Ramblings of an anxious mom

Between reading blogs, trying to write one, managing several Marketing accounts and Facebook pages, getting some accounts and paper work done for the family business and dealing with moms who I speak to I have to be a mom. It’s the most important job in my life. It’s a job I chose and the reason I abandoned the corporate world and became a “working stay at home mom “. 

These days it’s hard. It really is overwhelming. I am torn between the joys of seeing my baby grow and being there making sure she is safe, and that urge, that cosmic pull of the universe that propelled me into two degrees, that need to work. That need to top the corporate life. That want to dress in power suits and make elaborate marketing strategies and crush the competition. 

Yet. Every resume I send I find myself crying as I click the send button. 

I find my self in a fit of anxiety. A entire hard pommecythere seed emerges in my throat at the hit of the send button. I immediately feel like I’m failing her. My baby. My sweet small needy baby. How can I leave her? 

Leave the child I’ve spent every hour with (except maybe less than ten) and who cries incessantly when I leave her side. 

Will the daycare understand? 

Will they be able to cope ?

Will it be ok ?

Will they take care of her the way I do? 

Admittedly I’m fraught with anxiety about most everything. 

This Sunday I sit. Scrolling job sites, overseeing homework , cuddling and playing and dancing and soothing my teething needy baby and wondering if I could do it all and hold down a job. 

When is self fulfillment going to merge with mommy fulfillment. When can I be wholy fulfilled. 


Facebook life

When you are happy you should post it. Facebook, Instagram, hashtag it on Twitter. Head over to snapchat and make a memory. 

If you are sad, experiencing a bad break up, in a hellish relationship or broke even broken – No one cares , stop airing your dirty laundry, OMG TMI, gosh stop crying to Facebook!

By our words and actions we force people to construct a life of endless smiles, island life, party and happiness EVERY MINUTE. We pose here and there we MUST go to be seen and to SHARE. Life is about the good times. Five hundred likes for a happy picture, a smiling face and beautiful sunset off a boat DDI! Validation and vindication that your life is worth it. 

A cry for help…… Nothing. 

Inboxed… “Dem ting isn’t for Facebook” “Why you sharing those things ” 

An onlooker. 

Her/his life is perfect. I want this life. 


Suffering quietly. No real friends and a crumbling Facebook reality. 

We cause this by OUR WORDS AND ACTIONS. we sit JUDGEMENTAL we sit FUCKING MEAN. we sit HATING REAL-ish-ness. 






9/11 and September Depression 

What’s the hardest part of September? 

For me September comes with depression. The weather changes, traffic increases, school starts and 9/11. 

I remember September 11 2001, 15 years ago, reaching to school late. My class was located upstairs the principal’s office so I had to pass the teachers break room before I got to class. I glanced in as I did most times but something was different. There were some form six students glued to the TV and teachers all around.  I was late, why weren’t they in class? I glimpsed the screen. I swore it was a movie. Tears welled up. 

All I thought was about all the people who had been injured. I continued watching. Tower one collapsed. I was lost. 

I remember heading to class in tears. Hearing the flight number I vaguely remember worry about one of my cousins and their trip to NEw York and wondering if this was the number I heard. I scraped the floors of my mind to be certain. Fear ripped through me. I cried.  

Getting home that day I took a taxi in. As the car approached I saw my mom walking. Hunched, more like crawling. Her body begging to make it inside. As the car passed her and stopped I exited and faced her. She was about one house away. Her face was contorted with worry and fear. All my fears came back. I was so wrong 

It was my Aunty. My Aunty I had spoken to the Sunday before this Tuesday. The Aunty who promised to make me my graduation dress. The Aunty who joked about my wedding, pressed my hair out like no other, had a genuine soul, an unforgettable smile, red skin, brown hair and an infectious sprit. 

You see she worked in the tower. I know I said the tower but that’s because there is only one in my mind. That. One. Tower.  

I remember mom leaving with my grandma and uncles. I remember my family who laughs all the time silent. I remember seeing grandma age. No AGE OVERNIGHT. I remember my uncle, in New York, missing. No one could find him. He was searching for his wife. He was deep in ash and rubble. He was on every corner and block. He was a mad man. 

I remember they called. They were laughing again. It was after the service. There wasn’t anything found to put in a casket. They planted a tree. They renamed a street. They fondly remembered her. 

There was a knock. The door was answered. Dental records were used. She was truly gone. 


A sigh of relief when the plane lands safely in Trinidad. 

A year later or so. The phone rings. 

Mom is at her desk at work. The phone rings. She answers. It’s the Us Embassy. “Are you sitting down ma’am ” 

“We regret to inform you your sister Clara Hinds was one of the souls lost……….”


Every year I’m bombarded with post on 9/11. I don’t know if any of my family actually went to any services locally. I’ve been to ground zero. I’ve seen her name etched beautifully in the pool. I’ve struggled to make it through the exhibit. 

I’m left with conspiracy theories post from people who weren’t affected, documentaries, articles. 

I don’t watch TV in September. 

I walk on eggshells around my mom in September. 

I wish someone would wake me up when September ends. 

“When you make a baby you know who your friends are”. 

I’m sure you’ve heard this, and it’s true. When you’re pregnant you are surrounded by love and attention. The belly rubs and well wishes. The gifts and adoration. Well that’s if you are lucky. 

You have friends promise to baby sit, people begging to be godparents, everyone beaming with joy about your baby. 

Then the baby comes. “God Parents” fade away, shit half the friends never meet the child. Never make an effort. 

You are now confined, your bundle of joy is here. Between feedings and naps and nappies you still long for a life. You miss your friends but no one calls. No one makes contact or understands that they can still include you. 

Being a young mother is worse. 

I was a mom at 22. My “friends” at the time dissipated. There was no one really. Not from the core group I went to UWI with. All of who were so happy for me, all of who probably had no idea how to deal with a new mommy. 

I’ve lost contact with most of them. We are grown ups and are forced to think “well, we are all busy!” But is that true? Or are new mommies sometimes ostracized and ignored? Thrown to the side?  

Having a new baby can be lonely and hard. It can be frustrating and tiring. With out your support group, it can be depressing. 

In a culture of drinking and liming and not much else it’s probably the hardest thing to have a new mom who wants to take a lime. 

I can’t even finish this post. 

Call your friends. 

Make the effort 

Understand that a new mom can’t always call you 

Touch base. 

Pass by

Say hello 

Bring food over and sit just to keep company. 

Be nosey. Ask questions.  Include them. Be a support system. 

Postpartum depression is real. Postpartum depression can be deadly.