I think I can speak for all of us when I say 2016 has been a spectacular shit show so far, amirite? Seriously, people have got to stop killing people, period. And I’m terrified for our future presidency.
Personally, this year hasn’t been easier for me. Coming into 2016 I was doing so well mentally, as evidenced by my last post. That sassy Sarah got herself in the motherly way she is today, proof that life was very good six months ago. Becoming unexpectedly pregnant and having to quit taking my medication, Cymbalta, cold turkey has made those six months particularly challenging. I honestly don’t know where the line differentiates between withdrawal symptoms from my meds and all those fun symptoms that come with being pregnant at an “advanced maternal age,” but I do know none of it feels good.
Except for when he kicks. Our little Henry William Scoular is getting stronger every day, even if he is a little punk ass. This kid is going to be so loved it’s ridiculous.
Quitting my meds and feeling like warmed up garbage for six solid months, combined with return of my depression and anxiety, hasn’t been fun for me or my family. That’s where the shame comes in. I haven’t been able to function very well as a human being for a while now. My activity levels have dropped to nothing and the only food that stays down reliably is junk. I feel like a failure as a mother and a wife and a person and it’s so hard to talk about or admit to anyone, including myself. But I also recognize a lot of that is the anxiety and depression – my dumb brain – doing the talking. I’ve been so afraid to take antidepressants because who knows what it could possibly do to my little boy (gods forbid), but my nurse midwife took one look at me on Wednesday and told me I need to be taking something. The odds of me suffering from postnatal depression are extremely high (hell, I have it antenatal) and that isn’t a good outcome for anyone involved. As Hank is almost 24 weeks now and fully formed, I agreed to a low dose of Zoloft and already notice it being a tiny bit quieter in my head. Now if only the constant nausea would go away…
Should I feel shameful for needing this kind of medication? My nurse midwife put it this way: If I had an infection, I’d take the antibiotic, right? If I needed chemo I’d take the chemo, right? Why is it different with antidepressants? Don’t get me wrong, I will never go back on Cymbalta again and will never, ever, stop taking my meds without tapering first, but if I know this could help I have to try. Surely I’m not the only mama who has been in this predicament?
Also, about our future presidency? For the love of all things good and holy, please do not vote for Donald Trump.