Now, I just got the news my sister is currently rushing her little man to the emergency room per instructions from her family dr. He is only a week old. They don’t prepare you for this shit. And though it is not me going through this, time still stops as we all just hold our breaths as our newest family memeber perhaps is in respiratory distress.
You are my mom. But somewhere along the line I became the nurturer. The unconditional love between us has allowed us to ignore our identities as people and to just fall into these roles that are locked in the guilt and hurt that strikes me at the core.... over and over and over again.
"Life as we knew it was gone" - all new parents say that and while it is definitely true, I think we leave out the most important part of that - it's not just life that changes, WE change.
It took me months to find out I was in the midst of the worst depression and anxiety attack that I had ever been in; it took me weeks to reach out for help; and then it took me months to thankfully climb back out.
Some days it gets too much. Not the crying, or the whining, or the bickering, or the constant questions. It's not the runny noses, or the cries for snacks, or the screams for attention.
And maybe I do ask too much. Maybe this is just too hard for me. Maybe I'm just not the right type of woman to just accept this. Sometimes I doubt myself and start to believe it. But I am a good mom. I'm just tired and used and a little chewed up. Tired.
I've moved around so much that I'm just fragments of stages of my life. To me, they create a kaleidoscope of experience and depth but to others, they can only see that me that is present.