She Used to be Mine

My 9 to 5 is pretty boring.

Well, that’s not 100% true. Every day is different and I never really know what firestorm I’m walking into. But for the most part, I review data and project timelines, looking for throughput and stops in productivity for eight hours. Days are usually one of two extremes—fast paced and crazy busy OR mundane and ungodly boring. When it’s the later of the two, I’ve gotten into a habit of popping in my earbuds and listening to YouTube videos while I plow through spreadsheets.

In doing this, I started religiously following a few YouTube creators. Like to the point that I get pissed when a new video isn’t uploaded every week. I don’t necessarily watch the actual video, but the audio helps me zone-in on whatever project I’m working on. Short, fifteen videos from the likes of Jenna Marbles and Shane Dawson have saved my sanity.

And during the pandemic, Colleen Ballinger’s daily vlogs have helped for many deeper reasons.

Many—mostly the youngins— know Colleen as her alter ego, Miranda Sings; the vocally challenged, “best singer in the world” who comically tells her “haters” to BACK OFF! That phrase may ring a bell; she had a two-season Netflix series with the same name. Admittedly, I wouldn’t consider myself a Miranda Sings fan, but like I said, I religiously follow the vlogs of Colleen Ballinger’s day to day life. The content ranges from the typical YouTube challenges—like the cinnamon challenge or blind-eating fast-food and trying to decipher where its from—or the more raw admissions about the hardships of life. Her content definitely shifted three years ago when she became pregnant with her first child, Flynn, and again recently when she gave birth to twins. For me—and probably many of her mommy fans—these vlogs have been immensely helpful, especially with my current pregnancy. One vlog in particular helped me realize something pretty profound.

A few weeks back, Colleen posted a video called, “This is what Post Partum Looks like for me.” Over the last year, she has been VERY open about her struggles with pre and postpartum depression, but this video is a brutally raw glimpse into what postpartum is for some.

(she starts the vlog with her normal routine, then changes gears a bit and includes footage from the weekend before. It starts at the 15:35 minute mark).

God, it gave me flashbacks to a lot of what I went through when my son was born. Especially when he was cluster feeding and I felt like his personal cow. I had breakdowns like this on a weekly basis. It was awful. Lonely. And draining. But it’s not something I would’ve filmed; the emotional pain I was going through was kept to myself or vented to my husband when I couldn’t keep it in for a second longer. It was my dirty little secret; you don’t want anyone outside of your house knowing that motherhood isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, or that you weren’t adapting as easily. Yeah, those breakdowns always passed and little by little things would get better. But when you’re in the thick of it, it doesn’t seem that way. Posting this was brave.

One thing she says—at the 16:56 minute mark—triggered me in a positive way.

She describes how her therapist asked her, “Have you been able to mourn the loss of who you were before you were a mom?”

Hearing about their conversation secondhand felt like an osmosis slap to the face. Because it put into words exactly how I’ve been feeling lately.

*I want to preface this next part of my blog by saying I AM FINE. There’s nothing to be overly concerned about, I promise. I also realize how lucky I am to have not only one happy and healthy child, but to be pregnant with a second. My son has brought so much joy to my life; his giggle is my absolute favorite sound in the world and the highlight of my day is his shriek of “Mommy!” when I pick him up from childcare. And I can’t wait to give him a sibling and see them grow up together. But…*

Lately, I’ve been going through it.

Physically, I am more uncomfortable and sick than I was with my first pregnancy; it’s a good day if I’m not cuddled up in ungodly stomach pain caused by my old friend heartburn. Coupled with having an adrenaline-infused toddler running around, I’m just exhausted in a way that I’ve never been. Emotionally, its even worse. I know a lot of what I’m dealing with (mentally) can be attributed to hormone changes, the constant merry-go-round of Covid-19 and just the winter season. But I’m not the happiest. When I know I should be; I have everything I’ve always wanted and dreamed of. In the deepest part of my heart, there always seems to be this little voice, longing for something that I can’t quite grasp.

And Colleen’s vlog named it.

I miss the girl I used to be.

Terribly, terribly miss her and my old life.

I miss spontaneity—having a weekend free and just deciding, “Hey let’s take the train to the city and see what we can find!” Happy Hour Fridays—my husband and I’s date night, where we’d walk down to our favorite restaurant and order all the Happy Hour items. Lazy days of watching TV or reading. Sleeping-in on a Saturday or even staying out late. Not having to plan meals for the week, or figure out what day I can slip away from work to go grocery shopping. Eating a leisurely meal. Traveling. Running quick errands at any time of the day. Even just showering when I feel like it. And I miss dreaming. And writing; it kills me that I don’t have a concept ready to go for my next novel.

That girl was fun. I liked her. A lot of people liked her. She had a plan and was willing to move mountains to achieve it. The new me is a ball of stress, bubbling anger, a mind cluttered with childcare schedules, tension and a constant failure complex—i.e. I’m a shitty mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and employee. I feel like I’m always on edge, waiting for the glass floor to break beneath me. Overall, I don’t feel like…me. Like all I am is “Mom” and “Jena” doesn’t matter anymore. And life has become a lot like Ground Hog Day; everyday is a survival loop of the day before. Deep-down, I know a new baby will only intensify this; like I said, Colleen’s vlog is a perfect representation of the newborn stage.

Motherhood is all consuming, in good ways and bad. And sometimes I just wish there was a happy medium between the two. One that would allow me to keep a small piece of myself and still be a good mom.

The guilt I feel in committing this to page and to my readers here is horrendous. It took a lot for me to write it out as I know I am opening myself up to scrutiny and opinions. Because I know it’s selfish and that my life has become so full in other ways. I should be grateful. But I can’t ignore that little voice anymore and I know the only way to get rid of her is to surrender; mourn the loss of my old life and get used to what’s in front me. Even though I don’t want to; a very large part of me still wants to fight.

Unfortunately, there’s no easy fix for the way I’ve been feeling. There’s no pill or magic potion I can take that will zap my brain into forgetting what once was and help find my identity and happiness again. But over the last few days—after starting this blog—I’ve realized that its okay to do things for myself and that I need to push to find happiness in the little moments. Like the joy I saw on my son’s face when I took him on his first carousel ride over the weekend. And I need to talk about it more—keeping this inside wasn’t healthy and I was taking my anger out on others. Talking about it with my best friends has made me see I’m not as alone as I thought—that my struggle is the same as many. Like most things involving parenthood, its buried down deep and dealt with in private. But there’s no reason to suffer alone.

Thank you, Colleen. Thanks for recording one of your low moments, so I could see that motherhood simply sucks sometimes and its okay to fall apart. For giving me permission to “mourn” my old life, and also find things to make me—Jena— happy.

And thanks for introducing me to the Broadway musical, Waitress. Like it did for you, this song—about the lead character’s struggle with her identity after she discovers she is pregnant—has helped me sing out my frustration. And further realize I’m not alone.