I have this peach-colored, stretchy kind of shirt that had been sitting in my shirt drawer for what seemed like forever. It had been a while since I’d last worn it because it seemed to always fit the wrong way.
It hugged all of my curves, both the good ones and the ones that I would rather keep hidden. You know those unattractive back rolls? Yeah, this momma has them. One of these days I won’t have them anymore. I hope.
But, I did just spend several years in a row being pregnant constantly. As much as I tried keeping the weight off, six pregnancies in 5 years (four of them resulting in live births) don’t really give the body adequate time to recover. Throw in a couple years of severe postpartum depression, and you can imagine the impact my weight has received.
I decided to give the shirt another try. I slipped it on and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked slim. I felt beautiful. It didn’t seem to hug my curves like usual. A burst of confidence surged through me!
I got so excited and ran to the bathroom scale. I stepped on it, eager to see my apparent progress. The number that blinked back at me was not what I expected. Instead of losing, I had GAINED two pounds! No, it was not a result of working out and gaining muscle. I haven’t worked out in quite some time. I know; shame on me.
My confidence shattered and sprinkled all over the floor around me. I got off the scale and put it away, discouragement slowly filling inside me.
I stepped in front of the mirror again, and this time I didn’t see the slim woman I saw before. My curves looked awkward, and the shirt no longer seemed flattering.
As a man, I thought I could handle it. I thought I could get through it, but I discovered that I too was suffering during my wife’s postpartum depression.
*Another post written by my husband, Evan.*
The stress caused me to lose almost 10 lbs and gave me irritable bowel syndrome. It was the hardest thing that I have ever had to watch. Lydia was sick for over a year and even though my last post was a little comical, there was nothing comical about watching my wife struggle that way.
Just because my wife was the one going through the actual postpartum depression doesn’t mean that it didn’t affect me at all.
I remember the sleepless nights as I sat awake in our bed listening to her cry, feeling completely helpless. I remember the fear of leaving for work, never being sure of what would happen while I was away. I remember the desire to take away all of the hurt and all of the pain and deal with it myself, because that would be easier than watching my wife, my best friend, and my children’s mother suffer and hating myself for not being able to do anything.
Your wife just had a baby and something is really off with her. It’s called postpartum depression.
If you are a subscriber to my email newsletters, then you knew that this post was coming. For those that don’t know, my husband will gradually be co-writing for my blog, and I am so excited for this to become a team effort! Today, my sweet husband is here to share his thoughts on postpartum depression and how husbands can help their wives through such a difficult season.
*written by Evan, my husband and the Marine behind the blog*
You’ve just had a child – a little bundle of joy – and you couldn’t possibly be any happier!
This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #SeizeYourPoiseMoment #CollectiveBias
Motherhood can sometimes be messy, bladder control issues included. But, none of that has to keep you from feeling beautiful each day. Keep these post-baby essentials on hand to help you maintain beauty and confidence all day long.
You know those nightmares you had when you were a teenager (okay, maybe even as an adult), when you were caught with your pants down and you were desperately scrambling to get pants on? Never in my life did I imagine I would experience something like that in real life.
I’m totally, 100%, scout’s honor serious!
If you were driving the highway between Arizona and California last month and saw the bare butt of an almost 30-year old woman on the side of the road, I confess, that was me. I can’t believe I’m actually telling this story, and I’m trying so hard to not guffaw at myself right now.
For some reason, our society (and especially Christian circles) have developed this idea that if we don’t appear to have it all together, we are perceived as weak and one big hot mess. I honestly never understood this mentality. When did we start saying that it’s not okay to be not okay? What exactly is the definition of “being okay” anyway? Our society seems to have set this standard that you must have your ducks in a row to be okay. Have we considered that not being okay is still okay?
This past week has been fraught with a lot of stress for me. It has put me through Continue reading →