I have always been in awe of dancers. Every dancer I’ve observed seems to have this unique ability to get lost in the music, and retreat into a different world.
I’ve always envied their power to shut out everything around them for no matter how hard I have tried, I can never seem to get there. I’ve always known that I have the potential to dance, but for some reason I have never been able to get my rigid limbs to flow smoothly as others do so naturally around me. After much observation I have figured out the secret that makes these dancers so fascinating to watch and what separates these smooth movers from awkward dancers like me.
These dancers can feel the music whereas I have always felt nothing.
If motherhood were a dance, I would describe myself as an erratic, rigid performer.
One minute I am a contagiously fun magnetic dancer doing leaps in the air while the next minute I am stumbling awkwardly, tripping over my kids. I have always tried my hardest to get into a steady rhythm but my steps never quite fall in line with the beat. One moment I am too fast, the next too slow. I have watched other moms around me with great interest as they steadily scoop up their wee ones and happily twirl around me.
Not too long ago I began to notice that something was different in how I was experiencing maternity compared to those around me.
I kept trying hard to find my rhythm, however my unpredictable dancing had worsened. I continued to go through periods where I had large pockets of energy, and I would be doing dips, flips, and fancy tricks.
In this phase I would be the best mom and wife going above and beyond for my kids, my husband, and for anyone else and anything else going on in my life at that time.
I would be extremely productive, excited, social, and confident often sprinting down 10 different paths toward 10 different finishing lines, tackling whatever came my way with tenacity and ferocity. In this state I was charming, charismatic, motivated, innovative. I was on fire, and everything about life was exciting! So exciting that I hardly needed much sleep at all. How could I possibly sleep when the thoughts in my head were racing non-stop? There was just too much to get done!
And then unpredictably, with no warning, my energy would come crashing down and my pockets would come up empty.
I wasn’t sprinting towards any finishing lines, because I could hardly make it to the starting line. My dancing shoes were hung up, and any memory of the fantastic number I had just performed a week earlier was lost in the dark fog that filled my mind. During these low periods I would drop the ball in every way possible. I wouldn’t show up for any social engagements. I couldn’t follow through with any commitment no matter how important it was. I didn’t want to communicate with anyone so calls and texts would go unanswered. I would need excessive sleep and even 8 hours was not enough. This would usually last up to a week, and in that time period I would do the bare minimum. I would make breakfast, get Jagger to school (we were always late during the low), come back home, hand Jovi an iPad, then I would get back in bed. My confidence would be shot, my innovative energy gone, and my charm would all but disappear.
Between these two states, I was like two completely different people.
There was an average state of being in between these extreme phases, but I began to cycle through these states more rapidly and over time, the intensity increased. As this extreme pattern continued, I started to suspect that something was wrong with me.
During this time, I was barely hanging on to my sanity. I couldn’t feel what to do on my own, so I drew upon the example of my amazing, warm, nurturing mother, and I mirrored everything she used to do with me. Because of her, I was always able to meet the needs of my children, and when autism came knocking on our door, I rose to the occasion and fought (and still fight) relentlessly to ensure the best care for my little guy.
But in spite of everything I did, I recognized that others were still feeling something that I didn’t. I felt empty, and this emptiness caused me to be tense. I didn’t tend towards affection and felt stiff much of the time. I was so stiff I couldn’t let the kids stand on my feet so we could dance together in the kitchen. Though I strained my ears day in and day out I constantly came up short not hearing any kind of music. This absence of heart caused me to feel like being a mom was a costume I wore because I had to, not because I wanted to. It was unnatural, and I sought ways to take it off every chance I could get.
Over time, the grey days started to outnumber the sunshine days as my mood swings got progressively worse. I was cycling through my ups and downs so quickly that I would often experience every emotion on the spectrum all in the span of one day. I was exhausted, and so was my husband. Zach was having a hard time keeping up with all of the flip flopping going on. His career began to be affected by my unstable nature and anxiety.
I could pull myself out of a stressful situation with my kids and force myself to be patient, but I often did it with shaking hands, clenched teeth, and constant prayers. Zach would occasionally have to stop what he was doing at work and come home to relieve me from my parental duties. I knew the kids could feel of my inflexibility. Children have an innate sense in knowing if mom is not just physically present, but wholeheartedly present, and I’ve often wondered if many of their troubled behaviors were merely a natural reaction to my distracted state of mind. They wanted to dance with their mom, but instead they were getting this uptight tin man version of me with rusted joints.
It was too difficult for me to dance when I couldn’t figure out how to loosen up.
This whole situation reached a peak one day when my sweet husband mentioned he was ready for baby #3. Jagger had finally reached a level of development where we didn’t have to worry about him as much anymore, so it naturally seemed like the next step for our family. What should have been an exciting conversation actually ended up being an emotionally heated one as everything inside me screamed that I wasn’t fit to be a mother, and another child would push me over the mental edge that I had been desperately trying not to fall off of.
My reaction surprised both of us, and in that moment we both knew I needed help beyond the scope of faith and prayers.
To read on about my mental health journey,
