Showing Up: Real Talk on Motherhood & Mental Health Struggles

“Sometimes, the people around you won’t understand your journey. They don’t need to. It’s not for them.” 

Oh, if you’ve ever helped me through a struggle, you know. . . I am a ruminator.

I circle the drain. I spin the broken record. I exhaust myself.

I sit with my choices, my struggles, my growth, turning them over and over until they shine or stir up a storm.

And in that process, I bring my circle into the conversation. 

I talk, I share, I reach out. 

But where I often stumble in my therapeutic work is in the why behind that sharing. Too often, I reach out not for just connection, but for validation, for meaning reflected back to me.

What I truly want is to live more authentically. 

I want choices, struggles, and growth to be a part of a journey, not something to prove, perform, but something to live. I’m learning to balance healing. What I do for myself, what I share with others, and the life I want to build.

Because, at my core, connection is a part of who I am. And within that, I want to be seen, flaws and all, and still be loved. Not for being perfect, but for being too much. Because that’s the real me. 

. . . 

Before my husband was my husband, I fell in love with him all at once. (I love telling our story, if you ever want to hear it, please ask.) Even in the midst of a captivating romance, there were…let’s call them unglamorous plots twists. Looking back, I could blame a lot on character development: our ages, his maturity, my personality (cough::intensity).

But in the end, we found words for everything. We chose to build a life together, not erasing the irrational or insecure parts, but by living through every chapter together, making needed revisions.

One of the biggest character developments was the climax of my depression. I carried a not-so-silent burden. A darker plot device that wasn’t easy to weave into the story. And honestly, at times, it felt like the story wouldn’t work.

He tried to close the book. I tried to skip ahead. But spoiler alert: conflict is what makes the ending meaningful.

Now that you understand the context, let me share a chapter.

Matt married me, knowing I never wanted children. 

Actually, it wasn’t about “wanting”, I never felt I could manage parenting. I couldn’t imagine being responsible for someone else’s well-being when I was still trying to figure out my own.

But through all those conflicts and plot twists, he truly showed me my own character development. He reminded me that if I waited to live life until I felt better, I would be waiting forever. I had to live, whether anxious, sad, or uncertain, because those emotions weren’t me, they were only parts of my experience, and he celebrated the larger whole that made me. . .me.

So we started fostering kids.

We found a meaningful organization that focuses on building a circle of support for families, creating a true “village” where everyone plays a part. When we accepted each placement, it was based upon strengths we could bring, growth we could make together, and experience. 

The experiences weren’t always easy, but they were always meaningful to our journey.

And I began to see the fullness Matt always knew I could bring to a family. So, one Christmas, I gave him pregnancy test strips, tucked inside a child’s Yeti stocking, & asked him to embark on an adventure with me.

I was honest about feeling both ready and not ready, knowing I would be good at many aspects of motherhood, but also aware that I needed to prepare myself mentally for the tougher moments.

And oh, those moments were tough.
I won’t drag this out with all the woes of how much I disliked pregnancy: a miscarriage, painful carrying, “seamonkey” baby hiccups, and two traumatic early arrivals. Followed by hernias, reflux, tongue ties, and NICU stays. . . I may be the minority, but I do not like being pregnant & sadly I didn’t bond with Alma until she was six months old. Newborns weren’t my thing. 

My depression took to postpartum like a best friend, and as babies cried for hours with no clear cause, I would sit on the floor beside the couch, crying right alongside them.

Matt often stopped home between cases just to check in, but my inability to soothe left me feeling lost, dark, and disconnected.

During Alma’s first year, as a new parent, I felt like I did a lot wrong. Working from home, I had no point of comparison to know if I was doing anything right. I had to rely on my own instincts and with a mind clouded by depression, those instincts weren’t always kind to me.

As I navigated those early days, I reached out to make mom friends, but I had to search for those I could say, “Wow this isn’t all sunshine, I’m not okay.”, and feel comfortable with. I made some great, solid friendships (going on four years now), and I lost some, which took a real hit on my confidence. 

But what I can say now is that I processed it all.

I took every moment to be present. No matter what kind of moment, I was honest when it was truly hard and celebrated when it was rewarding. I wasn’t always the strongest mom, but I was open about needing a break. I never showed my husband, my friends, or my children a false version of myself. 

When things went really well, I knew who to be with. And when they didn’t, I grieved deeply, because the sting of rejection is real. 

Long story long, yes, I once wondered, “Can I really manage being a mom with depression?”

And honestly, while I searched for the right answer, I learned some days I can crush it, some days it can crush me. But the story wouldn’t end there. . . it would become Mom’s Cloud and the Beach Adventure.

Because now, I can share the hard and the heartbreaking. I can share the hilarious and the healing.  I can risk letting people see the real me, because I show up flawed, but present. I’m living fully. Because cloudy days don’t last forever.