The Dark of the Night

2015 has not been kind to those around me so far. From cancer to random accidents, people I know and people I care about have been struck with tragedy and struggle. My own life has been confusing and the unknown stares me in my face yet again. To top it off, I spent the better part of this week recovering from a stomach bug and found out some awful news about a family member. It's no wonder moments of self-doubt and feelings of isolation have crept into my life.

L is almost 8 months old, and in the last month, I have begun to feel the cold, bony fingers of postpartum depression try to get a stranglehold in my life. In the quiet moments of the evening, I have fought the thoughts that tell me I am alone. But in the dark of the night, as I lay awake with a screaming baby, those cold, bony fingers find their way into my heart. The menacing voice whispers that I'm not good enough, and laughs when I call it a lier. Its grip on my heart tightens and it tells me I will never be good enough, and I'm beginning to believe it.

I am starting to recognize the walls of the deep, dark hole that I was in before and I'm determined not to allow it get as dark as before. But it's hard. In the light of the day, it is brighter. The walls don't seem as high and menacing. But in the dark of the night, they grow and seem to laugh as they stand around me, isolating me. I remember these walls. I remember the dark. I remember the furious attempts of climbing out. I remember how my fingers bled until someone threw me down a rope and helped me climb up. I will not let these walls contain me again. I don't yet need that rope, but I wouldn't turn down a helping hand.