First of all, I absolutely love my daughter.  She was an unexpected surprise, whose arrival was a few years early.  But, once I got past the freak out “oh my God” and “I’m not ready” stage, I fell in love with this tiny person whom I am now responsible for.

This post is not an argument for or against stay at home moms.  This is simply a testimony about how being a stay at home mom was and is, the most difficult job I have ever had, and how it has affected my life and well-being.  You may agree or disagree, like or dislike what I write.  I don’t really care.  I just want to get this weight off of my chest that I’ve been holding onto for six years.

My original plan after birth was to return to work after my maternity leave ended.  I wanted to work part time so I could spend time with my daughter and be a working mom.  At the time, I was an advocate for people with developmental disabilities.  As many of you know, the pay for people in the social work field is bullshit considering the amount of work and stress we deal with.  After my maternity leave ended, my plan to work part time didn’t work out.  After some discussion, my husband and I agreed that I would stay at home to care for our daughter.  It would have cost my paycheck to put her in daycare, so it made sense for me to quit my job and become the main caregiver.

To be clear, I DO NOT regret becoming a stay at home mom.  I love watching my daughter grow up, and being able to witness her many milestones.  I love being here for her.  I am fortunate to be able to do something so many parents, my husband included, wish they could do.

Being a new mom, however, was a shitty job.  Even people who are not parents have an inkling of the shit that new parents go through.  The sleepless nights, the hourly feedings, the “I’ve tried everything I can possibly think of to please you, why the fuck are you still crying?” times, the vomit and diarrhea, the panic ridden days and nights when she’s sick and all we could do was wait it out.  Not to mention the bigger question of how do I raise her to not become a psycho bitch?

I was struggling to learn how to be a decent parent.  This rough transition was to be expected though.  I was thrown into this completely new job where all the training manuals I read were useless, or made me feel useless.

What I did not expect though, was how much I sucked at being a SAHM.  I’ve had jobs since I was 14.  I liked working.  I didn’t necessarily like going to work, but I liked being productive, completing meaningful tasks, and getting money for it.  Being a SAHM was fucking hard for me.  I had a hell of a time figuring out the baby’s ever changing schedule and needs.  In the process, I forgot about my own schedule and needs.  My whole life now revolved around the baby.  My personality and attitude were changing big time and I couldn’t stop it.  Some of it I could see happening, other things I didn’t even notice until they were pointed out to me.

I tried to be a good mom.  I tried to breastfeed, but I couldn’t produce enough milk, so I supplemented with expensive organic formula.  I made my own pureed baby food.  I would literally spend 6 hours every freaking day sitting in the kitchen trying to get her to eat because she was a picky eater.  I suffered being surrounded by asinine STFU conversations of other stay at home parents when I took her to various classes to socialize and play.  I taught her life skills and the basics of reading and numbers.

But I always felt guilty.  I should have tried harder to teach her Chinese.  I should have tried to get her to eat more foods.  I should have taken her to more activities.  I should have stopped her from watching so much tv or playing so much ipad.  I should have spent more time playing with her instead of screwing around on my phone.

When I saw social media posts and photos of other SAHM’s, I felt even more guilty.  I knew moms who were fucking rock stars.  They took their kids (yes multiple kids) out all the time.  They went on outings and play dates, they prepared fun and educational activities at home.  They were able to clean the house and cook meals, and look good while doing it.  And they looked like they were loving every minute of it.  It just drove another sword into my heart because I couldn’t seem to achieve that kind of happiness or success with my new job.  I understand that the photos and posts only showed a snippet of their lives.  It only showed what they wanted people to see.  I did the same thing with my own Facebook page.  I put on a happy front with cute posts.  Of course I truly had good times, but no one saw the truly bad times.

I couldn’t even go to the mall without feeling some anxiety.  Be it the fear that she’d cry while I drove, the anxiety of finding somewhere to change her diaper, or that she would get pushed around by older kids, etc.  I even lost my nerve to drive further than nearby stores, when I used to drive all over the damn state for my old job and activities.  I used to fearlessly, albeit nervously, drive everywhere when GPS and smart phones were not a thing yet.  What the hell happened to me?!

Don’t get me wrong.  I had a lot of fun with my daughter.  She is the most delightful little girl I have ever known, and I’m not saying that because I’m biased.  She has her bratty moments, but she is also legit sweet, easygoing, and lovable.  I thank God that she is such an easy kid (except when it comes to food).  She brightens my day and I can’t imagine not having her in my life.

