Admitting there is a problem is hard!

When I was growing up I was social to an extent. I went through my stages of not wanting to be bothered. I would stay in my room and if anyone bothered me I would get upset or irritated. I never realized these were signs of mental illness.

It did not dawn on me until I had my first child 17 years ago that I was not your typical person. But even then I did not seek help and I believe it was because I did not want to admit that I had a problem. In my family, mental illness was not something that we spoke about. Looking back I realize that some members of my family had mental issues as well. This may be why it was never discussed.

My daughter Beba was diagnosed at 6 years old. During that time I started to look at myself more since I was trying to understand what my baby was dealing with. I did not like what I was seeing so I brushed it under the rug instead of dealing with it head-on. This has proven to be the wrong decision at the time. I could have avoided so many impulsive decisions if I would have admitted there was something going on with my mental.

I struggled with two children that turned out to have their own mental illness that I came to find out came from my DNA genes. Seeing the fact they had two different dads but similar diagnoses it was easy to realize I was the common denominator in this equation. But guess what that still didn’t get me to admit that I had my own mental illness to deal with. I was more focused on my kids and their mental states than I was about my own. It is so hard to admit there is something wrong.

Fast forward to 2018 when I am now pregnant with my third child at 37 years old. I no longer had the option of ignoring or sweeping my condition under the rug. Admitting I had a mental illness has now smacked me in the face and boy did it hurt. My moods were all over the place beyond your typical pregnancy moods. My ADHD was so bad it really was affecting my memory and my ability to function daily. My anxiety was over the roof and my depressions weren’t any better. At 5 months pregnant, I was forced to get diagnosed and placed on medication so that I wouldn’t murder anyone, especially during my pregnancy.

If I could change anything it would be waiting so long to finally admit to myself that I had a mental illness and I needed help. Maybe things could have turned out differently if I would have but I can say I did learn a lot the hard way which has prepared me for the madness that came after giving birth.

Who came knocking at my mental illness door? The famous postpartum depression and this unwanted guest came in at full force. There was definitely no denying it now.

If you take anything away from my experience please do not wait to seek help. If you know that you are showing signs or if you know someone that is showing signs please take the measures necessary to seek help. Don’t worry you may feel alone but your not the first step is admitting that you have a problem.

If you need encouragement or support please feel free to leave a comment or fill out the contact section. I have no problems providing assistance in any way I can.

Be blessed and remember we got this!

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