I hit my biggest low when I walked into the ER with my five-day-old baby. My head throbbed from the anxious thoughts racing through me: What if he dies in his sleep? How will I go back to work? What if I get mastitis or drop my son down the stairs? How can I entertain more visitors?
“I can’t control my thoughts,” I explained to the nurse scribbling down notes. My flesh was weak and my mind was swelling. My emotions were all over the place. The harder I tried to “stop” my anxiety, the harder the tears flowed. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to be fun?
After delivering a ten-pound baby, dealing with painful second-degree tears, and surviving on sleepless nights, my strength was gone. I had nothing left to boast in and no strength to do it.
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