Stormy Skies

My story takes a broader turn as every slice of life was being challenged.

Simultaneously through the fog, our finances and maternity benefits slipped, further magnifying our uncertainties, stresses, and widespread concerns. Largely at my own error, it crushingly intensified my guilt, anxieties and sense of helplessness.

Over the past several months, the holidays, birthdays and other joyous occasions were often ruined or spent in tears. I lost count on the times I have bawled uncontrollably on the floor, not sure what else to do and feeling utterly out of control. I had never experienced a panic attack before, when I found myself suddenly shaking and hyperventilating, all I could do was lock myself in the bathroom, run a bath, and cry some more. Simply put, our world seemed in shambles.

All the while, my husband’s own stress began to manifest physically causing great worry and timely medical matters. Various relationships suffered, new friendships wilted before they could bloom. We mourned a loss in the family. Every new day that was off to a good start, eventually knocked us down, again and again.

         No marriage or partnership is immune to dire times, and I can see why having a baby, depression, or money troubles can lead to so many splits. Why true, deep love really needs to be the key to conquer all. Our marriage took its share of hits as well, as obviously we are both affected by all of these woes. Some setbacks propelled us harder than others, and some I wondered if we could come back from, but fortunately for us we have survived. Fortunately for us, we did marry for true love, soul mate kind of love, and the strength from that love is what gets us through the storms. In good times and in bad…

Nursing - "the healthiest way to feed your baby" - was a complete nightmare for me and something I had a very tortuous tough fight with. I gave it my best shot - and will spare us all the painful details (still upsetting memories) of vitamins and creams and prescriptions and blood and cracked nipples that could not heal and pumping and engorgement and not enough supply and a crying, hungry baby all the time and the extra work of supplementing and "lact-aid-ing" and and and - were 2 of the hardest months of my life. While I always anticipated I would might not make a great cow, and I was surprised at how much I  really loved the closeness and beauty of nursing, the anguish of those 8 weeks, and gut-wrenching emotion I felt when I finally had to stop trying to make it work because it just wasn't what was right for us, for all of our best interests, was one of the hardest things I have ever dealt with. Literally, broke my heart that I wasn't "equipped" to feed my own child. Nothing could prepare me for that, or how long that remorse would stay with me...
Have I mentioned the baby weight? Oh gosh. The baby weight. I am not delusional. Having my first child at 35, I was not expecting the extra pounds to just fall off like it does for some. I am not a wealthy celebrity-lite that has all the tools to drop 50 in 3 weeks. Nor am I an active addict or lean machine. I was tired all the time. And I had a baby and pets and a house to take care of. I was overwhelmed as it was, but I never foresaw the mountain that losing the weight became. Generally I am always pretty fit and although my weight fluctuates, at this stage o my life, I am content when I maintain my healthy-slender-ish average type frame. I gave in many years ago not to be obsessive about my body – been there, done that, for as long as I can remember (everything from being bullied and teased for being too thin, to drawing too much unwanted attention from men that I wasn't prepared for, to dipping my toes in eating disorders and watching every calorie, etc.) - and nothing good or healthy ever came from the actual  pounds being the focus.

At around 7 months pregnant, when my scale tipped way past where I should be, I chose to stop keeping track of the excess pounds, and to stop comparing myself to other moms that “only gained 20lbs” with their first!  Barf. My doctor assured me my baby was strong and well - isn't that was matters most? According to the numbers, I may very well have been carrying multiples. In fact, I was often asked "how many?" as strangers giggled at my sumo large size. Surrendering to the moment, to appreciate the miracle of life growing inside me, to the gratitude and blessing and honour of carrying my child, I decided that the rest (weight, swollen feet, stretch marks, heavy boobs, aching everything, and the glowering number on the scale) didn’t matter.

Sometimes we say things we don’t believe, and well, the state of my body really did matter. I feared I was lost forever. The new me was emerging as truly an entirely different person, and one I really didn't like much so far. I couldn’t ignore the awful, hateful feelings when looking in the mirror and was grossed out by the person staring back at me. Even 7 or 8 months after he was born and I was still carrying around an extra 30-40 lbs, it was getting harder to stay grateful. I became easily glum, and more and more frustrated. Getting dressed just to get groceries or walk the dog was a huge ordeal and ended with my clothes scattered everywhere, or not going out at all. 
I felt hideously overweight, unhealthy and discouraged, lethargic and defeated. Nothing fit, including shoes. My libido was way too shy and uncomfortable in her skin to respond to my husband's love and needs, or my own. I would try to get in the exercise I needed, but I could not maintain anything consistent and often end curled up like a broken-hearted teenager,  or the tormented young girl I once was, usually in front of the TV with hours of recorded programming. I would aim to stick to a salad and vegan-wannabe diet, but at some point or another, I would end up at the drive-thru, scoffing down a McChicken or baking cookies and eating half the batch before they had cooled. This all lead to feeling further disheartened.

Not only was I not doing what was best for my spouse, or me but most importantly it wasn’t great for my son or the energy in our home. And we know that negative energy can be felt a mile away...

         

 Mixed in there with all the bad, there were some good days of course. Highs and lows. All I could think of was that I felt a lot like those paddle things with the ball stuck on a string. I would get pretty far sometimes, but undoubtedly would come smashing backwards, bruising more each time. Soon the bad clearly outnumbered the good, and that’s when we reckoned there was a real, more serious problem. 

...read more, next post...how things started to turn around...

PLG ~ JKF