Motherhood changed me, a work in progress.

    I obsessed over the idea of being a mother. For over a decade, I pondered. I watched mothers with young children in the streets. I watched countless YouTube videos on pregnancy and parenting. I’ve worked with children since my teenage years, and I’ve always known that I wanted to be a mother. 

    Nothing could have prepared me for how motherhood would affect me, how it would change me. I love my son more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved before. This love is powerful, and it brought out my demons that were buried so deep, I didn’t even know they were there. 

    I was not sleeping. I would wake up nearly every morning at 3 AM, anxious about becoming a mother when I was pregnant, and about being a mother when I already was one. Anxious about everything my brain could think of in those middle-of-the-night hours. I was in survival mode, running on pure adrenaline during the day, for I don’t know how long.

 

    Breastfeeding was a journey all its own, one I was nervous about as a woman with only one breast. It was difficult, arduous, but we found our rhythm, my son and me. It was an experience I had to cut short at 6 months, as I was diagnosed with ADHD and felt the need to take medication. And we all know what happened next, those of us who have read my last blog, anyway. 

    I considered saying that motherhood broke me, but I was already broken. I think I knew I was, somewhere deep down. Broken. Now I want to say, motherhood fixed me. That would be erroneous as well, for I am not fixed. I am a work in progress. I got so lost in my role as James’ mom that I found myself at Sierra Vista. I completed Kaiser’s Next Steps program after I was discharged, and I’m continuing therapy and regular psychiatry visits. Now, I’m just trying to take care of myself, and I’m realizing that it doesn’t come as naturally to me as taking care of James does. I would do anything for him, but my cup was so damaged, let alone not filled, that I had to spend a week away from him.

    I’m trying. Trying to honor my soul. Trying to fill my cup. Trying to prioritize myself as much as I can, to do the things that bring me joy and satisfaction. Finding my way back to this blog was monumental in this process, and I plan to continue on this trajectory. Aside from writing, I have other aspirations. I want to get back in shape and get my house in order. I’ve always struggled with having too much stuff, and that became glaringly obvious after having a baby and all of his stuff. I need to declutter, desperately. I’m also trying to carve out an hour in the morning to work out and have some time to myself. I don’t always do it, but when I do, I always feel so good. I’m hoping putting it in writing here will motivate me to do it more.

    Anyway, that’s all for now. Here’s to 2023, the year of me.