A Letter to Everyone Else (A Rant)

(Disclaimer: Please do not read on if you find yourself sensitive to a bit of profanity, and general bitchiness, because I am not holding back in this post. To borrow a phrase: "This is the truth that hurts feelings." You’ve been warned.)

In recent weeks I’ve experienced a shift in my attitude toward my pregnant or recent new-mother friends and family. When I previously wrote in this blog that I sincerely felt happy for you all, that was true. I was not being phony in that, in any way. I assure you that sentiment was genuine... at the time.

But now… I’m not so sure I can say that honestly anymore. I’d really like to tell you that there’s some piece of me that still feels that way. I hope there is. And I’d like to tell you that these emotions are simply the product of hormones that are running amok, but I’m really not sure if that’s the case. All I know is that I now resent you. Every last one of you. I resent every cutesy pregnancy announcement. I resent your happiness. I resent your whining about nausea. I resent your whining about “being ready to get this kid outta me!” when you’re 9 months along. I resent your precious “bump” progress photos. I resent all your bitching about how the new baby had a poop explosion at the grocery store. I resent your bitching about all the sleep you’re missing. I resent your gushing about how grateful you are for your tender little family. I resent the lot of it. F*ck you.

I can pinpoint the exact moment this attitude shift took place. I suppose it was inevitable. There is a certain limit to what any given person can withstand. I suppose this was my straw that broke the camel’s back. This was the turning point that sent me falling over the edge. Perhaps I ought to have been feeling this way all along… you know, defenses and all that. I’ll admit that a lot of it was my own fault for dwelling on facebook so much… but that is over now.

The precise moment I broke down was a bright, sunny morning in March. The sun had finally come back and I could literally feel my seasonal depression, coupled with the depression and anxiety I’d been battling since I started going the ovulation predictor route (aka “Plan A”), ever so slightly begin to ebb and melt away, finally. I woke up, rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. My period was 2 days late and I had become hopeful, despite my own better judgment. I sat down to pee and when I stood up and glanced into the bowl before quickly flushing, all I saw was a bright red, swirling pool that was unmistakable. Crestfallen, but not surprised whatsoever, I went about the business of “taking care of it”, and pushed the sobs that I could feel building in my throat back down. Do not cry. You expected this.

I continued in my morning routine and went to work. Fortunately, my email inbox was overfull with lots of work to do and I successfully distracted myself for several hours. Then… I got a text. Someone was pregnant. I made the idiotic mistake of getting on facebook on my phone. The announcement was there too, right alongside all the other pregnancy/baby-related posts that I had, until now, been easily scrolling over and ignoring for months. Years. Eons it seemed. I closed the app very calmly. I stood up from my desk and locked my computer screen as was my habit to do whenever I left it. I walked to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet lid. And then they came.

Tears poured uncontrollably out of my eyes as I dabbed and dabbed, trying to push them back in. I could not show any signs that I had been crying.  I couldn’t have red eyes and marred makeup when I went back to my desk. I simply couldn’t. This had never happened before. I had never cried about this before. I chocked it up to out of balance hormones caused by my period and forced composure over myself. It was just bad timing to receive the news. I ought to be happy for these people.

Yet I felt nothing but despair, anger, jealousy and resentment. I asked myself if there was any small bit of joy mixed in somewhere, some little bit of joy that would mean I was still a good, empathetic human being… there wasn’t. Not a shred. I felt absolutely no joy whatsoever for these people that are very close to me, and dear to my heart. I felt nothing but pure, unbridaled rage. It was irrational. It was selfish. It was inhumane. And yet there is was, so strong in my heart that I could not deny it. I hated them. I hated all of them. The whole lot. Every mother that existed, I hated.

The worst part of it all was that I could not allow it to consume me. It would have been so much easier to lash out. But I couldn’t. No self-respecting, decent person would. I felt as though I was fighting an inner battle between the good Mandee and the bad Mandee. The bad Mandee wanted out, desperately. I was very conflicted. I was at war with myself: One side craved the freedom to feel what I felt and the other demanded that I ought not to feel so, that it was wrong to feel so.

And so this letter is my compromise. Both sides get to have a little win. The good, decent side kept quiet all day and went home and kicked ass to a workout DVD until my legs were jelly and I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

The other side was allowed to write this letter.

Until next time.

P.S. Don’t you dare comment on this, message me on facebook, or text me and say, “I am so sorry if I’ve ever done or said anything to hurt your feelings…” , or any possible variation on that line. I don’t want to hear it. I’ll just delete it.