Surprised By My Own Capacity
When I was pregnant, I’d often fall into a pool of anxiety, thinking about how life would change when we had our baby. This felt confusing; we had spent years and thousands of dollars on fertility treatments, so the fact that anxiety was the chief emotion was hard to understand. Yet I was riddled with insecurity. Every night, I’d think about how the only thing that would wake me up between then and dawn was my own bladder, but in a few short weeks my sleep would be subject to the whims of an eight-pound supervisor. I constantly second-guessed my own abilities and wondered if I’d ever be able to truly handle the demands of parenting. It sounds dramatic now as I type it. But the fears were big. It felt like a challenge that I desperately wanted but also felt desperately unprepared for. Parenthood was barreling in my direction, and it had the potential to completely overwhelm me.
And it totally did.
Postpartum and early parenthood was an incredibly difficult time for us. Despite faithfully attending all the hippy-dippy birthing classes, I wound up with a failed induction and a semi-emergency c-section, during which I lost a lot of blood and dissociated. It took me awhile to acknowledge that I had experienced a traumatic birth, because neither me nor my baby were in actual imminent danger. However, as I processed it later, that didn’t matter - the most primal part of my brain thought I was dying, and sent the strongest ALERT ALERT ALERT signal to my body, telling me to run or fight, which of course you can’t do when paralyzed with an epidural. So, I did the only thing left - I froze. When experiencing a traumatic event, dissociation often results in some of the poorest outcomes because it represents a feeling of complete powerlessness. And, unfortunately, this feeling followed me like an unwelcome dog into the first parts of parenthood.
Looking back, there was much to be thankful for during this time, but in the midst of it all it felt like the blows just kept coming. Breastfeeding was a battle from the beginning, and I felt an entirely irrational but deeply primal feeling that I had failed my son. Postpartum depression came on strong, flattening me psychologically. I felt as if I was constantly swimming upwards, trying to break the surface of an overwhelming sadness that quickly mixed with shame for not enjoying the motherhood I had fought so hard for. Severe anxiety followed closely behind, robbing me of what little sleep I could steal in between baby care and pumping sessions. As sleep continued to elude me, I felt myself drifting further and further from reality, on a certain course towards postpartum psychosis. This was diverted only from an astute psychiatrist who wasted no time prescribing the meds I needed to begin to sleep and very slowly heal. However, the path was altered again mere days later when I received an autoimmune diagnosis and was prescribed a dose corticosteroids so high the pharmacist wouldn’t fill the prescription at first, convinced the hospital made a mistake. This rocketed me back into a mental health crisis as my doctors attempted to balance both my physical and psychological safety. I felt completely destroyed and utterly betrayed - by my body, by motherhood, by God.
So, yeah, the fear of being overwhelmed by motherhood came true.
However - that’s not the end of the story. While I wasn’t prepared for the challenges I’d experience in early motherhood, I also wasn’t prepared for how much I would grow. I wasn’t prepared for the extent to which my own capacity would increase. I wasn’t prepared for how my own selfishness would shrink or what I’d be capable of enduring; that I could be submerged in the depths of personal hell and yet still extend myself to care for another human being. I wasn’t prepared for the deep strength I’d find in the darkest spaces. I learned I can survive more than I think I can. I learned I’m loved and supported more than I previously understood. I learned there are more resources available to me than I realized, even if I don’t always notice or see them.
I’m now in a place now where I can say I truly enjoy motherhood, and it’s something I’m actively experiencing and loving versus something that is happening to me. While motherhood can certainly be tough and the challenges of preschool-hood are real, I’m now an active participant and co-director in the chaos, versus a passive victim of the hard things that come. Things that used to bring exhaustion are now done by muscle memory, and I’m able to find peace in unrest. I am bigger, wiser, stronger, and more capable than before. I know to ask for help and I know to recognize strength in apparent weakness.
Parenthood is big. It’s huge, actually, and it can loom over us like an overwhelming responsibility we feel entirely incapable of managing. But while that bigness is true, so is our own ability to cope - and even thrive.
If any of the words mentioned above ring all too true for you, may I extend this - you are bigger, wiser, and stronger than you think. May you know this, deeply, and may it carry you through the shadows until you are once again standing in the light.