A Medicated Mom

Let’s be honest: being a mom is like trying to juggle flaming torches while riding a unicycle on a tightrope stretched over a sea of unpaid bills and endless laundry. Now, imagine doing that with a dash of anxiety and depression. Yeah, welcome to me!

 I’m a mom of five (yes, you read that right—FIVE) and work full-time. So naturally, I took on all the emotional baggage that comes with loss, guilt, and the unyielding need to be Supermom. After losing two of my favourite people to cancer, I found that the imaginary cape didn’t help when I was constantly tripping over my own high expectations.

At one point, I was on the brink of losing it. I felt like a zombie, wandering around and mumbling nonsense about spaghetti Bolognese and cheese. On top of that, my cat developed a suspicious habit of judging me from various corners of the house. To make matters worse, I was letting my kids eat cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!

Then came sertraline at 125mg—my little fluffy life raft in this sea of chaos. “Oh, you take medication for that?” people might ask, eyebrows raised. I usually respond with a nonchalant, “Yep, it saved my life! I just don’t give a shit anymore.” Apparently, being a medicated mom comes with a superpower: the ability to shrug off societal expectations like they’re an old Bolognese stain on your favourite shirt.

You know, it’s hilarious how life’s little annoyances used to drive me up the wall. A flat tire? No sweat! A toddler tantrum in the middle of Asda? Just an opportunity for an impromptu dance party! People often notice my newfound chill in the face of these minor disasters and stare at me like I’m a magician. When they ask, “Aren’t you bothered?” I just grin and say, “Nah, I take medication! You’d be amazed at how much I’ve learned to not care.” I mean, what’s a silly inconvenience when a few milligrams of sertraline are working their magic? Bring it on, universe! I could drop my phone in the toilet and still think, “Well, at least I have a good story now!”

The Daily Adventures of My Kids

Let’s talk about my three-year-old, who throws meltdowns over the audacity of the sun shining too brightly on his ice cream (yes, that actually happened). In the past, I would’ve spiralled into a panic, frantically Googling “meltdown-free parenting techniques” that basically don’t exist. But now? “Kid, that's your issue, build a bridge,” I calmly say while sipping my coffee. “Welcome to life; get used to it.”

Then there’s my 6-year-old, who has gone and decided he’s the next Picasso. Instead of canvases, he’s chosen every surface in the house as his artistic medium. Toys? Covered. Bags? Graffitied. Shoes? Don't even get me started—let’s just say they’re now a unique work of art. I can’t tell if my house looks like a gallery or a toddler’s art school explosion!

Next, we have my 9-year-old daughter, who has officially entered the realm of the "Roblox Cave." She’s so engrossed in her virtual world that the only time I see her is when she emerges from her room, looking like a hungry bear, demanding snacks. I swear, if it weren't for food, she might have forgotten she had a family!

My 12-year-old is currently navigating the classic phase of “I want to play, but also I don’t.” He decided one day that he wanted to build a massive fort in the living room with his younger siblings. But halfway through, he threw down his blanket and declared, “Nah, I’m done!” This left the youngest two in absolute chaos, crying and confused because they couldn’t understand why their fort-building empire crumbled without warning. I just stood there, trying to figure out how one child can incite such mayhem!

And then there’s the charming disaster that is my 14-year-old’s bedroom. It’s like a scene from a disaster movie: a pit of mess and stink that even the bravest explorers wouldn’t dare enter. When I asked if he was conducting scientific research in there, he just shrugged and replied, “Mom, I’m just cultivating my ‘lived-in’ look!”

 Embracing the Absurdity

In moments like these, I realise that sertraline didn’t just lighten my mood; it expanded my capacity to embrace the absolute absurdity of everyday life. If I can handle this level of chaos, then bring it on!

Honestly, it's hard to believe I ever doubted my own mental health. I mean, who doesn't sometimes think they can conquer the world one snack at a time? (Spoiler: we can’t). If you’d told me a year ago I’d be taking medication and happily telling people about it, I would’ve thought you were off your rocker. I used to think depression was a myth invented by morning talk shows—it’s really just a fancy way of saying, “I’m overwhelmed by my children’s collective insanity.”

So here I am today, a medicated mom trying to dodge the fiery hoops of parenting five kids. And let me tell you, it’s hilarious. I've levelled up from panic to calmly chuckling about spilled drinks as if it were part of the plan. I highly recommend this new perspective; it’s like upgrading from a flip phone to a smartphone—who knew life could get this easy?