That Thing

I am still trying to get to grips with my diagnosis. Post-natal depression. It is not who I am. It is an illness that is slowly robbing me of my sense of self. I feel empty alot of the time. Like I have nothing to give. To offer. Like nothing.

My doctor related a story to me the other day. He told the story of Annie who had signed up to become a nun. After selling all her earthly posessions, she went to the nunnery to start her new life. The Mother Superior welcomed her, introduced her to everyone and explained her daily chores. Then she was shown her room: a basic affair with a simple bed and a desk at the window. She noticed a leather strap hanging near the desk. When the Mother Superior had finished her tour, she asked if Annie had any questions. Annie asked about the leather strap. “Oh! That’s for you to beat yourself with at the end of everyday!”

Pause for laughter.

My doctor reckons that I am Annie. That I set unrealistic expectations of myself, only to severely chastise myself for failing to reach them.

He is right.

There is a constant script rolling in my mind. “You’re so stupid” “Why don’t you buy nicer clothes. shoes.” “Gosh, can’t the earth swallow me in” “How I yearn to be the fly on the wall. Wait! I am. ugly. disgusting. unwanted”

It all sounds so inane when I spell it all out like this. Maybe that’s what depression is? ridiculous. moronic. asinine. 

I am here because I couldn’t manage out there. I kept looking for “that feeling” toward my baby. The elusive. The magical. The seemingly unnatainable maternal glow. Its all over facebook. It permeates momma groups. Crunchy moms sprout forth easy quick fix recipes for any ailment, using breastmilk and coconut oil. Be crunchy! Be mommy! Be like me!, they seem to shout.

It’s all a lie. That feeling. I will develop a bond with my baby through caring for and nurturing her. That’s what my sister told me earlier today  Perhaps she’s onto something. I tried that today. I held my baby (MY baby. I think I need that to sink in some more) close. I fed her lunch. I distracted her when she was upset about losing the tube of handcream someone had given her. No pressure. “Being is better than doing”, someone once told me. So I am trying to be. Be Lailah’s mom. Be there. Care. Just be. 

Cheers.

Time is on my side

So, at the care facility, we have restricted access to our cellphones. I guess I never realises how much I rely on my fone until it was taken away from me (promptly at 20h00 only to be returned at 17h00 the next day)! I had to start wearing a wrist watch, jus so I could time my breastmilk expression sessions! Only good can come of this, though! I rely on my handheld way too much.

A form of expression

As a novice blogger,  I sure do “express” myself alot. looooooolz 😂 I am a breastfeeding mom and seeing as my boobs haven’t gotten the memo (that I’m away from baby to recuperate) I need to express breastmilk often. And by often I mean, at least every 2 hourly. The staff have been kind enough to loan me their kitchen for this purpose. It can be the longest half an hour in my day. Thank gosh I found blogging! 

Lunchtime ramblings

So at lunch, I was treated to some class a gossip. A lady I had just met, mentioned that this was a 5-star mental healthcare facility! “Oh! Its been graded like they do with hotels?”, I quipped. “Not exactly,” came the reply. “A celebrity of a political persuasion was treated here”. “like really high up”. This was after she had sworn me to secrecy. She ended with a flourish, “so now you know its top class if celebs choose to come here”. I guess now I do! 

Being Mom

My name is Candice and someone calls me mum-mum. I have a gorgeous baby daughter, pushing 10 months. I have recently been admitted to a…erm…I’m not sure what to call it?! Ok, well I have been diagnosed with depression (post-natal depression) to be exact. 

I’ve decided to start blogging about my experiences. I intend to be raw and bare my soul in a bid to aid my recovery. 

The title? Well, I’m a journalist at the public broadcaster in South Africa. I mainly cover the Constitutional Court (the highest court in the land). And momster is kind of a play on monster (read mother) in-law (more about that hyper complex relationship later). I guess I feel like a momster: afraid and misunderstood.

For a long time, my career WAS my identity. But, as a new mom, I am having to relearn Candice. Thank you for walking with me and I hope you gain as much value as I intend to impart in taking up this blogging project.

I’m a complete novice. Haven’t written anything (aside from news) in a long time. maybe forever. This is my first blog.

Cheers 😁