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After I had Holden I dealt with quite a bit of postpartum anxiety. Although postpartum anxiety isn’t recognized as it’s own diagnosis; (it is lumped into an umbrella of all postpartum mood disorders and labeled postpartum depression) however, it should be it’s own label and I recommend you read more of this article to get a better idea of why…

In general they describe PPD as feelings of being overwhelmed by motherhood to where you feel inadequate, maybe even a lack of feeling at all… as if you are going through the emotions. Anxiety in turn is described as a state of “constant arousal, a loss of a normal sense of balance and calm.” That was me. I was feeling in overdrive. I felt the weight of everything is a crushing way that made me high strung, irritable, and on edge.

I wrote more about my experience after having Holden here on my blog: Being Honest About Postpartum Anxiety. I was never diagnosed with PPA, but instead brushed off by my care provider as having “normal” new mom worries. Nothing about living in a constant state of fear, having invasive thoughts, or the paranoia of everyone in public watching and judging me felt normal. One thing stuck out to me that I never addressed in my last blog though, (because I never contributed it to PPA) was RAGE. I had never even heard the term “postpartum rage” until recently- and still only on Facebook pages. It is not something I’ve ever heard mentioned in a regular conversation. I did share the article above on my Facebook page though and decided other women must relate. I got a relatable response and figured this topic should be addressed. I just thought I was a horrible person. End of story. I don’t think I harbor more guilt over anything else.

I have never been an angry person. Anxious, emotional, empathetic, sensitive- yes, but filled with an uncontrollable rage was never me. I never had an urge to scream at anyone I was in a close relationship with (I have told off a few strangers, and hit some random dudes out of 6th street), I have never had the urge to throw or break anything. At my angriest a good venting session (or three) would do the trick.

That all changed while dealing with postpartum anxiety.

Shortly after having Waylon, I had a lot of negative feelings that felt all consuming when I returned to work. Sadness (about the end of my leave), anger (about the lack of control I felt in the situation), jealousy toward other women who got to stay home, bitterness, resentment to my husband, stress from all that I felt was on my shoulders. I was simply put over whelmed. This felt like postpartum after having Holden all over again, and then cranking up the heat and the volume and trying to not raise my voice or break a sweat.

I knew I had a bit of postpartum anxiety after I had Holden. It wasn’t debilitating, but I had plenty of disturbing/intrusive thoughts surrounding his safety, which led to a feeling of uneasiness and living constantly on edge. However after I had Waylon that uneasiness was amplified by having two children under the age of two. Incessant worry and stress took over my brain. I wasn’t sure I could manage it all, but somehow I was making it through each day.

I was getting by most days despite my cup being so full to the brim that it may spill, but sometimes life would throw me a curve ball like traveling for a bachelorette party, a paycheck that was $800 short after my maternity leave, preparing for Christmas break, or travel. The heat would amp up underneath my cup and cause it to boil over. A rage I had never experienced ever before in my life came to the surface, and unfortunately was let out on the people closest to me: my husband, my best friend, my mom.

I’ve never been one to yell and scream, or throw or break things, but postpartum anxiety + rage brought out a monster from within, of which I was/am deeply ashamed of. There are many moments of slamming doors, throwing something just to release everything so pent up in my soul, but worst of all rage yelling at the ones I love the most. Just dumping loads of my stress, anxiety, overwhelm, resentment, all of it on to the person that happened to be closest. Sometimes my anger was justified, but my delivery was out of control.

Thankfully I didn’t live in this state of rage, but it was becoming a frequent response when under extreme stress, and I felt like a horrible wife/mother/friend/daughter/human.

I got to a point where I told Nathan I could not continue living this way. Being overwhelmed is one thing, but had I been happy at my job or seen a light at the end of the tunnel maybe I would have found a different solution. I decided I just couldn’t keep driving myself into the ground being so overwhelmed, so I decided to find a way out, which led to me quitting my job to pursue doula work and stay home with my boys.

I am a firm believer in the idea that if you don’t like something- change it. So I did.

Since lightening my load by quitting my teaching job, you could say that this rage has gone away. I still get stressed, tired, touched out, and frustrated, (usually at myself by things that all stem from postpartum changes. Fumbling things with my too full, stiff, achey hands (carpel tunnel), or losing my phone for the umpteenth time and frantically looking around my messy house as I’m late again.) But usually the tension is released with a cuss word, or a door slam, and not a fit or rage that I have to cool down from. I wouldn’t say that those fits were ever common (only a few come to mind) but they were unusual for me. They were never a response I would have ever had before and were alway triggered by being in a state of complete an utter overwhelm.

