{image via pinterest}
It was sometime in the middle of February that it hit me. Like a ton of bricks crashing down on my inner peace. It was the bane of postpartum depression.
My little angel girl was born at the end of November, shortly after my younger sister got married and my sweet mother underwent a major thoracotomy (lung surgery). And though the first few months of juggling two rowdy boys and a brand new infant were trying, life was peaceful and exciting.
In December we moved to a new state and into a beautiful, antique, renovated farmhouse cottage. Christmas came and we gathered our little ones around our tree in love and joy.
In January my sweetheart began his second to last affiliation in a city about 45 minutes from our house, and simultaneously threw himself into intensive study for his boards of physical therapy which we would be taking in March. We began desperately searching for a job, knowing that he would graduate in May and we would need some way to provide for our growing family. I tried to deal with these circumstances the best I knew how, but one day, I finally just snapped.
It was too much stress, too much pressure, too many new changes and worries. I tried to ignore the feelings of depression I was having. I tried to shrug them off and be happy anyway. I tried to be the best mother I could be, and a support to my husband. I tried to perform my regular duties with a positive attitude. But nothing was working. I didn’t want anyone to know I was struggling, for fear they would think I was a failure, or that I wasn’t strong enough to handle three children.
Life came and went for the next several months. Stresses intensified when my husband felt like he had failed his boards and we anticipated the awful waiting until July for the next licensure exam, wondering how we would ever support our family when our loan money ran out in May. But things resolved themselves, as they often do. The Lord gave us tender mercy after tender mercy. My sweetheart miraculously passed his boards, he was given a promising job, and things began to turn brighter–externally. But internally I was still battling an immense amount of sadness that I couldn’t explain.
What was I to do? Where was I to turn? I felt like I had fallen in a deep, dark hole that I couldn’t climb out of, no matter how hard I tried. Would I ever be free? Would I ever feel like my normal, enthusiastic, in love with life, happy self?
{And for fear that this post is getting too long, I will finish my story in tomorrow’s post….}
