No. 53: I'll Never Feel Ready

my mother-in-law stayed with us for three months and I learned what I already knew.

Ten days after Enakhe was born, my mother-in-law arrived in Dallas with four suitcases, two knees recovering from total replacement and one of the proudest, brightest smiles you’ve ever seen. My father-in-law and my nieces were set to arrive a couple weeks after her to visit and snuggle for three weeks, but mommy had no return flight. She said, “I’ll stay as long as you need me—I just want to be home for Christmas.” No part of me thought she’d be here longer than a month.

Part of this was because of a glitch in my personality that warps my reality into believing I’m inconveniencing anyone who wants to help me, the other part was rooted in the ugly anxiety that skyrockets postpartum.

When you have an autoimmune disease that amplifies struggles like anxiety and depression, it takes some serious self awareness and work on the front end to prepare for the hormone avalanche that is the postpartum period. I didn’t think I’d be able to let go of the control I thought I needed to keep my fraying strands of peace from falling apart altogether.

My intrusive thoughts saw scenes that made my stomach churn. My baby neglected in her bed. Germs passed to his defenselss immune system. Meals prepared without my watchful eye accidently tainted with gluten or dairy leaving me sick and in a thyroid flare. In my vulnerable state, the moment I had looked forward to for six months suddenly felt like a risk that might not be worth the delicious, long awaited reward.