours, until I found myself unloading everyone and everything from the car. I would hate myself for not being brave enough to face my fears.
No matter how many times I would get told that everything would be okay and that I was strong enough to handle this, this small voice in the back of my head made me feel worthless and weak.
The small voice would just get louder and louder, until it was screaming directly into my face.
π π°πΆ π΄πΆπ€π¬.
π π°πΆ π€π’π―'π΅ π₯π° π΅π©πͺπ΄.
π π°πΆπ³ π£π’π£πΊ π₯π¦π΄π¦π³π·π¦π΄ π£π¦π΅π΅π¦π³ π΅π©π’π― πΊπ°πΆ.
I would try to shut it out. I would try to shut that voice out so, so hard, but it was like a weight that was pressing down on me. I felt like I couldnβt breathe.
Maybe it was right. Maybe I couldnβt do this?
So, I continued to sit home with my baby, where we would be safe. I imagined that our house was a bubble, protecting us from any harm that the outside world could inflict on us. I didnβt have to get in a car. I didnβt have to go into any store. I didnβt have to interact with people. We could just sit inside, I could hold him close, and we would be okay.
But, I didnβt π πππ okay. I knew this situation was wrong in every single way possible.
I knew I was stronger than this and I knew I had to overcome this.
One day, it was time.
I went through the same routine. I loaded the baby into the car seat, packed the diaper bag with an insane amount of diapers (that would take me months to go through, probably), wipes, baby food, toys, etc. I packed things in that diaper bag that the baby probably wouldn't even use for another six months, but I wanted to be EXTRA prepared.
I loaded everyone and everything into the car and there we were, sitting in the driveway again. I kept looking in the rearview mirror to make sure that blanket wasnβt peeking at us from the trunk.
It wasn't.
I sat and sat until finally, I put the car in reverse. I started to back down the driveway until I was on the street.
I turned the wheel and put the car in drive.
I felt the hum of the engine beneath me and as my foot slowly pressed down on the accelerator and we pressed forward, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, and I knew it was that anxiety leaving my body. That grip around my neck began to loosen.
I realized that I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing exactly what I was meant to do.
And in that moment, I knew I would be okay. We would be okay.
This post was originally published on the author's Facebook page.
Art by Amanda Oleander Art
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