Functional Is Not The Same As Okay

The following is how I self-assessed my emotional wellness during the first six months of my life as a new mom. My personal assessment carried a lot of weight, since it was the only one that took place.

“I’m fine.

I don’t have postpartum depression — I don’t cry.

Sure, my husband is deployed in Iraq.

Sure, I had a botched epidural and a traumatic cesarean.

Sure, my baby was born critically ill.

Sure, we were separated so he could be in a high-level NICU, and I didn’t see him for five days because of my own complications. 

Sure, months later, I’m still solo-parenting a high-need baby.

….and yet, look at me—I’m fine. It’s remarkable, really.”

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A kind neighbor brought me dinner. He stayed to talk, and sneezed while he was there.

Immediately I was in a panic, sweating.

After he left, I sprayed the room with so much Lysol I’m honestly surprised my son and I survived it. Then there was a knock on the door…he’d forgotten his hat.

I’m sure a cloud of Lysol hit him when I opened the door. His eyes were sad as I handed it to him. He saw what I didn’t:

I was many things:

Strong.

Loving.

Resilient.

Competent.

I also definitely was not fine.

It took years — and eventually life as a doula — to recognize that I had been struggling.

My son is a healthy man now.

I’ve done trauma therapy around his birth.

We’re good.

But when I look at the pics,

I wish I could hug the 23-year-old me who didn’t know that being functional isn’t the same as being okay.