Picture Perfect

After Christmas, Scott was talking with a friend who lives out of state. He told Scott that they had received 50 or 60 Christmas cards, and ours had been their favorite. He said his daughter studied the picture, then announced, "That's it--that's what I want when I grow up. I want that many kids, and they will all be blondies!"

I have to admit, looking from the outside, our family looks picture perfect. We have 6 beautiful kids. Scott has a great paying job. My life is blissfully perfect.

Except I had come to a point, where I couldn't see that anymore. I could see everything behind the picture that no one else sees.

All I could see was the endless work involved with having 6 children. Thankless work. Work that is immediately undone by children who have no idea how long it's taken me to clean. Laundry hampers that fill immediately back up after I've washed and folded the clothes that were in them. Listening to children complain about the food that I've cooked them, ungrateful for the time I've spent trying to come up with something they all will eat.

I have a husband who's great job requires him to travel. Weeks at a time. And when he's not traveling, I have to call him at 6pm to remind him to come home, or he just stays at his office, having lost track of time, working. And when he does come home, he sits on the couch with the laptop working some more. Work is too important to let wait till the morning. Work consumes him.

I have a special needs child. We have to pour tens of thousands of dollars into therapy to help him. He tries my patience constantly, and I have no clue how to help him. I constantly feel judged by other parents because I can't control my child. I try. I can't control my child.

It started with three consecutive months of Alaska travel--being a single parent. It wore me down. Then we had the high of our Disneyland Christmas. That was wonderful, and very much needed. But then we came home to three weeks of the flu. Countless nights of no sleep and cleaning up children's vomit. Three weeks of not leaving the house because I had to care for sick children. Three weeks of exhaustion. Things took a nosedive, and I couldn't pull out of it. I was angry all the time. I lost my temper over the smallest things. I felt trapped and knew there was no way out.

One night, I'd had all I could stand. I found a dark quiet room and sat down against the wall. I fought the urge to run out of the house and never come back. I tried to convince myself that I hadn't completely ruined my life by having all these children. I could hear the kids asking where I had gone, and Scott not seeming too interested in finding me. In my head I was screaming. Screaming for things to change. I needed help.

I gathered my composure, then went to find Scott. I told him I needed help. Seven years ago, I went on medication briefly because of post-partum depression. I knew I hadn't just had a baby to blame this on, but I recognized the same desperation that I had felt clear back then. I knew this wasn't in my control to fix anymore.

And so I went to my doctor, and I got help. I'm on a very low dose of antidepressant, and it has made a world of difference. Shortly after starting the medication, Scott took off for a few hours one day and let me go to lunch with a friend. Getting out allowed me to breath again, and to gain perspective. A week after starting the medication, one night after the kids were in bed, I said to Scott, "I think I'm going to be okay." It was a loaded statement--so much emotion behind it. And Scott knew that. He waited a minute, then agreed, "I think you're going to be okay."

And so life is better. It's not perfect. I still have the work associated with the house and kids. My husband still travels (he's out of town as we speak). But I can see past that. It's not my focus anymore. I have perspective again. I'm happy now (most of the time). And I can look at our family photo and think to myself, "I truly do have it all."