Standing in my garage, I reached out to feel the warm rain, hoping no one would see me like this. My face was sticky from the tears that wouldn’t stop, even though I knew I didn’t have a reason to cry. It was supposed to be a joyful day, at least according to all the Birthday wishes posted on my Facebook wall. I felt I was drowning. Not drowning because of motherhood, but because of something else—something that I couldn’t control or pinpoint. A cloud hovered over me and I couldn’t shake it.
My husband had our one vehicle, my four older children were watching a movie, and my three-week-old baby was peacefully sleeping. How I longed for sleep, too. I was tired. I wasn’t thinking rationally. I couldn’t string thoughts together. While feeling the rain felt good, too much tactile stimuli felt overwhelming, so the closest I could get to going outside was to stand at the edge of my garage. I felt trapped, even though I loved my children and was grateful to have this precious new baby.
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