Ive been stuck in a bad place for so long that I’m having trouble deciding where to go next. I’m starting to feel like I’m waking up from a nightmare. That spot where you feel disoriented from what sleep was forcing you to endure, yet curiously relieved your eyes are open and you can breathe clearly.
In other words, that fog that I’ve been living in for so long is starting to clear out a little.
I would not say I feel happy. I certainly don’t feel like jumping for joy or anything, but I’m starting to feel more mellow or something. Exactly a week ago, I woke up feeling irrationally angry at the world, myself, James. The smallest annoyances were pushing further me down that dark spiral. Last Wednesday was the day that I refused to go to my PPD support group because James wasn’t home in time. He begged me to go, which I refused, and he was pissed.
Without saying a word, I grabbed my keys and purse and left. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like that before.
Today, though, I’m going to my support group. It’s an hour and a half long, and I admit I am scared of what I’m going to find there.
My stomach is kind of tightening just thinking about it. Hi, guts, it’s going to be okay. They’re not going to force you to digest red meat or anything.
I’m reverting back to my childhood. It’s the first day of school. Or the first day of Summer Kidco. Or Vacation Bible School.
Are they all going to stare at me when I walk in? What if I’m the craziest one there? They’re all going to talk about me behind my back, I just know it. What if they’re all in my face, asking me a bunch of questions? Am I going to have a bunch of cliquey, eager women nosing around in my personal business? I just know some weirdo is going to corner me and try to be best buds and I’m going to be too nice to politely tell them to back off.
And the worst thought:
What if they don’t like me?
My logical side tries to reassure my inner child that there’s nothing to worry about, but it doesn’t change the fact that those thoughts keep spinning around in my head.
After Julie was born, I attended a mom/baby group at the birthing center every week. The one major thing we all had in common (besides the fact that we had our little boogers in tow), was that most of us had at least attempted to do a natural birth. The other was that pretty much all of us were breastfeeding.
Then there were ways I stood out like a sore thumb. I didn’t co-sleep (still don’t). I felt like elimination communication, or infant potty training, was just downright weird (and yeah, I still do… sorry, but I have no desire to have my nose so far up my kid’s butt that I know EXACTLY when they’re going to need to eliminate all the time until they’re old enough to walk to the potty themselves). I wasn’t into the whole attachment parenting craze. And I was, by far, the skinniest one there. Which made me feel a little uncomfortable when we’d be talking about post-baby weight loss and I’d get a couple of sideways glances in my direction. I was also a lot younger than most of the other moms- well over a decade by many of them. I never knew that 24 was young to be a mom until then. Not too long ago, I probably would have been the old one.
But then there was the worst difference between them and me:
They were thrilled to be moms, and completely in love with their little bundles of joy. I, on the other hand, felt like maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mom. I was depressed. It took me a good 3 months before I knew I loved my baby. I felt out of place as a mother. Even hearing, “Wow, you’re a mom!” didn’t seem right to me. So I always felt kind of left out.
I guess my whole life I’ve been that way, though. I’ve never been part of a clique or a group. I was always the odd one out.
I don’t mind much now, to be honest. I like that I’m a little off the beaten path. Being an oddball has its benefits, believe it or not.
But at the same time, I don’t want to stand out in a bad way. Especially when I have to go to group therapy tonight.