Anxiety part I

I guess I realized in high school that I was struggling with anxiety. I got a bad grade on a test and had my first anxiety attack- full blown couldn't breathe, chest pains, thought I was having a heart attack. I went to the doctor and they couldn't find anything wrong with me- probably anxiety, they said. Well, it got worse in college to the point where I was having them almost every day. Anxiety attacks always happened in big crowds, and well, it's hard to stay away from crowds in college.

It got significantly better when I got married. Social situations were still a bit stressful- I would agree to get together with someone, and then about an hour before, regret it and stress out about what we would do, talk about, if I would say something stupid (which, I inevitably do... I have chronic foot in mouth disease!). To be honest, I still get anxious before a social situation, but I am almost always glad I made myself be social afterwards, because I really do love spending time with friends and family. I just get stressed out beforehand, which is frustrating! It's better if I just don't think about it.

I don't think I realized how anxious I was until I became a mother. I had a pretty difficult pregnancy, but I remember being pretty relaxed throughout my pregnancy. Except when people would badger me with questions- then I would get a little stressed. But for the most part, I wasn't too anxious. And then the boys were born and my anxiety hit full blown. Andrew going to the NICU for 8 days and Matthew having club feet and having to go through such intense treatment that made him scream hysterically and then whimper and cry all day and night made it worse. Oh, and the fact that I was getting 2 hours of sleep a day for the first 6 weeks. And breastfeeding wasn't going well. And I was lonely and taking care of two infants essentially by myself with little help. (Paul worked from 4pm-1 or 2am, would come home, shower and stuff, take the boys for 2 hours so I could sleep, and then sleep until about an hour before he left for work, and would hold the boys for a few minutes so I could shower and eat). During this time, the boys got used to me and only me, and pretty much wouldn't go to anyone else, including Paul. When I went back to work for a month, I would call home to hear that they had been screaming all day, Andrew refused to eat, and Paul was stressed. That was a big reason why we decided I would be a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to be a SAHM, though, so I didn't mind too much.

I wasn't too anxious when I was with the boys, but the moment I left them with someone else or put them to bed, it felt like I couldn't breathe. Andrew was very colicky and particular. I didn't make it through a church service until they were 10 or 11 months old, because Andrew would scream hysterically. So I would sit in church, staring at the number box (call system they have for parents), and wait for my number to show up, which it did, every Sunday. The first week they made it through, I was sure the thing was broken. One other time, I was amazed at how well they were doing, and then had a nursery worker come get me because it really was broken. Even leaving them with Paul so I could go to the grocery store left me in such an anxious state. I needed the time away, because you need breaks as a mother! But I knew that leaving meant that they would scream and cry, often the whole time I was gone, and I could not stop worrying, no matter what I did. I would pray, breathe deeply, think about something else... but nothing I did worked.

Nighttime was terrible. Because Matthew was still getting up throughout the night, I would go to bed with such a sense of anxiety because I knew he would start crying and I could not relax enough to go to sleep. I would lay there with such anxiety until he would cry and I would nurse him and then I could usually go to sleep. And the advice on it all was the worst. I would tell someone (or everyone) and it was, "have you tried this, have you tried this, you should do this, you should do that," and I know that people were just trying to help, but it made me so anxious and thinking that they didn't think I was a good mom because my baby wasn't sleeping through the night, or that I was doing something wrong. The thing was, I usually had tried their advice, but it didn't work and I felt like a failure. I have had some perspective, and I know now that they were just trying to help. But I stopped talking about it unless asked, but that just made it worse.

As I look back on it now, I think I had a serious case of postpartum depression. And I think it manifested mostly in my anxiety, although I would get angry at people for no reason at all. I was bitter that I didn't get to have a natural or even vaginal childbirth. OK, that still bothers me, but I am working to get past it. I was jealous of other people who it seemed to come so easily for. Sometimes I would even get angry that I had twins, because they are so difficult and singletons looked so easy. Even hard singletons looked easy because you could at least devote your attention to that baby instead of having to split it up and take care of two difficult babies, by myself. Shame on me, I know. I would even get angry that nobody helped me, which is ridiculous because they are my babies and my responsibility. Even in writing this, I know it's not even true, because people did help me, mainly my sister, and of course, Paul, and a lot of people brought us food- but when you are depressed, your depression lies to you, and that's what happened.

Since the boys have started eating crackers and snacks, around 10 or 11 months old, my anxiety has become a lot less. I now tell any nursery workers or babysitters (oh wait, that's my sister), if they get fussy, hand them a cracker. And they don't cry incessantly anymore. Andrew does sometimes, but it's not constantly, and I can leave him without him crying at all the entire time I am gone. And now that they are on table food, my anxiety has lessened even more. I don't feel the need to rush to get Matthew at night anymore. I will wait to see if he will stop crying, sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't. I am confident that he will eventually stop, and am OK right now for getting up 1-3 times a night with him. Sometimes it is only one time a night! That is very encouraging for this heart!