Break. Down. Part 1.

It was one year ago this weekend that my life took a turn for the worse.  Although I was aware that I wasn’t in a great place mentally, I had no idea how fragile I was.

I’ve alluded to my breakdown a couple of times here on this blog.  I think I still feel some trepidation to put it out there.  Probably shame.  Embarrassment.  What will people think of me?  Will I look weak?  Will I lose my credibility?

In the end, I know that keeping things hidden in the dark feeds the shame.  So it’s something I’ve tried to be transparent about slowly but surely over the last year.shame


But here, here on this blog – well, I’ve wondered where is the perfect balance?  I desire to share deep with you.  Primarily because I want you to know that you aren’t alone.  And I also know that there are some details that not everyone needs to be privy to.  Do you know what I mean?

I’ll start with a little back story – I think I’ve always been susceptible to depression.  It’s a family thing.  I’ve known what I needed to do to ward it off.  Primarily exercise.

Enter babe numero tres.

It wasn’t the easiest of pregnancies.  I think I was sick up until I pushed the little guy out of my body 2 days before his due date.  And that’s when things got really hard.  Baby Norman didn’t breathe well.  He had transient tachypnea.  People, I was in labor for maybe an hour.  It was so quick and so painful.  And the little guy just didn’t get those sweet baby lungs flushed out before he was delivered.

Before I knew it, Norman was next door in the hospital (I had delivered him across the street at the birthing center) and my Doula drove me over hours after my labor to be with him.  I was in shock.  And guess what else it was – Traumatic with a capital T.  We were expecting a sweet {and cheap} delivery at the birthing center.  We would be home within four hours so that our family could be together and live happily ever after.  But four hours later, we were in the NICU.  It was prison.  I hated it.  I wanted to go home with my baby.  And I needed to be with my other babies.

And that we did a couple of days later.  Yet it messed me up.  I became hyper-vigilant and worried excessively about baby Norman.  It didn’t help that he, as our pediatrician said, was born at the wrong time of year and had scary (for me) illnesses during his first year of life including RSV and type II influenza.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, I had more and more difficulty keeping up.  I became more anxious.  I started experiencing anger like I’d never experienced it before.  I started getting migraines after exercise.  I started having difficulty sleeping.  It’s as if I couldn’t slow down.  The sleep deprivation finally got the best of me.  And I was a total wreck.  Jason left for Every Man’s Battle and I called my parents in a total panic.

The next couple of weeks were really difficult.  I was ridden with anxiety.  I was waiting for the medication the doctor gave me to kick in.  I was one big fear-ball.

And I asked God – “Why?  Why have you allowed this to happen?  Isn’t dealing with anorexia and an adulteress husband quite enough for one soul?  Why this?”

It reminded me of my “Whys” some twelve years ago.  In fact, that might be where you are at today.  Asking why.

I’ll be back in a couple of days with Part 2.  In the meantime, what comes to mind that you’ve kept hidden in the dark?  Because, let’s be honest, we all do this.  It’s our default setting.  Living in freedom and in the light – that’s not near as natural.