A friend asked me recently when I struggled most with postpartum depression. This is a friend I have known since my oldest child was a few months old. And she didn’t know. Many of my friends didn’t know, maybe still don’t. They didn’t know because I didn’t know.
They didn’t know because I was afraid to use the words postpartum depression. I believed the stigma that postpartum depression only happens to moms that don’t love their babies, moms that don’t take care of themselves naturally, moms that aren’t me. I believed that postpartum depressions was only postpartum psychosis. I didn’t know it included social anxiety, anger, and obsessive thoughts. I didn’t know that I wasn’t alone.
They didn’t know how I struggled because I wasn’t able to name my pain. It felt too multilayered to pin it down as “sad”. I had no idea how to explain the social anxiety that took over my us...
I want to share more personal things in this space. I have been sitting with this feeling for weeks now, and in the coming months, I hope to reframe this small internet space into something more personal. In that light, I want to share about our first week of homeschool.
I wasn’t planning to start our schooling routines yet, I actually don’t believe summer is over yet, but I got caught in the collective energy of it all, just like I do at Christmas. The upswing of momentum and the 2 weeks we will take off for travel in September made this week a good time to start.
This is our first year without supplemental half-day programs for the oldest two. They will still have sports and dance and other extracurricular things, but without that half-day Montessori program it feels this is our first official homeschool year. Malcolm is also just 7, so I didn't feel...
"I just wish I was an only child so I got all the attention!"
"I wish we had 2 more Mamas that Theo could have a Mama and Malcolm could have a Mama and I could have you"
"It's hard having a baby brother because you don't get as much time with your big brother"
I heard all these things and more this week. There were fistfuls of grass and pillows thrown, toes ran over, turn taking gone awry. There were too many shrieks to count. There were hurt feelings.
It's hard to share a Mama, and my kids aren't even new to this game.
I find we are fed an inaccurate image of sibling bliss. We imagine hand-holding and a big sister reading quietly as the baby gazes on. We imagine soft voices and loving touches. We imagine a glow around our family. A couple conceives a longed for second child, (or third or fourth), and the new line fed to the new big brother is "Ar...