“I’m fine.”

How are you? I'm fine. Chances are when you get that in response to a question, it’s untrue. It’s definitely not true if you ever hear me say it.

Lately, I have been thinking about honesty. It’s such a difficult thing to be sometimes, honest. I care too much about what people think, which is why it’s taken me so long to start writing again.

When you worry about what people think, you censor yourself. In a recent post I wrote some things that were hurtful to people I love deeply. They were wounded by my words. I am not proud of this.

The truth is often subjective. I look at life through the biased lens of my own experience. I meant it when I said that depression is selfish because when I’m depressed I tend to take things so damn personally (as if it’s all about me all the time).

Sometimes honesty hurts.

It’s much easier to blame others for why we are feeling bad. It’s much harder to accept responsibility for over-analysing or taking comments to heart. Last week I found myself in a dark place, pointing fingers at anyone but myself.

As a consequence of what I wrote, I had some difficult conversations with family members. Raw, uncomfortable and vulnerable.

I realised today that I dislike vulnerability. A lot. My mother raised me to be ‘tough’ so I wouldn’t feel as much pain out in the world. As a result, I tend to view vulnerability as a weakness, especially within myself.

I’m grateful those difficult conversations were had.I feel that they are just the beginnings of better, more honest communication. I am working on not pretending to be fine. On letting certain things slide. On creating some healthy distance between other people’s actions and my own heart.

I’d also like to stop being an expert at putting my game-face on. I can walk into a social setting, dripping with homesickness, devastated by an argument or stressed out about work- and the smiles and jokes would flow as if it were a normal day.

I barely made it to a talk called “Adjusting to New Parenting,” with my mother’s group. I was stressed and exhausted with my newborn at the time. I breezed in 10 minutes late, flustered and anxious but must have concealed it well.

The talk was actually about Post Natal Depression. The organisers gave it a different title to attract more people. There were three of us in attendance. Maybe the truth had gotten out. I remember someone making a comment, “Well since we are the ones who actually made it here, I don’t think we are the ones who need help,” fair point.

I remember learning that day, usually, the mothers who seem like they have it together are the ones struggling most.

Am I that person?

I have not told my Mother’s group about this blog or that I’m in counseling. I mean we talk about EVERYTHING in gory detail. Of all people who would be able to understand exactly what I’m going through….they would!

I spoke about this with my therapist today (who has grown on me quite a lot since my initial resistance). She asked me what I felt about not sharing with my Mother’s group. I squirmed in my seat like I squirm every time a caring friend asks me how I’m doing. I can’t tell if I should say I’m fine or give the uncomfortable answer.

As far as Mum’s group goes, my first thought was maybe I’m just sick of talking about depression….but I don’t think that’s the truth. The truth is I don’t talk about it in real life. Perhaps it’s actually the vulnerability I’m shying away from.

Now that I'm getting help, I can start to see it takes more strength and courage to show weakness than it does to put a mask on and pretend “everything’s fine.”

Sara Heidinger Photography

• Lack of practical or emotional support
• Isolation
• History of depression
• Difficult relationship with your own mother
• Abuse

I’ve drawn a tight circle around myself and cannot see beyond it.

Picking lemons in our sunny backyard, it's the simple things...

When you become a mother, your identity changes. Instantly. No one seems to mention this enormous fact when you're pregnant.

It's like you finally feel like you know who you are and it all shifts the moment your child takes their first breath. No amount of preparation, reading, or observation can ready you for such an immediate and overwhelming change.

My identity was crowded enough before shoving 'Mother' to the top of the list- daughter, sister, wife, friend, colleague and ex-pat...Now someone's Mom. The most important label, one I didn't even really earn. Not yet.

The dust settled after our trip to the US and once again it was just me and Lavinia.

I worried about being alone with her again after being spoiled by company every day for five weeks.  There were a few moments of loneliness on that first day Matt went back to work.

Even though I'm alone again in Australia it feels as if visiting my hometown in the US allowed me to hit the reset button. For the first time I got to be a Mom around my own family- which was strange- but I also got to be me. The light falling on us now reveals how much has changed.

I am starting to heal and these are a few reasons why:

• Lavinia is easier than ever before. She sleeps twelve hours at night, she can sit up and is fully weaned (freedom!)
• The 24 hour journey across the world and back with a baby has given me the confidence to scoot around Melbourne in my car.
• I am continually receiving messages of support from friends and family members. This makes me feel less isolated.
• Writing. Writing helps to organise my thoughts.
• Therapy has helped me to step outside my head when I’m having anxious thoughts (work in progress).
• Homeopathy. Mine does Skype appointments. She is THE BEST.
• And what I believe to be the most significant reason.... reconnecting with myself.

In Buffalo, The first time I left Lavinia with my Mom so I could go out to lunch, it felt strange. I was not used to being out without my baby. It took a few glasses of wine but eventually I relaxed and laughed. And as a bonus I got to sit with MY old friends and share stories about the past.

People tell you that in order to be a better Mom, you need to practise self-care within your time constraints. I'm sorry but a bubble bath during Lavinia's nap time was not going to do that for me. I needed Buffalo. I needed my friends, I needed to remember that I used to be someone apart from being someone's Mom.

