It’s well after 8 p.m., and my son should be tucked in bed. On this rare occasion when his dad is home, I should be savoring a quiet evening, free from the usual toddler bedtime antics, especially since his baby sister is sound asleep. But, as is often the case on these nights of supposed reprieve, my toddler has been wailing and throwing a fit for the past 40 minutes. My husband is doing his best—cajoling, begging, redirecting—yet the chaos is relentless.
Finally, the house settles into silence, and I feel a flicker of hope that my husband has managed to calm our son. But then, I hear the sound of the baby gate opening and my son’s voice calling out, “Mommy?” My heart sinks. I anxiously await the sound of my husband’s footsteps as he brings our little one back to bed, but instead, I hear him call again, more urgently this time, “MOMMY?” I rush toward the sound.
I find him at the top of the stairs, standing there alone, trying to navigate his way down, one chubby hand resting on the cool wall for support. My heart races; he never ventures down the stairs without one of us in front of him. Panic sets in, and I yell for my husband while pleading with my son to stop and wait.
In an instant, my husband swoops in and scoops him up just in time. The bedroom door shuts behind them, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But in my mind, I can’t shake the intrusive images of my sweet boy falling down those stairs and suffering a terrible fate. These horrifying thoughts loop endlessly in my brain, and I find myself shaking my head, trying to dispel the fear, but it only intensifies. I start hitting my temple, a ritual I’ve used since childhood, hoping to reset my mind when overwhelmed by fear. I know it doesn’t truly help, but I do it anyway, desperate for relief.
This ritual not only disrupts the peaceful evening my husband had envisioned but also leaves him unsure of how to support me. I’ve battled obsessive-compulsive disorder for most of my life. Before I became a parent, my worries revolved solely around myself. Now, as a mother, my OCD thrives on my love for my children, twisting it into fears that grip my heart. I can’t even cook without worrying about potentially poisoning them, so I often choose not to cook at all. Each day, as my son leaves for daycare with my husband, I engage in silent and spoken rituals to stave off the dread of something terrible happening.
If my daughter cries and eventually self-soothes, I feel compelled to wake her, fearing I’ll lose her if I don’t. When dealing with nursing issues, I find myself envisioning the worst, tearing at my skin out of anxiety. Despite countless reassuring ultrasounds, I lie awake at night rubbing my breast, trying to soothe my fears. Moments that should be joyful are overshadowed by my inner critic telling me I won’t be around for long, that my kids will end up despising me.
Living with OCD is a constant struggle, and no matter how well I manage it, it always finds a way to seep back in. I despise this part of myself, and I wrestle with the notion of passing this burden onto my children. How do I love my children unconditionally while grappling with the reality that they might inherit this mental illness? Does loving them mean embracing their struggles, or can I continue to resent the disorder that causes so much pain? If I can’t accept their OCD, does that mean my love isn’t truly unconditional?
Tonight, I’m thankful that my son didn’t take a tumble down the stairs, and for now, I’ll hold onto that relief.
For those navigating similar experiences, it’s worth exploring resources that can offer support and guidance. For example, check out this insightful post on coping with OCD here. You might also find valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination at this excellent resource. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, this reputable retailer offers quality kits that can help.
In summary, living with OCD as a parent can be an overwhelming experience, filled with fears and anxieties about our children’s safety and well-being. While I grapple with my own mental illness, I strive to create a loving environment for my kids, even as I navigate my complicated feelings about the potential for them to inherit my struggles.
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