Singing the song again

I apologize that this post is so long, but all of it is necessary to tell my story.

I want to start by saying I am a very sensitive person. I come by it naturally, I have been told my great grandpa would cry at anyone's wedding, even if he barely knew them. My mom would send me away for the afternoon when she cleaned up the artwork cupboard because I would cry about throwing things away. I once got so upset and homesick my mom had to drive to another state to pick me up from my cousin's house. I am a natural worrier. I was always afraid my dad would not come home when he traveled to build car washes. I was so convinced a trip to the dentist would result in cavities and the drill my mom had to give me medicine and carry me in for check ups. I also had a very active imagination. I organized and married my brother and the neighbor girl in a mock wedding when they were six. I just thought all of this was part of who I am, but after my third daughter was born all this came together and became too much.

I should have known the depression was coming when the tears just started to fall the day we brought our third daughter home, but I am generally a glass half full kind of person. At least until the dark cloud pulled me under and followed me around whispering negativity in my ear.

I am no stranger to depression and anxiety, my hormones had formed a staggered formation and pulled me under just before I got pregnant with our first daughter. I knew all about not being able to get out of bed and the tears just coming (and not stopping) for no reason. It also showed its ugly face and made me wonder for awhile after our second daughter was born.

I couldn't ask for a better medical team that help me to live my life with depression and anxiety. They gave me all the information about PPD being likely to happen to me again, but we knew we could manage it. We had a plan, we were monitoring the situation, we were prepared, we thought.

What I was not ready for was the thought of ending it all. The thought of taking a few too many pills before I went to bed. The thought of not turning the wheel of the car as I came to a curve in the road. The thought that clearly my family would be better off without a mom who couldn't even take care of herself. There was one morning my 6 year old got up, got dressed, and got to the bus without any help from me. I was frozen in bed. Another morning my husband came in at 11 AM to me still in my PJs, unshowered, rocking in the chair, with the baby crying in my arms, starring ahead at nothing. I couldn't even remember if I had done anything that morning.

Then there was work. Not only do I have children at home, but I taught 6th grade. I also had close to 50 preteen children needing my attention all day. I stumbled through a couple weeks trying to make it all work. I am no stranger to work, I started my first part time job when I was 13, I finished grad school in a year and a half, my husband is the hardest working dairy farmer I know. I was raised to know what work meant, my mom worked 60+ hours a week and my dad traveled on the road running his own concrete business. But as silly as it may sound I seriously believed that I had no idea what I was doing in the classroom or with my life for that matter.

The best way for me to describe it was as if life was moving forward, but I was stuck in the mud. I could barely function.

As I have stated I tend to think on the bright side, but I was under a dark cloud with no sign of lifting. A couple extra weeks of sick leave and the caring of the people around me at work got me to summer. I still wanted to wave my white flag in defeat of being a middle school teacher. Most of my negativity seemed to focus around my job, but also the things I felt I wasn't getting done at home. I started looking into other job options. I talked to people and told them I was not happy where I was. My husband talked me into trying to let the medicine work and relax over the summer before I made any harsh decisions about my career path. I had after all had these feelings before after our middle daughter was born and I made it through it then.

I shoved all my papers, thoughts, and feelings into the cupboards of my classroom and tried to focus on the wonderful family I had at home for the summer. I was determined to love every minute of extra time with my girls I was blessed with in the summer. It started to work and I was even getting out of bed some mornings without a wake up call from my husband. I thought maybe the worst might be behind me.

I had good days sprinkled in with the bad ones. So I jumped back into work and home, but the dark cloud crept out again. I tried to push it under. I was a fighter, not a quitter. I was not going to let this win. I believed I could do it. I pushed on. I put on my brave face. Most days I thought I hid it well and made it from 7:45-3:45 with only one round of tears at my desk. When I got home I was so exhausted by my day I had no energy for my life and spent some afternoons in my chair just starring at nothing or taking naps.

My friends at work listened to my off beat thoughts, made suggestions, and said all the right things. My mom and grandma came to help around the house, played with the girls, and said the right things. My husband tried to keep me busy, helped out more around the house, and said the right things. My doctors listened to me, adjusted my medicine, tested me for other problems, and said all the right things. But all I could hear was this LOUD doubt in my head that I was not good enough or smart enough to be a wife, teacher, and mother. All I could see was everything that was going wrong. It didn't matter what I tried or what people said to me, I felt like I was a failure. I was not meant to be an educator. These fifty preteen kids were going to be scarred for life because I was their teacher. This was all I could hear and believe.

