Zoloft is my best friend

Zoloft 100 mg Once Daily

Depression meds. 

I take them. I take them daily.

I am literally lost without them. 

18 months after having my last baby, I thought for sure that I would have been weaned off of them by now.

When in reality, 6 months ago, I had to up my dosage because it wasnt working anymore. 

Let's start at the beginning shall we?

After I had my first baby, I experienced what my doctor called the "Baby Blues". 

I had heard of it in all of my reading and thought I was totally prepared for anything I might experience. 

And I was. 

I was a first time mom, who struggled with breastfeeding (I HATED IT), adjusting to life as a stay at home mom, and still adjusting and figuring out the whole housewife thing. 

And it was hard. 

I got bored. 

I got overwhelmed. 

I was TIRED. 

But I also survived. It wasn't as bad as some people had made it out to be. 

Fast forward to basically 2 years later when I had my 1st son. 

I again failed miserably with breastfeeding. I had to adjust to having 2 kids. My husband was working much longer, crazier hours than he had been. 

And I was sad. 

But it was more than sad. 

I was depressed. 

In high school, I dealt with some depression and darker thoughts, but I was too scared to ever tell my parents that I felt something was wrong because I felt like they either wouldn't believe me, or they would think I was crazy. 

I was eventually able to overcome it, and for a few years was fine. 

I first realized that it was something more than "Baby Blues", when I would find myself wanting nothing more than to run away. 

Literally run away. 

I felt like my family would do so much better without me around and that my husband would be a very capable single parent. 

Now, I never had suicidal thoughts, but I sure as hell wanted out. 

I loved my husband. I loved my kids. 

But I was so unhappy. 

I would somehow function during the day until my husband got home, and as soon as he was home, I would shut down. 

It hurt. 

I physically hurt. 

I remember the night my husband walked into the kitchen after he had put the kids to bed.

I was sitting on a step stool, on the floor by the sink, with a dead, blank stare on my face.

He came in, looked at me and said, 

"Casey, I'm worried about you. You're not ok. I hate seeing you like this, knowing that there is absoluetly nothing I can do to help. Please call your doctor."

There was something wrong with me. 

I was crazy. 

I have to call my doctor for crazy pills. 

I think I had known for some time that that is what I needed to do. 

But I didn't want to become a statistic, ya know. 

At my 6 week post partum check up, I did it. 

I told my doctor all of the feelings and thoughts I was feeling, and ya know what?

She made me feel COMPLETLY validated. 

I wasn't crazy. 

There was some kind of hormonal, chemical imbalance happening inside of me that I had NO control over. 

I'm not crazy. 

Taking that perscription to get filled the first time was terrifying. 

I was afraid of what the pharmacist thought of me while filling it. 

It only took a few days before I started to feel a difference. 

I was finding me again. 

I didn't realize how much I missed me. 

Me is fun, outgoing, and happy. 

And I was everything BUT that. 

More importantly, my husband had his wife back. 

I was able to wean myself of of the meds after a few months, just in time to find out I was pregnant again with #3. 

As the birth of my second son approached, I made sure that I had many a conversation with my doctor about making sure I didn't leave the hospital without a perscription in my hand. 

This time around, it took a lot longer for me to wean myself off of them and this time, I was ok with it. 

I didn't let the stigma of being on an anti-depressant get to me. 

I knew that it's what i needed to be able to be the mom I needed to be as well as the wife my husband needed me to be. 

Fast forward again to almost 2 years later when we found ourselves in a familiar situation. 

We had just welcomed our last baby, son #3, and I again made sure I didn't leave that hospital without a perscription and refills. 

The crippling depression hit much faster and harder this time. 

I was again consumed by thoughts of inadequacy, guilt, and leaving. 

I would often have a couple months of awesome, follwed by weeks of darkness.

But I was able to recognize it mostly on my own this time, and called for help.

My dosage was upped and things are so good now. 

I guess what I'm trying to get at is, 

IT GETS TO BE OK. 

As hard as it is, don't be ashamed of needing help. 

Having to admit to someone, especially yourself, that you need help is one of those things we, as women, struggle with. 

We are wired to nuture, provide, protect. 

