A very wise woman once told me that it is a very hard thing to be a caregiver. Never have I understood something on such a profoundly deep and personal level. Nothing can prepare you for being solely responsible for the well-being and existence of another life. This coming from someone who has grown up in a family with a huge saving-the-world-and-all-living-creatures-in/on-it complex. (Heck this past weekend I watched my sister valiantly save 2 live bugs that she found in the head of lettuce that she was washing - I kid you not - she released them into the wild - with a piece of lettuce so that they wouldn't starve!) Point being - we care about life, a lot - but that being said taking care of a parent or a spouse or a child is a heck of a lot of work.
Up until this point the most taxing part of caring for my spouse has been his yearly cold. It comes once a year and he is miserable for a week (which usually culminates in me getting sick.)
Pregnancy must have been a sorely trying time for him because I was no bundle of sunshine - heck all 40 weeks were miserable and I didn't get significantly better after giving birth. The first couple of weeks I figured it was alright. Lots of hormones - blah blah - it'll sort itself out. The next few weeks were miserable. Which brings us to the present - truth be told - I haven't improved. Sure - I put on a happy face and entertain guests and run errands and help people out and make cheery sounding phone-calls and send smiley looking emails and write upbeat sounding posts on my blog about how cute Buzz is and how much fun it is to be a Mommy... But the truth of the matter is that deep down inside I kind of feel like this.
Back to the point - I find it ironic that so many people study psychology or claim to understand the human condition but refuse to get help. As if - helps is for everyone else but not for them.
I'm a fighter but even I know when I've hit my limit.
There is nothing wrong with asking for help.