For instance: On the first day of Christmas break I was trying to pack up the boys who were both crying, get them ready to go out the door, round up gifts for the event we were attending, and of course we were late. My house was a mess. I had spent the past week being stressed at work trying to finish grades and report cards, and had been busy with Christmas events and things related to various events we had planned. I needed more bags, wrapping paper, food for recipes, more milk and diapers, to clean before we traveled. My mind was trying to keep a constantly updated google doc going while wrestling a crying baby into a carseat. My husband, who was peacefully playing madden told me to “calm down.” And I released a beast on him that I could see shocked him by the look on his face. Calm down? While I do EVERYTHING and you play madden!?

I stand by my feelings of anger, stress and overwhelm. As the mother and wife in my family I do do most of everything. The planning, cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping, decorating, memory keeping, bill paying, mail sorting, schedule keeping, present buying, and I am usually happy and proud to do so. However, I also was working a full time job, trying to run this blog, and pumping. Don’t forget the two year old and 6 month old either. I felt and still feel justified in my anger, but my rage was not me, not how I want to handle a normal and fixable qualm with my husband/team mate in parenthood.

Rage makes us feel awful. I was like I’m crazy, mean, a horrible wife/mother. It made me feel guilty and it made me feel like I don’t deserve all the good things I have like two perfect sons, a husband with the best intentions, a lived in and much loved house to be messy, in the first place.

I think in every circumstance that was met with rage, I felt like I had to do it all, or had too much going on at one time and my coping skills just ran out. I am too tired, for too long, and this literally pushed me to my mental and emotional limit, so the only thing left to do is scream or hit something. There is only one clear solution with two options to fix it. As simple as it is sometimes it isn’t so easy: Ask for help, or say no.

No, I can’t make cookies and bring decorations and pack for my self and family to come to a bachelorette party in Galveston for the weekend after my first week back at work.

No, I can’t bring Christmas gifts and go to dinner and see Christmas lights the day before we go out of town, on the evening of the first night of Christmas break. Or… Nathan, help me pack up the boys – I am struggling and can’t do it all by myself right now.

It may seem simple to say “NO.” But it can also be very complicated. We want to be people who can handle it all. We cant to be women who wear all the hats, and do all the things. Moms who are great wives, workers, friends, daughters. But often times we are trying to pour into so many cups from our own empty cups and we have hit our limit.

It may seem simple to ask for help, but what if there is nobody to ask? What if we have bought into the ideal that we should be able to pull it all off because of the expectations we are surrounded by. From social media, to the women in our own lives who we never saw break a sweat.

Our culture has really bought into the notion of “having it all.” Whatever that means. But whenever I tried to to do it all I became an exhausted, stressed out, bitter, resentful, angry, full of rage monster. Because it was impossible for me to do it all. I ended up not having peace or happiness, which is certainly not having it all, and is one of the most important things one can have! Women who “do it all,”or do everything that they do with a happy spirit- really aren’t because they have asked for help, or they have said “no.”

I always lived in fear of saying no. Scared I would let people down, hurt feelings, miss out on something cool, or be perceived as a Debbie downer. I’ve come to realize sometimes it is worth all of those things to not harm the ones I love with my words or otherwise. I always wanted to be the woman/wife/mom who seemed to have it all together with ease, but have learned that is not possible if I want to pleasant to be around. So, I am honest with Nathan and ask him for help. I need to stop scrubbing floor while cursing him in my mind and glaring at him while he watches a game, and I just say “hey, these dishes need to be dried.” Because the truth is, he loves me and wants me to be happy too. I honestly don’t think he cares about a clean kitchen, but he doesn’t want a wife who is also a slave to household chores. I surrender my desire to go to bed satisfied with a clean kitchen, and let go of my pride and mental score card and ask for help.

I’ve caught myself pep talking myself with the quote from a magnet that my late mother in-law stuck on the fridge we now have in our own house “whatever God asks you to lift he gives you the grace to carry.”

I believe it, but I also believe we only get that strength to carry anything through grace we when ask God for help. We tell him I can not do this without your help. I am not strong enough, I am not patient enough, I am not selfless enough to do this job without God’s help. I have to ask for it daily. I have to ask for God’s help to be the wife, mother, teacher, friend, daughter, that I long to be. With that help I can finally see how I handle overwhelm change.