Last week, I talked about how interesting of an experience it was to become a mother. This week, it's going to be a little different.

No one tells you that when you become a mother, a certain amount of isolation comes with it. Granted, you have family members and friends, but all of those people have lives of their own.

In my case, the depression set in fairly quickly. I was alone most of the time, with little sleep and a human that couldn't interact very well, let alone hold up his little noggin. My boyfriend consistently had a job, and as much as I struggled to return to mine, it just wasn't possible. With daycare too expensive, I stayed home. I was constantly told by friends that they would come to visit, or that I should "come out," not realizing just how unrealistic for me that was.

With our new son, my boyfriend started his new job: he spends 12 hours a day at work, rotating between days and nights. He provides for our family, for which I am entirely grateful. But it still becomes difficult in more than one circumstance.

I started binge-watching Netflix pretty heavily and spending more and more time on my phone. My social interactions were always littered with my incessant need to push the home button on my phone, hoping for outside content. I became addicted to having my phone present fairly quickly, being the only connection to the world that I had.

Now, people will say that even going for a walk is helpful. "Fresh air is always good." However, when the only people you speak to on a daily basis fill your head with negative information and babble, you start to go a little crazy. So I got a job. And then a second job. Just to get out of the house. Crossing my fingers that I could just have one normal conversation a day. But, like I said before, I just couldn't swing it. It became more and more difficult for me to have a job, putting strain on my mental stability yet again.

Although it started getting progressively better as my son started talking and interacting more with his silly personality, it still puts a heavy weight on my chest to see the world through a piece of glass.

I pray daily that my personal issues don't effect my son, hoping that he doesn't grow up to think that I find him anything less than perfect. But it only takes one experience for a child to find out who their parent truly is as a person, and I'm afraid that day will come soon, and my son will be forever changed by me.

People still promise to visit and people still find better things to do. But this isn't about other people. This is about what goes on where people can't see. This goes on at night, at 2 AM, when I can't fall asleep because I'm alone. Or at 4 AM, when my son wakes up and I'm alone. Or at 10 PM, eating popcorn on the couch watching a movie, alone. It's extremely difficult spending most of your time alone. I used to crave it, look for it purposefully, finding excuses to not go out. And now that I'm here, alone most of the time, spending nights playing with my son.. That's when it sets in the hardest.