This is Chapter 4 in the Transition Memoir. Catch up here.
It didn’t take long after I completed my final out-processing appointment with the military to wonder if I had made the right choice to leave. My doubts intensified as I struggled through the eight weeks my husband was at training. But I thought his coming home would smooth out the challenges of motherhood and I would find my footing again. My son would start sleeping, my mental health would improve and I would find myself loving my new role as mom, wife and military spouse.
None of those things happened.
The magic key of my husband’s return that would fix everything did not solve my problems. With him back, I wasn’t by myself, but it didn’t change how I felt. I felt both lost and alone on an island with no idea what was next. I felt hopeless. Without the military to guide me forward, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do next or where to go.
This all-consuming doubt and fear of the unknown led me to a dark place where I couldn’t see the good in things and instead, I only saw my failures. The darkness continued to consume my thoughts. It was as if each moment of my life when things didn’t go like I hoped or planned a giant sign with the word “FAIL” would be plastered into my mind. Another failure in my life.
My son didn’t sleep through the night.
FAIL
My son didn’t reach a developmental milestone.
FAIL
Dinner wasn’t cooked well.
FAIL
My house wasn’t clean.
FAIL
Nap time didn’t last as long as I hoped.
FAIL
The only thing I could see were the failures. Always negative. Never encouraging or hopeful. It was a dark and lonely time.
Along with feeling like a failure, I also felt guilt and shame. I felt guilty that I often wished for my life before my son was born. Guilt for wishing for my old life and not loving my new life as a mom. Everything I had felt so much easier before I added my son to my life. I knew where I was going. I was thriving in my career. I was excited about the future. Being a mom was hard.
The guilt of reminiscing and wishing to go back was compounded by the shame I felt that I wasn’t the best mom for my son. There had to be something wrong with me. I was struggling so much and I had no idea how to make things better. Each checklist from the doctor, and each milestone felt like an Operations Order that I had no idea how to execute. I read the books and followed the advice of others but nothing seemed to work, and when my child didn’t meet the expectations, I felt it was my fault. It was my responsibility to fix him and in turn, fix myself as a mom.
My own mom saw how much I was struggling, even though she was living across the country in California and I was in Ohio. She pushed me to start reading blogs by other moms. I remember reading one blog by a mom who shared a deep personal story of how in the early days of motherhood she contemplated driving off a cliff because the stress of being a new mom was so hard. Editor’s note: If you or someone you know are struggling with your mental health or having suicidal thoughts, dial 988 to get the help you deserve.
These words were a mix of encouragement and their own level of mortification. I could have seen the words as a way to lighten my load – to know that it was hard to become a new mom. But I still saw my world through the thickly-plated veil of failure. If this mom was struggling the same way I was then maybe she was a failure, too.
Deep down it must have also provided comfort because I continued to read other stories and while it didn’t blast through and solve all my problems, it helped. I didn’t know that I was struggling immensely from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I didn’t recognize the underlying emotions had been pushed down so deep that the stress of life was pulling them out in weird, dramatic ways. It did start to give me hope and when I learned about Five Minute Friday, a community of writers who wrote every Friday for five minutes, a new way forward started to form. And maybe just a little bit of hope.