Have name changed for obvious reasons. This will be long, sorry. But I think I need to get it out.
I have 2 DC, a 5 year old and a 7 month old baby. I was diagnosed with PND when baby was a couple of weeks old and have recently started seeing a Psychologist having been on a waiting list for a few months.
I love my children and there is nothing I wouldn't do for them. Everything I do is for them. I am entirely motivated to make sure they are happy and very well cared for. But I shouldn't have had them.
If I could go back in time and warn my pre-child self I would. I would tell her that if she has a baby it will be a relentless, thankless slog. Then just as it starts to get easier and she starts to get some semblance of a life back she will end up giving into societal pressure and her DC's constant begging for a sibling and start the whole nightmare all over again, later kicking herself for adding years onto what feels like a self-imposed prison sentence.
I really do love my children. But I don't enjoy parenting them. I find it stressful and boring in equal measure. The relentlessness. The repetition. The lack of freedom and spontaneity. The sleepless nights. The awkwardness of trying to force friendships with women I have nothing in common with because our DC's happen to play together at breaktime. Weekends lost to homework projects, swimming lessons and children's birthday parties. Sitting in a circle with a group of strangers singing "Wind the Bobbin Up" to largely oblivious babies and pretending we don't all feel completely fucking ridiculous. The illness, the mess, the tears and tantrums, the guilt and the worry that however much you do with them and for them it's never quite enough. I hate it all.
I want to be able to eat, shower and shit when I want without interruptions. To leave the house when I want. To sleep all night. To have the time to pursue interests and hobbies. To have the energy to have sex with my DH. To be able to consider career options based on what I actually want, not what will "work around the kids".
I want to be free. I often fantasise about running away and starting a new life in a place where no one knows me. Of course I knew it would be hard, I knew there would be sacrifice. But everyone always tells you "it's worth it". And I believed them.
Of course there are things, moments really, that I like about being a Mum. DD is so clever, she makes me laugh and I love how kind she is to her baby brother and her inquisitive mind. I love the smell of my baby's head, I enjoy making him chuckle and reading him stories. But it's not enough to balance out all the drudgery, sacrifice and above all, the loss of freedom. It doesn't feel worth it. I know it should, but it doesn't.
I feel like I've lost myself completely. I feel like I've taken a wrong turn somewhere and wandered into the 'wrong' life. But I have no right to feel that way because apparently it's the life I chose. So now I'm exhausted, not just from having a baby who won't sleep, but from having to enthusiastically play a character 24/7.
Before everyone piles in to tell me what a terrible person I am and that my DC deserve better, I know. I know I'm lucky and I should just be grateful to have two beautiful, healthy DC. I have a loving, supportive DH. I like my job. I have family close by. I know I have it easier than lots of Mums do. I know that it's not natural or acceptable to feel the way that I do.
I'm deeply ashamed of these thoughts and will spend my life doing everything in my power to make sure that my DC's don't suspect I have them. That's why I've never voiced any of this to anyone IRL, until today when I finally cracked and confessed all to my Psychologist. I told her that I feel guilty taking up her time, taking away a space from someone who is genuinely ill. Because I disagree with my GP, my Health Visitor who referred me to her, and those questionaires they make you do. I'm not depressed. I feel depressed but that's because I don't like my life.
Her response was "I think we should consider antidepressants". I felt like she wasn't hearing me. Or she didn't want to.
I desperately wanted to be a Mum but now that I am, it turns out I don't like it. How is that a mental illness? It's regret, not depression, surely? Yes, I do feel distressed, but so much of that is guilt because I know I'm not supposed to feel this way. And yes, I feel hopeless but that's because I have to live everyday in the knowledge that I've gotten myself into a mess that there is literally no getting out of. But apparently it's not possible to think that, on balance, having your children was probably a mistake unless you're suffering from a mental illness that requires medication.
So am I right in thinking there's no point in carrying on with these therapy sessions when my therapist and I disagree about the situation and from my point of view, there is nothing that can actually be done to change it?
If you actually managed to get through all that, thank you.