Do you wanna know? Do you really want to know? Cause it's not pretty. It's probably the most un-pretty, terrifying and humbling thing that's ever happened to me (and yes, I'm counting childbirth and 8 months of vaginal physical therapy- but hat's a story for another day. Don't ask. Or do. Whatever.)
It looks like this:
Your husband calling into work because your skin feels like it's burning off and you can't calm down even to hold your child.
It looks like your mom coming up to take you to the doctor because you can't calm down no matter how hard you try.
It looks like medication.
It looks like having to go home with your parents because you just can't handle what's happening to you.
It looks like them setting up a crib in their bedroom for your little one.
It looks out of control.
It looks like a third sleepless night in a row.
It looks like your dad rubbing your feet and your mom dousing you in lavender oil.
It looks like your parents laying in bed with their adult daughter as she sobs uncontrollably and exchanging worried looks that they think she can't see. She can.
It looks like a 3am ER trip with your dad for shots in both butt-checks because you haven't slept in nearly 72 hours.
It looks like panic attacks every. single. day. Multiple times a day.
It looks like more medication.
It looks like parents, grandparents and friends coming to take care of you.
It looks like guilt and shame that you can't take care of your baby.
It looks like defeat.
It looks like your mom making a battle plan with you each day.
It looks like your mom sleeping on the couch because you just can't quite do it alone yet.
It looks like EVEN more medication.
It looks like flowers, chocolates, and shopping with a friend.
It looks like tips from your sister who totally gets it.
It looks like friends who keep checking in and are praying.
It looks like your husband putting the baby to bed because your anxiety has somehow wrapped it's self around your child's ability to go to sleep.
It looks like loving your baby the best way you can.
It looks like your grandpa buying you a mood ring smily face to remind you that he loves you.
It looks like trips to Ikea with your father-in-law to buy furniture.
It looks like more medication, a psychiatrist referral and a counseling appointment.
It looks like still freezing up when your baby cries or someone asks you a question that you just can't wrap your mind around.
It looks like a friend driving your car because of the medication you're on.
It looks like your grandma watching the baby while you make her a tie-dyed cake.
It looks like your grandpa driving you out for ice-cream in his 1950's classic car.
It looks like sweet notes from your sister-in-law.
It looks like trusting God that it will all get better.
It looks like it's a little better every day.
It mostly looks like love, acceptance and grace.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, to every single one of you who have been here for Josh and I during the last few weeks. It has been amazing that I can feel so awful and so loved at the same time.
