Momming

Don’t Go Changing

“Anxious? I didn’t have time to feel those things. Your father was away a lot and I was busy with all of you kids.”

This was my mom’s response when I tried to casually mention that I was recently diagnosed with postpartum depression and anxiety, and that I was looking further into some of my various endometrial symptoms with a few different healthcare professionals. 

Her response was not that surprising. Feelings were probably not a “thing” according to the philosophy of her upbringing. Her parents raised her and her 10 siblings in a strict, catholic farm house. There were expectations for the men of the house and different expectations for the women. 

“When I told my parents I was going to college, they told me I wasn’t going. They told me they were not going to pay for it. I told them they didn’t have to, and I figured it out anyway.” She was the first female in her family to go to college. She graduated from The Ohio State University in just three short years with a degree in social work. Which, in and of itself, was an interesting choice given the fact that, for her, “feelings were not a thing”. Though, I assume, this way of living life without feelings protects her from the awful situations that present themselves when it comes to serving others.

Because I recognize that I feel so much, I am a bit envious of her feeling-less tactics. Feeling others’ pain is what I DO. Sometimes, it feels like a curse to feel so much and to take on everyone else’s burdens. 

When I started therapy for my anxiety after my second son, my mom did come up in conversation. “Do you think your mom MADE you feel THAT WAY?”, my therapist would interrupt me. There was a long pause. The wheels in my head were turning and I wanted to scream FUCK YES! But, I knew that wasn’t really true… “Or, do you think you chose to feel that way because of your mom’s reactions to your feelings?”

She was right. As Eleanor Roosevelt so eloquently said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” My mom is my mom is my mom. Her experience is invaluable, and it’s just that…. It’s HERS. It does not have to be my own experience.

But when I finally gathered up the guts to tell my mom about my diagnosis, I wasn’t really looking for her opinion. So, I probably shouldn’t have started with that question because it more than likely prompted an auto-pilot response.

She was protecting herself from remembering how hard it was to be a young, working mother to multiple children while her husband’s career took him out of town for extended amounts of time. It was a hard time for her. Now that I have the context, I get it. 

So, her response was not cruel. In her own way, she told me how she handled her anxiety, then. Which may or may not be the right way to handle anxiety for me or for you.

I know I grew up fantasizing about the mother-daughter relationship and my ideals came from books or movies or sitcoms. It was not reality.

My mom is one tough gal, and ever since I was a little girl I put her on a pedestal. I wanted to be successful like I saw her to be, if only to get her approval. And, I still do this to myself. 

Our anxiety manifests itself in our fears and worries, not someone else’s ideals for us. I have been worried about my mom’s approval since before I can remember worrying. That is not her fault.

I hope to work on feeling more confident in my own path. So what, I’ve had postpartum depression and anxiety… Big whoop? Actually, what I should shout from the mountain-tops is: I have anxiety and depression issues! And, I’ve figured out a way to still live life and enjoy it! Do you need help, too? Let’s figure this out, together!

In my longing for a daughter of my own, I think I’ve just wanted a smaller version of myself who I could sit down beside me, hug, and tell her: Mommies don’t do everything right. You are your own person. I support you in your decisions and I am here for you when you fall. Because darling – you will fall. That is what life is all about. We have to lean on others throughout our challenges and simply get back up and prepare ourselves to try again. 

My experience may or may not help someone else. I am just glad I now recognize the power that realization gives me over my own life, and that I have the capacity to help someone through their anxiety or depression if the situation presents itself.

Also, I love you mom. I feel like playing Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” for us …