I began to isolate myself. I hardly ever left my classroom. I didn't get on social media, talk on the phone, or go out with my friends. I didn't tell anyone how I was feeling anymore because it sounded so ridiculous. It was easier to be alone then deal with the questions or try to explain something I did not understand myself.

It all became too much one day and I could not hold the tears back anymore, they came out in the middle of class and would not stop. I never understood exactly why they happened, they just did. Luckily 6th grade students are pretty self absorbed and did not notice, but I knew it was time for a break before something bad did happen. I had a very understanding administration and was given two weeks off and time to make a decision on what I wanted to do.

In those two weeks I tried to be strong and figure out how I could make it all work, but all those doubts were still in my head. To give a little more context, I had been hired at my school to be a middle school teacher-librarian and I most days loved every minute of it, but due to some state budget cuts I had been moved to the sixth grade classroom. The move was not what I wanted and (even if it was never told to me, it truly felt to me) not what the administration wanted either. I was convinced being a classroom teacher was not for me and I was not what the kids needed as a teacher. Despite what others may have told me, I was sure all my problems would go away if I was not a teacher anymore. True or not, I honestly believed educating children was not the place for me.

The one thing I was sure of was I needed to get out from under these feelings before I took myself up on the thought of not waking up the next day. To do that I felt I needed a change, so I made the tough decision to resign from my teaching job. I am lucky to have parents that would do anything for me. My dad stepped up this time and allowed me to help him out at his antique store while I figured things out. I no longer had the stress of school and I was able to make it through some days without tears, but everything was not instantly better like I had convinced myself it would be.

I was still not me and it was starting to wear on my husband. I remember one night he even said it might be better if I was not around. (I am sure I was no fun to be around daily) I was beginning to wonder if I would ever come out of this. But I had three smiling faces who did not understand why mommy was so sad. Mommy did not understand. This had been a happy occasion in my life, how will I react if something tragic ever happens to me?

I wish I could say there was a magic moment when I instantly felt better, but I can't even pinpoint the exact moment it happened before I was feeling okay enough to function and be the mom and wife I needed to be. I did not just wake up one day and feel better like I wanted, but I began to be happy with what I had and enjoy time with my family.

I still wonder about stepping down from my job even though I know I was not the best I could be for my students at the time. . There are people who are physically sick or have had tragic things happen to them and still push on and live productive lives. Why couldn't I? It is still hard to talk about and I have tried not to, but I have found writing this has been very helpful.

It was not until not long ago in my car when I was singing along to a song on the radio that I truly knew I was feeling better. Not everyday of the past 22 months have been bad, but the good days come more often and are easier to hang on to.

I still wonder if I could be a classroom teacher again, so there are some days I take a crack at it and substitute teach. I decided to take the classes I need to add a reading endorsement to my teaching certificate. I have been updating my resume. I look back and see all the great things I used to do with students and believe in myself a little more.

I can not change the past, what is done is done so now I enjoy every minute of extra time I get to spend with my girls, they truly grow up fast. I also get a chance to be on the farm to help my husband when I can.

I interviewed for a couple library jobs, but wasn't quite ready to believe in myself yet (I even said in the interviews that being a classroom teacher was not for me because I still believed it wasn't) so I think it came through in the interview. But I can finally see myself working with students again, I miss that ah-ha moment when the light clicks on and students understand what they have been taught. I am not 100% sure I could be a classroom teacher again, but I am no longer afraid to try.

I am lucky, I have a family that loves and takes care of me. I have a husband, who was stressed at times, but never gave up on me. I have three little girls that make me smile everyday. I have parents who support me for me and still try to help in anyway they can. I had a great work family (I miss them everyday) that even though I could not hear it at the time gave me encouragement daily. I have friends that listened to what I had to say and did not judge. I can never thank everyone enough for all they did even when not realizing they were doing anything.

I did not sit down and write this for anyone to give me pity (I have enough of my own). I wrote this because I found I am not alone in this and if someone else out there is struggling I hope they can find some help in my words or anyone elses.

I will never get it all done and I will always wonder if I am doing it right, but I now know I am just me and I need to be happy with that. I am still sensitive, a worrier, and have an overactive imagination, but I have learned to take each day and live it, no matter what happens because at least I have a tomorrow.

The ‘tail’ end - I have been inspired to tell my story because of the stories I have found online of women who have learned to live with postpartum depression. If you or someone you know has a story I would love to hear it - please share in the comments!

I really do not care for this picture of me, but I keep it and share it because I think it bests shows how I was feeling.
At the time I could barely smile and that was no joke...