We Don't Say The "D" Word: Juggling Motherhood, Health, and Work

and dropping everything at the same time

This is a slightly longer essay than my normal 5 minute pieces but I worked on it all weekend. Please save this for later if you’re busy.

As always, thank you for also sharing the Mental Health and Motherhood Virtual Conference when you can.

I closed the car door and sobbed outside the medical building. Another doctor visit that felt like a waste of time and money… another disappointment etched into my experiences about this mystery illness that nobody with a white coat will chase down.

Tuesday was the first time I went to urgent care, and they immediately began running tests when I said I had tripped on the stairs at work twice, had blurred vision, lightheadedness, and the slightest pressure on the right side of my skull. After four hours, they released me without a diagnosis. I went home to rest.

I woke up with a headache and was extremely weak all day. We currently live in my sister’s condo and she graciously used some of her work leave to take my daughter to preschool and later picked her up. I spent the day in bed, watched TV, and rested in a semi-dark room surrounded by stuffed animals for company.

Thursday came into my existence at 3 am with a splitting migraine and muscle tension down to my back. I don’t know how I got my daughter (and I) dressed, fed, and into the car. Somehow, I even packed her lunch for the day.

When we pulled into the school lot, I had to text my aunt, who works there.

Are you staffed enough to get Eliza from the car right now? I feel like I’m going to throw up.

She pulled my worried daughter out of the car as I sobbed, “I’m a bad mom.”

My aunt assured me I was not. The guilt still blossomed in my stomach.

When I got to urgent care, I threw up and stumbled into a wheelchair. They treated me for a severe migraine with fluids, lidocaine patches, ibuprofen, and Tylenol. I asked that the muscle relaxers they sent me home with were the lowest grade because I have 5.5 years clean. I also didn’t want them to think I was looking for narcotics by coming back to the clinic twice in one week; I’m always trying to be the most gracious and best-humored patient.

All this brought me to Friday, where I had a follow-up with a different MD than I was used to, who didn’t have anything new to suggest. All your tests are negative. See your assigned provider soon. A provider who I’d only met once and who wanted to prescribe unwanted meds that wouldn’t identify why I was ill in the first place.

I went into work and sat at a desk like a child pretending to use the computer. A request to do a basic task was met with a blank mind. “Sure, no problem.”

I lied. It was a problem.

There’s a lovely anecdote about juggling balls from Nora Roberts via Jennifer Barnes:

“The key to juggling is to know that some of the balls you have in the air are made of plastic and some are made of glass. And if you drop a plastic ball, it bounces, no harm done. If you drop a glass ball, it shatters, so you have to know which balls are glass and which are plastic and prioritize catching the glass ones.”

I’m sure if you’re a mom, you’ve heard this comforting idea through the mouths of other mothers or on podcasts: it’s ok if you can’t juggle it all, as long as you don’t let the glass priorities fall! But what if all the balls drop at the same time, and you’re too weak to pick them up?

I suppose you could take this advice and focus on what you can control.

In the past I was able to take this anecdote and let certain things go (like some chores, social events, or utilizing grocery store pickups). I would shrug off my desire to do things to the best of my ability and cook us chicken nuggets three nights in a row, buy pre-made PB&J sandwiches, or let another 20 minutes of Bluey play in the background of our lives.

The reality of my life in this season involves me being able to do much less. Repeated meals are a norm. Dishes pile up for two days despite using paper plates. Laundry sits either unwashed in the basket for a week or unfolded on the foot of my bed. A strict diet to help minimize any inflammation becomes another full-time job for me to consider every 3 hours while I try to stock easy-to-eat snacks for my growing daughter.

We have watched both movies of the Princess Diaries nearly every day for a week. Whenever teen Mia exclaims, “Shut. Up!” when she’s told she is a princess, I catch my daughter silently mouthing the words like a rehearsing actress. I’ve told her we aren’t allowed to say that to people because it’s not nice; she fails at hiding her little attempt to “curse” behind a worn baby blanket.

Meanwhile, my husband and I dance around words we dare not speak. It’s a small word with implications that might radically change our hopes for a future we never knew anyway.

Disability.

I want to say, “Shh. Don’t repeat it,” but its definition gives away the reality of my life without pretending.

The CDC defines it as “any condition of the body or mind (impairment) that makes it more difficult for the person with the condition to do certain activities (activity limitation) and interact with the world around them (participation restrictions).”

Have the past 14 months of this mystery illness disabled me?

I wake up in pain, whether it’s the heaviness in my muscles, an aching in my bones, or the invisible burning ropes wrapping around my body. I pray for God to grant me peace in all circumstances. I think about what my morning might bring: a toddler sleeping in or a chaotic battle of wills.

Soon, my daughter is at school at 8 am, and I am at my desk by 8:30.

There are stairs entering the old building and 16 more stairs that lead to the restrooms on the bottom floor. My priority to stay hydrated means I frequently use the bathroom. This means I need to weigh how badly I have to go downstairs. I’m constantly negotiating how much energy I might need to expend at any given hour.

I’m a marketing coordinator aka project manager for a nonprofit’s marketing. I use tools like Google and Monday to schedule complex campaign deadlines. I am involved with event coordination, designing, and communicating between departments. I also have a background in being a business owner, managing a household as a mom, and serving ministries online or at my church.

No amount of professional or personal experience in management helps mitigate the strain of chronic illness.

This illness is unpredictable and unwavering. There have been times when I think, "Finally! I finally feel better,” only to find that the strict food plan, the gentle exercise, the therapy, and whatever other investment I make in my health doesn’t keep me steady.

I am calling out my fears today in the attempt to break it apart.

I am afraid that things will only get worse. I’m afraid my health will continue to decline, that I’ll live in this undiagnosed in-between for a long time, and that I won’t be able to enjoy myself as easily. I’m afraid I won’t be able to travel as much due to my energy and diet limitations. I’m afraid my writing will suffer due to this scary brain fog.

I am afraid I am asking too much and also, somehow, not asking for enough. I’m afraid about our financial goals, my career goals, and my health goals. I’m afraid about my daughter growing used to my ill state and my husband growing depressed and weary from the grief of his wife not getting better. I’m afraid to lose the language of someone who could work hard in the garden and rejoice with dirt and sweat on her shins. I’m afraid of speaking out and also of staying too silent.

What do I do now? I move forward. I pray continuously. I focus on how Jesus chose to suffer because we also suffer. He points to my greater hope. I will not lose sight of that.

Today, I choose not to be quiet about the struggle. I want to uphold all my blessings while also acknowledging my grief. It has become less about juggling plastic or glass balls and choosing what is more important.

It’s all important. It’s all worthy of joy or grief. Today, I hope one reader here knows I’m sitting in the complexity with them. Each day has enough trouble of it’s own.

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Do you need to feel connected in the complexities of mental health and motherhood? Join us October 11th for the 2024 Mental Health & Motherhood Virtual Conference.

You can pop in for the whole thing or watch the recordings on your own time. More information on the 12 speakers and topics here:

https://www.mentalhealthmomevent.com/join-us-for-conference

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