2019 is the year I stop setting goals

I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a new year as much as this one. 2018, I can say whole heartedly, was the worst year of my life. How can that be possible?? On paper, I have a pretty dang good life. No tragic loss, no devastating diagnosis, but yet I found myself barely making it out alive. I suffered from post partum depression with Raelinn. Maybe more-so the “baby blues”. I blamed that on getting back into the swing of things too quickly after giving birth. Going back to work and regular life before my body was completely healed and we were all settled in with our new baby. With Laycie I thought I had things figured out. It was my second time doing this after all. A newborn baby wouldn’t be anything to get used to, as we’ve done this before. I took a full 8 weeks off of work to make sure I had the time to not only physically heal, but make sure I could mentally make sure I was on the right track before jumping into life again. Pictures are deceiving. Laycie was a very hard newborn. That sweet little girl was never content. Her sleep schedule was totally out of whack. No matter what we did she woke up about every hour and a half to two hours at night, and never took long naps during the day. I remember telling my mom, “she’s broken, aren’t newborns supposed to sleep?!  Mine never sleeps!” Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Looking back, from January on everything was a blur. I remember sitting on the couch for hours, not watching tv, not looking at my phone. Caring for the baby when she needed something, talking to Raelinn if she asked a question or needed something, other than that just literally melting into the couch. That led to suicidal thoughts. I told Tj numerous times him and the girls would be better off without me here. Life would be better and easier for them if I eliminated myself from the equation. One day I was washing Raelinn’s hair in the shower, and it dawned on me she needed to know how to do it herself if I wasnt going to be around to help her. So I showed her how to do it. Crazy right? I Finally went back to my OBGYN for help. I knew I wasn’t going to survive if I didn’t. After a few weeks of being on medication I could see myself getting better, but I was definitely not a fan of the side effects! I figured I was good to go as I was finally doing my day to day tasks without breaking down or feeling defeated before I even started them. I slowly stopped taking the medication and things were good! Until one day....memories of family arguments, pressure from finances, who knows, but I snapped. Raelinn was playing at my sisters, Laycie was napping. I started to work on washing dishes from the day. A lid to a pot was loose. On the window seal was sitting Tjs leatherman. I picked it up, opened it up trying to find the screwdriver tool, and ended up pulling out a sharp hook (maybe meant for a can opener?). Everything went blank around me. I could almost hear my own heartbeat. Maybe if I started slowly....I could make lots of cuts and bleed out? Was that what I wanted? I had no plans of suicide. No exact way of doing it. But maybe, it didn’t have to be planned. Maybe it could just happen? Or maybe if I just hurt myself a little, my mind would snap out of this craziness and I could go back to being normal me. Happy go lucky Shaunna.  I was standing in my kitchen, as a wife and a mom, harming myself. I. Had. Finally. Lost. It. But I couldn’t stop. Tears were running down my cheeks, but I was numb. Numb everywhere. Mentally. Even physically. This went on for a while, as I remember I had a pandora playing on my phone and it had changed songs a few times. I was bleeding. But I couldn’t stop. Then the front door swung open. In walks tj from work. I throw the leatherman down and try to hide my wrist. He comes into the kitchen, and I braced myself for the lecture that I totally deserved. Instead, I was wrapped into his arms and squeezed for a long time. Did he see? I’m not sure. But whether he did or not, this is exactly what I needed. Just a hug to make me come back down to earth. I’m loved. I’m needed. That’s what that one guesture made me feel. Perfect timing. He never said a word that  night. Just let it be. The next day I worked at the salon. Trying to hide the small wounds, yet not get my sleeves dripping wet when shampooing clients made it hard to forget what happened the evening before. I felt embarrassed. Hoping I wouldn’t have to make up a lie if somebody asked. My vinyl gloves rubbing right on the area didn’t help eaither. Finally tj and I talked about what had happened. What a patient man I married! He was stern but yet loving. The next few days as my wrist healed and scabbed I was applying everything I could think of to help it not get infected and to help with scarring. I think that was my rock bottom. I started my medication again and picked myself back up. It was all up from there. Not saying I haven’t had rough patches mentally, but everybody is entitled to a bad day right? I have set expectations of myself lower than I ever have. And that’s OK! I can’t be perfect like some of my fellow social media friends out there. My house isn’t spotless, I don’t craft and upcycle and read self empowering books. I don’t meal prep and sew the girls dresses and garden. And that’s OK! One day I will get there. One day I will have this wife and motherhood thing figured out and be this fabulous cook (maybe I’m reaching for the stars with that one)! But for right now...I’m ok with whatever I can accomplish. Laycie is now only waking up once or twice in the middle of the night, so I’m actually getting some sleep. Hallelujah. I haven’t taken my medication in a few months and I have been fabulous. My obgyn told me to expect that around a year once my hormone levels had figured themself out. I feel like normal me again. As normal as you can as a wife and mom. :) I don’t have any goals for 2019. I don’t want goals. I don’t want anything that will make me feel unaccomplished. I just want to make good memories, survive the bad days, and keep my laundry folded. Here’s to all the moms who have suffered from post partum depression. And for the beautiful souls who didn’t survive it. I’m so grateful I have. 2018, although a blur, will always be one I will remember.

This last year doesn’t define me. It was definitely a learning experience and a story of survival. I am not blogging this for attention, or to re live it, I am writing this so I can always remember how strong I really am. This is my happily ever after blog, after all. And here’s to 2019 being the happiest one of them all with these three!!