This is part 2 of series I’m writing on motherhood and depression, if you haven’t read the first one I encourage you to go back so you can read in order.
At this point in the journey, I was motivated to overcome, on my own terms that is. I started researching, which I love doing. I became my own project to fix. Since medication wasn’t “fixing” me, maybe I’d look into other natural options. I was always leaning that route anyway. I went off the medications and opted for a holistic approach. I got a therapist and read some Brene Brown. This was going to work. But I was getting worse, still. The journey did not lead to a dead-end street. I kept discovering more and more with each new decision. This worked, that didn’t. This is what I need, that isn’t helping. My doctors’ appointments led to finding out I had inflammation in my pelvic bones, I started physical therapy after a year of not being able to walk without pain. I was finally able to start exercising again which gave me hope. My therapist was wonderful and supportive. She led me to see that I experienced birth trauma with my son, which I didn’t even know was a thing. Of course I started researching that next. In the midst of my research, I experienced a PTSD flashback which solidified what I already knew. I was watching tv with my husband and a scene came up where a woman was giving birth suddenly and unexpectedly in an elevator. My heart started racing, I went cold and numb. In a flash I got up quickly and started running upstairs hyperventilating. My husband followed suite until I reached the bed. Still unable to catch my breath, my vision was blurring and everything around me was going black. I laid down unable to feel my body from the waist down. My husband helped me even my breathing and I eventually calmed down. Yep, I had PTSD and my birth experience was indeed traumatic. More on that later.
I was still functioning, but not getting any better. Sure, the counseling was helping, my supplements were okay, but my mood was worse. I was now irritable, angry, yelling at the kids over every little thing. Something wasn’t right, I needed more help. From my research about birth trauma, I found that talk therapy would only go so far, I needed EMDR treatment or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. The search began for a therapist who performed this. I found a lovely woman who started this process with me, but the realization of how bad I was wasn’t truly sinking in. She said I needed to get back into my body first and becoming grounded. I was spending over $150 a session to do meditation exercises and I was so confused. Didn’t I need to dive into my trauma, replay everything and talk it out. The short answer is no, that’s actually not helpful at all in trauma therapy. The truth was I was so disconnected from my body. Meditation began working to get me grounded and present and to help with the dissociation. This was going to be a long ride. At this point my son was less than two years old and my eldest daughter was almost five. I wanted this fixed, and it wasn’t going fast enough. I didn’t want to be this type of mother, angry, bitter, sad, tired. I knew this was somehow affecting my kids negatively and I knew for sure it was damaging my marriage.
Speaking of the effects on my family, ask them what it’s like living with a rageful bitch? That was me. I was miserable. My husband could say one thing and I was flying off the handle, throwing things, slamming things, getting into the car and driving off. I was out of control, and something needed to be done. It all came to a head in a car ride home one night. I was in one of my moods and my husband turns to me and said he didn’t know how much more he could take of this, of me. I was shocked. Even though a part of me knew things were bad, I was still in denial and still knew I could come out of this at my own free will. But I heard him loud and clear. Thankfully, my adopted parents were way ahead into the healing journey and were able to guide me to Survivors, a weeklong workshop at The Meadows in Wickenburg, Arizona. So, within a month I packed my things, boarded a plane and left my family for the first time ever to go do intensive trauma work. I had no idea what to expect and was worried I would be in so much physical pain and too tired to make it through a day. I made it and experienced more healing than ever in my life. I smiled true feelings of happiness on the flight home. I had hope for the first time in long time.