A is for anxiety in through the looking glass.

I keep having bouts of nausea. My first thought is always “Am I pregnant?” but I’m fairly confident that it’s anxiety.

I’m having trouble moving on. I kept saying that I didn’t care how it happened, as long as I ended up with a baby, but it turns out the journey did matter to me. And I just haven’t been able to process it, to let it go, to move on. I feel like I’m missing out on the present because of it.

I am so amped up about going back to work. It has very little to do with my job. Mostly I’m dreading being away from him for so much of the day. I’m afraid he won’t be able to nap, and will be miserable because of it. I’m afraid they’ll overfeed him to try to keep him happy, and I won’t be able to pump enough. I’m afraid the couple hours a day we have together will be fraught with everyone’s exhaustion, and that weekends won’t leave time for anything else, for David’s and my relationship, for friendships, for hobbies, for alone time. I’m afraid I’m going to fail my family. I have a fulfilling, well-paid career, but it’s not a financial necessity for us. I could make another choice.

I’m angry at David’s parents. They ambushed us when we visited, and it feels unresolvable. I don’t know how I’ll ever forget David’s father, pressing derisively, over and over, “What do you have going on?” and then blaming me for my mother-in-law’s suicidal thoughts. This, 10 weeks after the birth of our child, our first child, who came after a difficult miscarriage and subsequently anxiety-ridden pregnancy, who had already gone through two surgeries for a complex, lifelong medical condition. This, even though we had traveled halfway across the country to sit in their living room. But somehow it was me who wasn’t doing enough to make sure my mother-in-law felt loved.

There was another conversation, filled with petty grievances and a lack of self-awareness or understanding, that shook my confidence, heightened the deep-seated fear that I’ll never be enough, and made any sort of resolution feel impossible. They think that because everything is out in the air now, it’s forgiven. I want an apology. But I know I’ll never get it.

And now, it seems, everyone and everything seems to be centering around her mental health. Her sons, respectably, want to help. But David has been made to feel responsible, and that’s not fair. Her mental health is her responsibility and hers alone. She hasn’t even asked for help. And for some reason, her husband is unable or unwilling to help her find it. Nobody else sees it. I need my husband, and his energy, with me. And I’m just so, so frustrated.