I began to amalgamate my old identity with my new one. I couldn't do that until I revisited the old one just for a moment. I hope- rather I know- this will make me a better parent.

Lavinia and I had a great first week back in Melbourne. I unpacked, cooked, and we even took that daunting drive to Mornington without any anxious chatter in my formerly unruly mind.

The last few days I have been feeling a bit flat but that's a step up from 'down' or depressed.  Now I need to think about what else I can work on going forward. It's comforting knowing that a string of good days are achievable.  More sunshine is penetrating our little world.

Photo: Sara Heidinger Photography

Dragging a baby halfway across the world is silly and brave. I'm proud of how well Lavinia coped physically but I was surprised at how challenging it was for me mentally.

The low-point was arriving in California. That is when LAX threw down the gauntlet.

Lavinia slept three hours during the first 14-hour leg- which meant no sleep for Momma. The exhausted baby finally fell asleep on me, in her carrier, when we were waiting in line for US customs.

I couldn't believe it. No crib, no comforter, no white noise and not on schedule. My perfectly crafted routine- abandoned. This was the first time I realized that like any human, if she were tired enough, Lavinia would eventually crash.

This may seem like common sense to most people. I was far too tired for common sense.

At customs, I got grilled for not having a letter of permission from ‘the father’ to prove I’m not kidnapping my own child.

Then my favorite part- retrieving our checked luggage in order to immediately re-check it for the next leg. A nice man offered to help me with my suitcase. I had him grab the same bag and let it go three times before I realized that it actually was MY bag. I was so fuzzy I forgot what my own suitcase looked like.

While awkwardly leaning backward to avoid disturbing Lavinia’s sleepy head, I had to drag my large checked-bag in one hand and carry-on with diaper bag in the other...up a long ramp. My lip started quivering and eyes welled with tears. I tried to stop the abusive thoughts.

Who is this mother I had become? She was not at all what I imagined. She was nervous, stressed, and she lived and breathed according to a schedule. She didn’t trust herself or her instincts. And worst of all- she constantly berated her efforts with negative and critical thoughts. Not exactly a role model.

I must have been a sight because an airport staff member saw me and offered to help me with my bags. I gratefully accepted.

Lavinia woke up just as we were going through security a second time and we both made it to our connecting gate. My mother met us there and flew with us to Toronto. She held her granddaughter while I surrendered to a few hours of sweet sleep.

And we all survived.

This was just another step in the process of letting go. Letting go of the illusion of control.

Obvious Much?

Seriously?

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All it takes is one thing to tip the first anxiety domino. Monday it was my iPhone.

In the few short days since my last post, the outpouring of support from friends and family is overwhelming- in a good way.

Within about 10 minutes of publishing my husband got a text from his good friend offering to help us in any way possible.

In the morning I woke up to Facebook and SMS messages from people close to me in Australia who had no idea, my best friends mother and her experience with being a transplant, a girl I knew in middle school, friends in Europe and Africa.

People I have plans to visit are offering to come to me rather than have me drive to them (if only I had done this sooner!)  They all tell me I am brave. Not sure about brave, I think impulsive might be a better word.

Regardless of the motivating factors, I do not regret sharing my story. I am beyond grateful and humbled by the responses.

One refreshing thing I've found in motherhood is the ability to be genuinely honest, a trait I’ve always admired in other people.  In the past I suffered from passive aggression- I worried too much about people liking me to openly speak my mind. Time is too precious now for political fence-sitting.

Previously, every time I tried to write about myself there were boundaries. I’m absolutely uncomfortable with being vulnerable right now but at the same time I’m okay with it. Gone are the days of censorship, of self- medication, of presenting only a surface with most people in my world.

I need to be someone my daughter can look up to and she has given me the courage to begin to set the example.

I think I've suffered from postnatal depression on and off for the last six months. Three people knew about this before I went to see a therapist last week. It's unlike me not to share.

Weakness is scary- by being so public about this, I tell myself it's brave- but my jaw is clenched as I type.

Isolation is probably the main contributing factor (among others I'm not ready to write about). I'm thousands of miles from my family and (American) friends. Six months ago I became a suburbanite with a city-girl heart. I no longer have my bearings.

Anxiety about travel, driving on the highway specifically, is a new and unwelcome passenger in my brain.

Yesterday I had plans to take an hour and a half drive to see a very good friend and she knew I was struggling with the thought of it.

Sometimes all it takes is someone to force you outside your comfort zone. If my mother were here she would tell me to suck it up and go (and since I'm a Mom now too- I may actually listen rather than do the opposite) but alas, she is not.

My friend drove the whole way to my house and talked to me about my fears until I agreed to follow her halfway to her house (where we were meant to meet). The reward- at our destination I would able to show my daughter the ocean for the first time.

The drive was tense, the experience both challenging and confidence-building. More importantly, I witnessed the perplexed and pleased look on Lavinia's face when the first, cold, bubbly little wave washed over her tiny pink feet. I feel like she is going to be a natural water baby, just like her Momma.

The ocean has always healed me- imagine if anxiety stood in the way of me introducing that lifelong gift to my baby girl.

I will work on this and share my journey here. Stay tuned.