Admitting to yourself that you can't do it on your own SUCKS. 

But guess what?

99% of the time, those who offer any kind of help, ACTUALLY MEAN IT AND WANT TO HELP.

    *MIND BLOWN*

My experience is mainly with Post Partum along with other things I can get into later. 

Yours may be something else completly, unrelated to pregnancy or motherhood. 

The advice/plea is the same.

Listen to your body. 

Listen to your loved ones. 

Listen to your heart. 

YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO IT ALONE. 

AND IT GETS TO BE OK.

If anything, you have a Fluffy Momma here for ya. 

Introductions

My name is Casey. 

I'm 27 years old. 

I've been married for almost 7 years. 

My husband is super smart. 

And hot. 

And bald. 

With a beard. 

Hot. 

I have 4 children ages 6, 4, 3, and 15 months. 

They are crazy. In a good way. 

But they are also some of the funniest humans in the planet.

I'm a stay at home mom. 

I suffer from Post Partum Depression. 

I am on daily meds because of it. 

I should go to therapy, but I'm scared. 

I sing. And I sing well. 

I love musical theater and perform any chance I get. 

I crave the stage. 

I have a best friend who is 11 years older than me and single. 

I love her like my sister. 

I have a sister and 3 sister in laws. 

I have 2 brothers and 3 brother in laws. 

I had a hysterectomy at the age of 26. 

I am not selfish because I chose to do so. 

Sometimes, I don't like being a mom. 

It's hard stuff. 

I'm a Mormon. 

I've struggled with my beliefs, but have never lost faith. 

I'm short. Like 5'4. 

I'm also fat. Like overweight. 

My self esteem sucks sometimes. 

But I'm working on it. 

I love interior design. 

My husband hates that I love interior design. 

I want to go to hair school when all my kids are in school full time. 

My house is a real life disaster 90% of the time. 

My life is comical, emotional, crazy, and REAL. 

My life is REAL. 

WELCOME TO LIFE OF A FLUFFY MOMMA. 

Here's the thing...

Here's the thing,
I love Facebook. I'm on it ALL THE TIME.
I also love Instagram. Possibly more than Facebook.
And don't even get me stared on Pinterest. It's my husbands nemesis.
Let's be honest, I'm a big fan of social media. Except Twitter. I just don't quite get it. 

But I hate it at the same time. 
Something about having the ability to make you feel like you are the crappiest at everything.
ITS NOT ALWAYS REAL LIFE.

That's why I've decided to come here.

I struggle. 

I struggle every single day. 

Being a mom is hard. 

Being a stay at home mom is hard. 

Being a mormon mom is hard. 

Being a mom that has time consuming hobbies is hard. 

Marriage is hard. 

Sometimes, 7 years down the road, you're still trying to figure each other out.

There are days that as soon as my husband walks in the door, I'm out. 

I know my limits. 

Somedays they are more than others. 

Somedays I would give ANYTHING to have a job outside of my home so I could feel accomplished about SOMETHING in my life and not feel like I'm a complete failure. 

Also because some days, I just don't want to be Mom.

But then there are days that I realize just how blessed I am to be home with my monsters. 

Guys, I guess what I'm trying to say is MOTHERHOOD SUCKS SOMETIMES. 

It's freaking hard stuff. 

But, this is my life.

And it's BEAUTIFUL.

It's far from glamorous. 

Somedays it's downright NASTY. 

But it's my life and it's NORMAL. 

That's the main thing. It's REAL and it's NORMAL. 

Life is messy. 

Life is beautiful. 

Life is depressing. 

Life is hard. 

I guess that's what I want this to be. 

A place for people to go to know that they aren't the only ones who just want to pee in peace. 

Like without a little person knocking on the door wanting to know if you made Mommy poops or Daddy poops. 

That they aren't the only ones who have no idea the last time they swept the floor and can't tell what meal the shriveled up thing your baby is eating came from. 

That they aren't the only ones who honestly can't remember the last time they showered and then just keep telling themselves that it's ok because not washing your hair is healthy right?

That they aren't the only ones who desperately want to reconnect with their spouse, but just don't know how to. 

This is that place.