If you told me I would one day be airing all of my feelings and inner-workings on a public platform for all of the world to see, I would have said that you were bonkers. This completely opposes my personality type. It defies (my) logic. There’s no explanation other than you. You are the reason I am sharing vastly beyond my comfort zone.
Comfort, schmomfort. Let’s get back to anxiety.
The anxiety train leaves the station before you realize that you were forced onboard without a ticket. It’s swift and efficient. It’s all-consuming and terrifying. It’s the worst. This is the only thing I could find that completely and wonderfully exemplifies a postpartum anxiety attack:
(I might use The Office memes in a majority of my posts…I have to lighten the mood somehow, eh?)
At times, this anxiety is coupled with guilt. I feel guilty for having anxiety attacks. I just want to be able to say, “I need to be alone with my son. I need to take some time so that I can breathe. I need to leave.” However, I continually tell myself that’s silly, rude or unnecessary. You can handle it; stop acting foolish; you are in control of your emotions – just a few of the phrases that roll around in my head during these anxious moments.
I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that none of this is silly. It’s real. It’s gross. It’s just plain annoying. It is not something of which to be ashamed. Postpartum anxiety should not hold one back – it should unite struggling mothers.
In the spirit of unity, I wish I had a voice that could reach every mama that feels less-than, confused, overwhelmed, under-appreciated, or alone. I wish I could speak words of truth and affirmation over you in person. Sometimes reading this isn’t enough, right? Believe me, if omnipresence was a gift humankind possessed, I’d jump at the chance to be sitting at your favorite coffee spot, opposite you, chatting about life. For now, I’ll continue to write to you, for you and stand with you.
**Let’s get real. When’s the last time you were vulnerable with someone face-to-face? If you cannot remember, it’s been too long. YOU ARE NOT A BURDEN. Pick up your phone, shoot a text over to your best mama friend, meet up and share all the feelings. Believe me – she wants to listen. Don’t have a close mama friend, you say? I’m right here! Comment on this post. Find me on Instagram (@hellokinseysmith). I will encourage the crap out of you.