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Broke Wife, Big City
I don’t know if
I can do this
By Aprill Brandon
Raising babies is wonderful work.
It’s also hard.
But mostly, it’s extremely isolating.
Which is why last week, when it all just became too much, I decided to
scream my frustration out into the void. What with this being 2016, the
void meant I took to my Facebook page and furiously scribbled out the
following:
“Today I cried into my son’s peanut butter sandwich.
There’s no punchline. I was crying so hard my tears literally fell into
his sandwich.
There’s no specific reason why I’m crying. Postpartum depression and
probably some anxiety are likely the culprits. Today I am sad and tired
and overwhelmed.
And so I cry while making his sandwich and I cry while carrying around
my fussy infant daughter and I cry while paying bills and I cry while
sharing that I’m crying.
And I share that I’m crying because motherhood is not all adorable
photos and funny anecdotes and snarky observations, all of which are
littered across my Facebook page. It’s also being hijacked by hormones
while being asked to push yourself to the limit physically, mentally
and emotionally for your kids. And not feeling like you’re allowed to
complain or even admit you’re approaching your breaking point.
I share because I know I’m not the only one who has cried into their
child’s lunch.
I share to let you know you are not alone.
You’re strong. We’re strong.
We’ll get through this.
And until then, our kids will just have to deal with slightly soggy
sandwiches.”
I wrote this because I had no physical shoulder to cry on. But I
reprint it here because the outpouring of love and support I received
back was overwhelming.
Because, with this being 2016, when you scream into the void, the void
lets you know it heard you.
And it understands.
Women (and more than a handful of men) wrote comments of support. Of
commiseration. They told me to hang on. That it gets better. They told
their own stories. Of crying into their kid’s lunches too. Of throwing
apples against the wall out of sheer frustration. Of their own battles
with postpartum depression.
But mostly just of love.
It was a whole online village coming to my Internet doormat to let me
know they will help me raise my children in whatever way they can.
It was beautiful.
The process of creating life is a messy business. Both literally and
figuratively. And you can get so wrapped up in the chaos that you
forget to reach out. Or worse, think reaching out makes you weak
because a lot of people have children. Why does it seem like only you
are struggling?
And that’s the thing. You’re not. The moms I know run the entire
gambit. Working moms. Single moms. Working, single moms. Married.
Divorced. Older. In their 30’s and 40’s. Younger. Teen pregnancy. An
accident that happened at 25. Rich. Struggling. Olive Garden middle
class. Fancy Italian restaurant with unpronounceable name middle class.
With a supportive co-parent. With an uncooperative swamp demon sporting
dumb tattoos. With a huge support system. All alone. Hippies. Type A
personalities. The entire gambit.
And yet, you can look any one of these moms in the eye and say “I don’t
know if I can do this” and she will nod her head in recognition.
Because she knows. KNOWS. Better yet, she understands. And it doesn’t
matter if you breast or bottle feed, vaccinate them or not, believe in
letting them cry it out or sleep in a recliner with them strapped to
your chest. That other mom will know and understand and give you a hug
(whether in real life or via emoji). And then she will offer you a
glass of wine (or five wine emojis).
This country doesn’t make it easy to raise a family. No paid maternity
or paternity leave. Stagnant wages and ever rising costs of living. The
outrageous price tags of childbirth and daycare. The unrelenting
scrutiny of every move you make as a parent.
Which is why we need each other.
And which is why it is important that we remember that none of us
should wear our exhaustion as a badge of honor. Nor our sadness as
something to be ashamed of. Nor our uncertainty as a weakness.
Reach out.
Scream into the void.
Trust me.
You are not alone.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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