Just hang on
There is something about the night that can feel so overwhelmingly, terrifyingly, anything-can-happen bad.
For me, nothing illustrated this dichotomy more than motherhood. When my son was new to this world, tiny and helpless, the daytime was often glorious. I could have stared at his little face for hours, waiting for his first smile, first laugh, first anything. The nighttime was tiring, but I was managing.
And then, when my son was a month old, the insomnia set in. Postpartum anxiety took over my brain and really messed it up, temporarily.
I would lie awake for hours, knowing that I needed the sleep desperately, but my mind was racing out of control. A six-pack of wild horses could not have felt more chaotic. Those nights were brutal as I watched the minutes tick by on the clock, and felt incredibly lonely as I counted down to my son’s next cry, signaling the need to nurse again. I nursed and pumped around the clock, pushing my body past its physical limits, trying so hard to be the perfect mother and do everything "right".
The last few nights before the Zoloft kicked in were the worst. I rocked from side to side, pleading, praying, bartering for sleep. I gave myself five minutes at a time and considered driving straight to the ER to beg them for a sleep aid and a room to myself. When I got through each wave, I told myself four life-preserving words:
Hang on until morning.
And as I got through it and my body got back on track, I remembered what it was like when I was going through a divorce, and the nights were nearly as terrifying. During that dark period of the divorce, those first nights were terrible. They sucked more than I had imagined they would, and the loneliness was crushing. You can’t see the hope in the darkness. You can’t see what’s in front of you because you’re cloaked in the inky blues of the far side of the sun.
Please make time fast-forward to the point when I would be happy again, I would cry, sometimes silently, and sometimes aloud.
It’s true for every tough point in my life. Each angsty teenage drama, any argument I’ve had with my husband, every lonely 3 AM nursing or pumping session when my son was a baby. Getting through the night is a triumph, as the sun bursts over the horizon and the daytime brings some semblance of normalcy.
I have a friend who is going through a divorce with three kids. The first nights away from her kids when they went to visit their dad were agonizing.
Hang on. It’s almost Monday, I told her. I'm here and I'm listening.
Another friend is exhausted, with a 17-month-old and a newborn.
Hang on. It is going to get better.
Another friend has a son with Sensory Processing Disorder, and the time she puts into helping him cope is exhausting. She naps in the car while waiting for preschool to end.
Just hang on. Tomorrow will be better.
For new mothers, it is especially lonely at night, whether she is a single mother or a happily married woman with a supportive husband nearby. Those hours between 12 and 6 AM are the hardest: there is nothing on TV to distract you, there is no movement and no sign of life aside from you and your baby (or babies, as it may be) and the night seems to go on forever. I remember that feeling.
All of you:
New moms.
Moms with kids with special needs.
Moms with kids who wake them up all night long.
Moms with kids who are ill.
Moms in terrible relationships who don’t know how to get out.
Moms in the process of a separation or divorce and missing their babies.
Moms of multiples who are so exhausted they can barely speak.
Hang on a little longer. Hold on by your fingernails to get past that moment.
Call a friend. Ask for help. Don't hesitate to tell people what you need. Don't try to do it all by yourself.
It will get better.
The sun is coming back in the morning, and with it, the light will refract the shadows into something you recognize again. And you will see yourself in the light of day and remind yourself that everything is going to be OK.
* * *
These words from Heather at The Extraordinary-Ordinary rang true to me as I read them today:
"And hope stands in defiance, like this three year old pulling on my pajamas, begging to be held. Defiance can be the best thing."
Love,
Kristin