Today I sent my middle son off to Kindergarten. Him, the one I write about. The baby I fought for. I’m now in a very similar position to the one I was 5 years ago, but this time it’s very different. Five years ago, my oldest was in Preschool. After I would drop him off I would be alone with Easton for hours. Those hours were almost unbearable for me. I would cry from the time I got into my car in the parking lot until I had to pick him back up. I was terrified of being alone with Easton. Terrified of what would happen. Terrified of what I would do to him when there was no one with us.
That was the loneliest I’ve ever been. The most fear I’ve ever had. It was the most unstable time in my life.
I hated being alone with Easton because the anxiety that came with it was overwhelming. I would shake uncontrollably. I would Google every thought and symptom to make sure I was still only anxious and not psychotic. I would obsessively write out Bible verses to try to combat the thoughts. I would walk around stores aimlessly just so we wouldn’t be alone. I would daydream of running away, unable to figure out how to fix the mess I’d made.
I hated myself for it. I hated that I couldn’t enjoy my son. I hated that my anxiety made me question my love for him. I hated that he trusted me. I hated that I felt like a liar and a fake.
I felt like a robot of instinct trapped inside of an strangers mind.
Today I sit at home alone with my daughter, her brothers both off to their first day of school. It’s just the two of us and I’ve never felt more content. I’ve never felt more safe. I’m not rushing us anywhere out of fear. I’m not afraid to touch her or tickle her or kiss her. I’m not scared that I might “snap” or fearful of what the day will hold. I’m happy.
I’m happy that I’ve come this far. I’m happy that I can once again enjoy my kids. I’m happy that I was able to overcome the fear and the lies postpartum OCD told me. And most of all, I’m happy that I’m able to share this journey with all of you.
Happy School Year, Ya’all!