motherhood, the loneliest season

it has been 952 days since the gray cloud has made its way into my life, my heart--952 days since i took a positive pregnancy test and slowly began the sink into isolation.

my mother told me it would happen. it happened to her, she said, and it's happened to others--many others.

one would think after a few years this would go away, the clouds would lift, evaporate. but that's not the case, not even close.

this week my feelings have been much like the weather: snowing one moment, sunny and in the seventies the next--very confused, very bipolar.


as david walked through the door a few nights ago, i burst into tears. as a human, as a mother, i was defeated. i couldn't bring myself to make dinner, to clean up, to function really at all...so i drew a bath and he brewed me some tea. i locked myself in the bathroom and cried as i lowered myself into the hottest waters to sweat out my feelings.

we've finally settled into community here, where i feel that friendships are actually developing. but that cloud, it's still there, it's still hovering.

i long for a kindred spirit--an anne of green gables bosom friend, if you will--one that is here in this season  right along with me, trudging through the thick of it. i've sought solace through instagram and it has helped immensely, connecting with other mamas all across the country and yet, i see others developing deeper friendships through the platform and cannot help but feel heartbreak as i am yearning for that too, praying that god would send me someone who treasures me as much as i them.

being home with hadley all day every day and knowing that soon it will be me with two littles, all alone...it scares me. do not get me wrong: motherhood is the most fulfilling, life-giving, best thing that has happened to me. it just so happens that it is also the hardest, most lonely time of my life.

i want to be checked up on, to be pursued, to have someone come over and hug me and bring me coffee or even write me a letter from the other side of the country that says "it's okay, you're okay, everything is going to be okay, i'm right there with you."

and you know what's worse? so much of me doesn't want to actually admit that this is happening, that this cloud exists, that this is where i am. i'm afraid that by admitting it, that by stepping out and speaking out, i will be pushed away, ignored and made a fool.

but here i am, in hopes that maybe you reading this are feeling this way too. that maybe, just maybe we can start being more honest and open and say "you're struggling? i'm struggling, too" and even more of a maybe--that my honesty will continue to break down walls and barriers (within both me and others) and bring me into friendships deeper than i could ever imagine.

until then, know this: if this is you, if you feel this way, too, i'm here for you.

and although it may not feel this way: you are not alone.