Which is why I felt even guiltier for feeling guilty.  If that makes any sense.  Why the fuck do I feel like I could barely keep my shit together when she is seriously the most easy going kid I’ve ever known.  I felt so wrong and ungrateful for those feelings.

It seemed like the more I tried to be a good mom, the more I lost myself.  I was forever exhausted.  I stopped smiling and laughing when I was not around her, because I was tired from putting on a happy face for her all day.  I rarely left the house to hang out with friends.  I stopped talking to a lot of friends.  I just about stopped going to my own activities.  I also put a lot of strain on my husband and our marriage.  I didn’t know how to find the balance I so badly needed, so I would lash out at him in my frustration.  There were many days where I would all but throw our daughter at him (no, I never actually threw her at him), the moment he got home from work, because I poured so much of myself into caring for her, that all I had left in me at the end of the day, was impatience and anger.  I wanted to clock out the second he pulled up to the house, but I couldn’t, so my rage would build until I’d inevitably blow up at him.

There were many days where I didn’t get shit done around the house, either by choice, or because of uncontrollable circumstances.  That would add another layer of guilt because I was not doing my job.  I was staying at home, it should be my responsibility to do the laundry, vacuum, cook dinner.  When my husband cared for our daughter, or did stuff around the house, I felt guilty because he was already tired and stressed from being at his job all day.  I knew deep down that he wanted to do his job as a dad and husband, but I felt guilty that he was already working so hard to support us.

When I spent money from our joint account, I felt guilty because I was spending money that I did not earn.  Sometimes my husband would joke when I bought him presents, because it was bought with his money.  He has never denied me anything nor complained about my spending, so I know better than to take him seriously.  But, I still felt so much guilt for not contributing financially to our family.

For the last six years, I’ve been riding endless waves of guilt.  In between the many joys, love, and highs I experienced with my daughter, I felt such lows of self hatred, incompetence, and inadequacy.

In my mental and emotional slump, I also let my body go.  I became weak, flabby, and fat.  I only wore t-shirts and stretchy pants.  I couldn’t get back into an exercise routine even though I knew it would help me physically and mentally.  I recognized that I was in a terrible slump.  I could see myself falling deeper and deeper.  I tried to psychoanalyze myself, to diagnose myself, to fix myself.  My husband tried to help me.  But I kept pushing him away.  I was stubborn, felt sorry for myself, and I didn’t want to hear about my faults from someone who could not possibly understand what I was going through.  I didn’t want to join any forums or support groups because I didn’t want to hear about other people’s shitty lives too.

Long story short and fast forward…  I took tiny, tiny, baby steps, and took many backwards and sideways steps.  But, I am finally moving forward.  I was an idiot and should have seen a professional for help, but I am an idiot.  It took me two years to feel comfortable with leaving the house alone with my daughter.  It took me three years to become comfortable with being a mom.  It took me four years to come to terms with being a SAHM.  It took me about four-five years to start doing things I like again, to meet with friends, and to communicate better with my husband.  This year I took a huge plunge and started working out at an athletic training class aka hard core, high intensity shit with sweat soaked shirts and puke.  But after almost half a year of busting my ass, I am finally getting stronger, toned, and feeling good about my body.  That in itself has done wonders with my confidence and self esteem.

Right now, my main problem is making new friends.  I now know that a huge part of my depression was loneliness.  We moved to a new area, and many of my friends are currently living in different states or countries.  I used to be friendly and nice to people.  I used to be more approachable and talkative.  A few years ago, I actually liked being around people.  After so many years of being a recluse with resting bitch face, I’ve forgotten how to reach out and open up.  I didn’t even realize this epiphany until tonight.  I was feeling all sorry for myself, and saying screw the world, if people don’t like me, then screw them too.  But after a weepy and heated argument with my husband, I realized that if I don’t even like how I am, then why should others?  My half-assed attempts of talking to people were exactly that: half-assed.  I felt like an anime character curled up in the corner with lines of sadness and disappointment on my face.  That needs to stop.  I just feel nervous because I don’t really remember how to make new friends.  It’s like being an awkward kid in school all over again.

I spent all freaking night writing this.  It is actually 6 am now, but I could not fall asleep because this was on my mind.  I wanted to write about this for a while now, but I was afraid and ashamed of people knowing what a wreck I’ve become, although they probably could see for themselves already.  But writing this has been therapeutic, and I realized that I want people to know.  I’ve pushed a lot of people away and I’m sorry.  I’m still finding myself after being lost for so many years.  It’ll be slow, but I’m working on it.  I still think I could be a better SAHM, but my daughter is doing fine in school and at home, and she loves me.  I’ll take it.