For dark times…
In new parenthood & beyond
My friend Anna always says that if she just knew how long the hardest parts of having a new baby would last, she could endure them fine. Not sleeping well for 4.5 mo and 10 days, rough but doable. Not sleeping for…well, no one knows…that’s just misery. In those early days (and months) (and years) (and forever after), whenever you’re suffering, people will always tell you to hold onto the knowledge that it gets better. They would know! They’ve been where you are, and now, they’re on the other side. Sometimes, this kind of encouragement is a gift and something to cling to. And, thank god we have these visitors from the future because they are not wrong!! It will get better (or it will at least be different)!! But, if for whatever reason, these kinds of encouragement haven’t hit or the words have simply worn out, that makes sense too.
When I was really struggling, passing mile markers where others had found relief, and feeling seeping panic that I might never sleep more than 3 hours at a time again, or get to leave my baby with someone else because no one else could soothe her, and then someone would say “try not to worry, it will get better eventually,” a voice would start screaming in my head that said “but it isn’t better now and it won’t be tomorrow!!!” And, more than anything, “what if I don’t make it to ‘eventually’??”
Now, when I hear people offer this encouragement to new moms or anyone struggling really, I can’t help but say: It might get better but it’s not better now and now is where you are. If the future brings you comfort, let it. And if you need someone to say, hey, this hard is HARD and nothing about what may or may not change makes this suffering any more okay, hear me say it.
There is permission to be where you are for as long as it takes. Full stop.
This being said. There is one perspective that helps me endure the long hard middle spaces of life. When I find myself sinking into darker places, I start imagining myself in the ocean. I go to the ocean not just because I like it there, but specifically because it is a body of water that is always moving. (If the ocean is not the right thing, try to think of someplace comforting where there is continuous change and undulations in the landscape. Back to the ocean…) Once I am there, I think of my feelings, my fear, my sadness, and my hopelessness as a big wave. Then, I try to locate where I am in it. Is it just starting? Has it peaked? Am I on my way down? Are we dissolving into whitewash yet?
Most of the time, when I am at the beginning or near the peak, there is this really scary sense that it will never stop getting bigger and, even if it does, the drop will inevitably be unbearable. At this point, I know my work is two-fold: a little bit of surrender and a little bit of swimming. I try to imagine going with what is, letting the water do its thing and move me through the hard. Meanwhile, I try to think about what I need to do to not completely drown. Cold cup of water? Comforting words like “no feeling is final”? Connecting with a friend? Deep breath like a sigh? Get some fresh air on my face? The one thing I know, and the one thing I trust is that waves don’t stop moving. My only job is not to drown.
So if you find yourself in an extra hard moment, remember two things: time is moving you through this and it is okay to be just where you are.
And if it’s really dark and you need some help, this hotline is open 24 hours 1-800-944-4773 (4PPD). Also! There are therapists, like, everywhere. Reach out to us here if you want support getting connected with someone.
xx
Morgan