Dealing with it

I’m just going through it, guys. A whirlwind of emotions. Most of them I don’t like. At all. Most of which I’ve been dealing with since Ashtyn was born. Some that I have been dealing with since before.

The one I deal with the most is anxiousness. I’ve actually dealt with this way before Ashtyn was born, but it multiplied by like 800 when I had her. I was constantly told Ashtyn was going to die. That her most likely cause of death would be failure to remember to breathe. So, I find myself up most of the nights either in her room or staring at the monitor to see if I can see her breathing. I truly believe my anxiety is to blame for some of her hospital visits in her first year of life.

My anxiety after birthing Ashtyn came with a list of other issues. Postpartum depression, and PTSD. I couldn’t believe that I had PTSD. That’s only for people who went through wars or horrific events. I guess being poked for different testing, bad news every visit, being told I would most likely receive a death certificate instead of a birth certificate, and the not knowing WAS traumatizing. Horrific. Terrifying.

Fear. Oh the fear. Fear of sleeping through the night. Fear of not being able to be in the surgery rooms. Fear of not knowing what the future held. Fear of blinking in case something was to happen. Fear of grocery shopping or doing anything without her. Again, just in case anything happened. Crippling fear. I couldn’t do anything without fearing the worst.

The one I’ve been dealing with the most lately is jealousy. Jealous of the moms who have experienced the first roll. The first crawl. The first word. First steps. Jealous of the moms who have experienced things that are so taken for granted. What I would give to see Ashtyn roll or sit up. Jealous of the family who have never had to pack hospital bags for long stays. Jealous of the parents who got to take turns at night feeding the baby, Ashtyn was on continuous feeds. Jealous of the moms who save on gas money because they don’t have to jump to seven different doctors constantly. I never pictured my life like this, and I’m dealing with jealousy of those who have their “picture perfect” life.

I do have good emotions. I have a sense of pride. A pride that I think only comes with being a mom of a child with disabilities. I am so proud to be Ashtyn’s mom. Everytime she does something that doctors or therapists said she will never do, my heart beams with pride.

Humbleness. Like how did Jesus think I was worthy enough to be a living vessel of such a testimony? How could He look past my flaws and find me, out of all people, good enough to be responsible for raising and guiding Ashtyn through this crazy thing called life? It’s a responsibility that I do not take lightly. And one I am so thankful for.

Thankful. Grateful. Blessed. Ashtyn is here! We were told she was going to die. That she would need all of these supports to be able to function. That we should think about organ donation. But she is here, alive, and thriving! And we, Alex and I, get to be such a small part of her testimony.

I write all of this just to say that you are not alone. Life is hard. Certain circumstances make it even harder. Emotions are real and are made to be felt. So if you need to cry, cry. If you need to scream, do it. Don’t bottle it up.