By Contributor Kim Saunders (@captainco.tasmania)
I woke up today and wanted to be alone.
No toddler. No baby. No husband. No dog. No friends. No visitors. No one.
I wanted to stay inside all day. Eating bad food. Watching bad rom-coms. Not go anywhere. Not answer the door. No phone calls. No emails. No insta. Not even walk to the letter box.
I couldn't be bothered getting myself breakfast. I couldn't be bothered having a shower. I couldn't be bothered getting dressed. I just couldn't be bothered with anything.
One hundred percent alone. That's all I wanted. Does that make me a bad mum? A terrible wife? A horrible person? An ungrateful wench.
Maybe a little of all of the above. I think it also makes me a real person. I've said it before... it's not always sunshine and smiles over here.
For Mummas with Post Natal Depression (PND), it can be total struggle street. It's so frustrating. So out of our control. So silly. But so real.
I'm lucky. Or so I keep telling myself. My PND isn't severe. It's mild. It's a mild asshole. I loathe it. I can not escape it. I can not deny it. It comes in waves. No rhyme. No reason. Sometimes I feel on top of the world. Other days... empty. Hollow. Emotionless. Happy. Sad. Mad. All within sixty seconds.
This shit be cray cray.
This morning, all morning, I felt like I was on auto pilot. Going through the motions... but feeling nothing. Ugh.
Then out of nowhere... Mini wandered over and asked for a 'cud'. She had one shoe on and a great big smile on her face. A smile so big her eyes were all squishy-squinty. She was so proud. She had put her shoe on all by herself. For the first time ever. I scooped her up and gave her the biggest 'cud' and headed in to check on our littlest. She was all smiles. Like always. The prettiest little lady I ever did see. She was on her side in her cot... about to roll over for the first time. So proud of herself. Shrieking and squeaking. Plop. She rolled back onto her back. Her legs were wiggling. Arms were flapping. Shriek. Giggle. Squeak.
I missed a call from my husband, Mr Perfect. Listened to his ah-mazing message telling me he loves me. That he's proud of me. That I'm doing a great job. It's just perfect. Just like him.
And I realised... this may not be where I always want to be... but it is where I need to be. It is where my heart is it's happiest.
This mum gig can be oh-so-ridiculously hard. This depression business. Uggggh. I'm tested most days. I hate feeling like this. I don't understand why I have to deal with this shitty PND. I'm fighting it like cray cray.
I was too proud for too long. Too stubborn. Too in denial. Thinking I was invincible. That I was just being silly. Super emotional. That I had to get over myself. That I had to harden up. That I had to stop being sad-sack-Sally. That I wasn't the depressed 'type'. Well, guess what. There is no 'type'. It can hit anyone anytime.
I'm not on meds. I'm finding the good days definitely outweigh the bad. Phew. But I do think I need to talk to someone about it more than I have been. It's not something I can manage on my own. Not something I can control. Not something I can hide from. Not something I think I've beaten just because I had a few good days in a row.
If are feeling overwhelmed, out of whack or just a little teary more often than not... please talk to someone. A friend. A neighbour. A family member. A doctor. A helpline. It helps.
For me... slowly but surely the fog is lifting x