Been thinking a lot about mental health lately. I’ve discussed this with a friend and it really got me thinking about how I’m here, in this place, at this moment. As a mother of three beautiful children, I often lose myself to being a mom. I struggle with things daily, like, am I doing enough for the kids? Am I being a good housewife? What can I improve? Meanwhile, who I really am gets lost in the shuffle. I don’t partake in the hobbies I used to enjoy. Instead, I hide in the garage, drink wine and enjoy my few minutes alone. During those few minutes, I plan all the things I want to do, crafting, photography, painting, drawing, dancing, etc. I begin to feel better. Then I enter my house and all is forgotten yet again as I am greeted with a screaming toddler, or a teen in the midst of autistic teen angst. What’s for dinner? Can I have a snack? Why the hell is there dog food in these rain boots??!
I am happy I’m busy with family stuff because my kids are happy. My husband is happy. But me? Not entirely. Not fully. I need my creative outlet to not only get a break from the mundane, but to also express my emotions. Hell, every human needs this. As a woman, I was taught to bottle up my emotions and just keep going through the motions. For my family to be happy. But, when mama’s not happy, ain’t no one happy, am I right?
14 years ago, on October 30, my bestest, closest friend, Megan, was murdered. Shot in the head by her husband for reasons I will never know. I harbor much guilt over this because I was with her hours before this tragedy happened. After a girls night out, I tried to get Megan to stay the night with me, but she refused. I didn’t push the subject enough. I didn’t insist. I had a feeling something bad was going to happen, but I didn’t trust my gut and force her to stay. I sent Megan home. To be killed by the man she loved.
Shortly after this, I spiraled downward. I left my husband 6 months later because he was an abusive and cheating piece of shit and I didn’t want to end up dead like Megan. I had a 1 year old son to worry about and raise to not follow in his father’s footsteps. We left abruptly, with only the clothes we needed, while my husband was at work. We stayed with my parents, I got my shit together as best I could, and filed for divorce three days later and never looked back.
I began dating someone immediately thinking that would at least keep my mind off y’all the badness I was going through. It worked. Until it didn’t. Once our relationship ended, I spiraled down into a deep depression. My son had just received his autism diagnosis during the ending of our relationship and the breakup was the least of my challenges, yet it was the spark to the flame that was occurring. I was forced, without his distraction, to finally deal with the death of my friend, my divorce, learning how to be a single mom, realize that I was now living on section 8 and food stamps, dealing with the impact of learning my son was autistic and all the therapies and doctor appointments that never ended. With no help or visitation from my son’s dad, I tried very hard to not self medicate.
When I couldn’t get out of bed for a couple days, nor could I eat or even drink without gagging, I finally called my mother to help me with caring for my son until I could get through this deep dark place. She forced me to visit the doctor, who recommended therapy as well as medication. So I went. Anything to get better for my son. Months and months of grieving all the things, skipping my therapy to care for my son, realizing that I was in this alone, not having Megan to talk to about everything, I finally began drinking. I’d pop pills. Smoke pot. You name it. Anything to hide from the truth. I had to keep smiling to appease my mother who insists that women should bottle up their emotions and keep on trucking, so I’d get shitfaced just to deal. It was all a bit rough. I sought out men just to feel someone touch me and love me, even if just for one night.
I can’t remember exactly exactly when I started loving myself again. I do know it was sometime shortly before I met Paul, my current husband. In that time, I was able to befriend a female, still feeling guilty for even considering a new friend, but I was so desperate for female companionship that I dove in head-on. We had a blast for a while, until she turned on me. She ended up being horrible and said terrible things about my autistic son. She was also very possessive, much like my ex-husband. I ended that friendship quickly.
Then I met Paul. He has been my saving grace. He pulled me out of any funk that remained in me and I started having fun again. I let myself love again. I wanted children with him. I wanted a lifetime with him. We started a family very quickly, and waited to marry for a while because I was still afraid of the permanence of that and I did not want to go through another divorce. When our child was 3, we finally tied the knot and it’s been great ever since. However, lately, I see myself spiraling down again. He recognizes this and is there to help me talk about it. He sees my pain, and he understands it. I am grateful to have my life partner here with me. Who knows where I’d be if not for him. He makes me love me BEFORE I love him. And that is truly the best gift.
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