The truth is I've been battling post-natal depression. I have been depressed before, but didn't recognize it this time. I am ashamed to admit I spend my days counting down the minutes until Chad comes home so I can tell someone who cares that I am tired and want to go to bed. I cry nearly every day, and spend lots of delicious time feeling sorry for myself (while fully acknowledging that I have it pretty damn good). I have no room for anyone else, even my children, and feel unable to cope (although it has been pointed out to me that I am coping). Fortunately, some days are better than others, some days I can shower and smile and care. But others I am barely able to get through without screaming and crying. I am disconnected from my emotions, and feel that I am being demanded to perform far beyond my abilities. I should be able to feed the kids, get a bit of laundry done, dress myself and them, and make it down the street to the park. Yet, some days, that is an unimaginable task.
I feel keenly that my children should see me as a functional adult, I want to be molding and shepherding them, that is the entire reason that I stay home with them. But I am aware that the person that they see now is someone who is hanging on by a fingernail. I want to change something but feel incapacitated to do anything. I know I should be loving and caring for people around me, my neighbours, my friends, my church-mates, but I can't seem to carry anyone else. I feel crushed beneath the weight of the constant demands of the people I've made.
So, I suppose, I am writing this as a justification for my failures. I don't want to be doing any ministry. I just want to survive. I don't want to line any more jobs up for myself, I just want to make it through today. And hopefully, the cloud will lift, and I will be able to do more than just survive. Hopefully, someday soon, I will be a person I can be proud of. But it's not today.