My name is Emily.
I have anxiety and depression; this does not define who I am anymore. I used to live my life as if that was all I was.
I believe I started the same way many others did. I had a rough childhood and suffered numerous forms of abuse. I began self mutilation and isolation when I was in middle school. My parents were aware, but that didn’t matter.
I believed I was meant to be miserable; that this is just the way life was. I believed I would die young because I was not meant to be alive.
That lead to self destruction, self hatred, and promiscuous behavior. I was involved in many toxic relationships until I found out I was pregnant at the age of 21.
I am now 30 years old and I am happily married with three beautiful children. I have overcome the obstacles and have been successful. I have learned much along the way.
One of the biggest and hardest lessons was taught to me by my son. I learned how to parent successfully while having a mental illness.
Mental illness can be debilitating.
It will affect your work life, social life, sleep quality, life progress, and relationships. I knew all of this; what was new to me was having it affect my child.
I had my son while hiding from an abusive ex-boyfriend. Connor was the first baby I had ever held. I didn’t know how to change a diaper, bathe him, or make a bottle. I never wanted children.
The first two years were horrible.
I went to counseling for postpartum depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I spanked him a lot. I had no patience. I was resentful when I couldn't work full time because of childcare issues. I couldn’t move out of my moms living room because I wasn’t able to support him on my own.
I was angry.
Connor and I moved four times before he was three years old.
I tried to stay sane while figuring out a better set up for us. Only to have it crash back down.
I tried to do all the right things that moms should do. I have all the pictures of his first birthday, him opening christmas presents, and him carrying his easter basket.
When Connor started acting out everything got worse.
I couldn’t take him into stores or out to eat. He was angry all the time. Until the age of four, he would have tantrums for hours. I tried to teach him letters, colors, and numbers. He wanted no part of it. I would react in anger and frustration. Together we were in a spiraling, damaging tornado and nothing I did helped.
My parents would tell me they had no problems with him when they babysat. I was encouraged by others that I needed to be harder on him and punish him more.
When he started telling me that he hated himself and that he was stupid, I was crushed. My son was heading down my same road as me. I began to look into childhood mental illnesses such as ADHD and ODD to find answers.
I met my husband, Tyson, when Connor was almost three. My husband also came with a spunky 2-year-old of his own.
I started getting out of the house more, which helped my depression. But I hid my anxiety which made it come out in multiple ways. Most of the ways consisted of impatience with Connor, feeling numb when Tyson was gone, and paranoia. I was always thinking it was all going to crash down. I was terrified of having two toddlers when I felt like I was the world’s worst mom already. I didn’t want Tyson to see through me.
Things started looking up when we all moved in together. Tyson encouraged me to get back to the things I loved. I started gardening, working outside, and working out again. I went back to school, and things finally felt like things were falling into place. Which was a huge mood booster.
Connors angry outbursts stayed strong. He wasn’t nice to his new sister, and continued to throw tantrums. I continued to punish, and scrutinize Connors every move. I was always angry and disappointed in my child. This was not the picture I had painted in my head.
When I learned his behavior stemmed from my anxiety and uncontrolled emotions, it almost made me sick. I responded by going into a deep depression.
Everything I had spanked my baby for and everything I yelled at him for was because of me.
I didn’t realize the effect my mental illness was having on the people in my life. It was what made me finally seek help. I went through many different medications. I removed toxic people from my life and began to work on the real me. The way I talked to myself in my head, helped change the way I spoke to my child. When I stayed calm, he stayed calm. But behaviors don’t change overnight. I continued to try things to help my anxiety. I was more open to Tyson. I would take a time out when I felt that overwhelming feeling. I went for walks and used headphones when sounds became triggering.
I had to acknowledge my faults before I could ever guide my son. With that acknowledgement came understanding and the will to take my life back. Connor did behavioral modification therapy for two years. I was able to finish school and get a job in my field.
Connor was diagnosed with ADHD when he was five yrs old.
Our days were never perfect.
I failed a lot.
There was lots of crying, screaming, confusion, and anger through this whole progress.
There were times I thought no matter what I did, I was doomed and I was going to take my baby down with me.
Connor kept me from giving up.
Connor is now eight years old. He excels in school, plays sports all year, helps take care of his baby brother, has friends, and a supportive home life.
Together we use affirmation instead of punishment. We have a chalkboard wall where we write all of his wonderful accomplishments and skills. Several nights a week we talk about where he is mentally and emotionally.
I realized those birthday and Christmas pictures are nice, but it’s not what makes a good parent.
I will always have guilt for how his life started.
I will always be proud of how we changed it around together.
Where am I now in my journey?
Still battling, like I will the rest of my life. I have been laid off since March. At first I was terrified because not being busy means my brain may start to tear me down again. It’s not always easy to stay in control. I turned my attention to getting into the best physical shape I have ever been in. That came to a halt with an elbow and wrist injury.
So I began to turn my backyard into a farm. I cope with keeping busy. New projects, new ideas, and new skills to learn. Now that the farm is in maintenance mode, I am teaching my youngest to talk and homeschooling the older two part time. The other time I am refinishing my kitchen cabinets. I am still always working on myself. Recently it has been trying to let my husband see the real me. We are all hiding to an extent. I don’t want to hide anymore.
It’s never too late to seek out help for mental illness.
It is nothing to hide or be embarrassed of.
Realizing how my mental illness hurt my child changed my life. I wanted to be better for him. I wish I could have done it for myself successfully. We’re not perfect. I still have hard days where I am on edge, and he still has days with strong emotions. But together we have tools to handle those days together.
I'm proud that I see the positive side of my mental illness now.
I know the signs, I know the struggle.
I know how to find help and I know how to change the path.
My children have a parent that not only watches for physical illness, but mental illness.