After a good friend mentioned that she didn’t even realize I’d had post partum depression (PPD,) I realized that it is something I never talk about. Ever.
I mean, it took me a few months to realize I had it, and then another month before admitting that I had it. I hid it super well; J never even suspected there was a problem. But that’s because I was trying to convince myself that there wasn’t.
PPD isn’t prejudice in who it strikes. Not at all. There are things that can make you more susceptible to it, such as an unplanned pregnancy, ample stress during the pregnancy, the loss of a loved one, etc. But you don't have to have any of the prerequisites to end up suffereing from it. It wasn’t until after the fact that I was able to look back and realize how much stress I was dealing with while pregnant with baby B, which likely didn't help the situation.
Really, I wasn’t preparing myself for any possibility of PPD. I was just assuming it would all be as wonderful as it was with Miss H. I loved every single second of being pregnant with her. For real. Even when I was in labor, I thought it was all wonderful and beautiful. And although I was super excited to meet her, I wasn’t really “done” being pregnant with her. But then there she was in all of her beauty and glory. And I loved her dearly. I thought she was incredibly amazing. Mostly because she was. I mean, how could she not be? She was my child, after all.
Miss H was a vivacious baby. (And is a pretty vivacious toddler!). Her pediatrician labeled her “high needs.” It was a label I refused to accept until she was closer to a year. Then I realized her pediatrician might be on to something…
I loved everything about being Miss H’s mother. I loved nursing her, I loved waking up with her, even though she never slept for more than 45 minutes at a time, even at night…I was that sickeningly giddy person who was *excited* to wake up every 45 minutes because that meant I got the privilege of looking at my baby again (and this was until she was nearly a year old…). I held her 24/7 (which I mostly do with baby B, too). She was perfect and incredible. I was over the moon happy and in love.
And so I assumed it would be the same with baby B.
But my pregnancy with him was hard. Not physically, but emotionally. I questioned if maybe we’d made the wrong choice (we didn't!), because I was so afraid of everything I was "taking" from Miss H. I had a hard time seeing that it could possibly be good for her.
I was learning the hard way that blood isn’t always thicker than water. I was discovering who actually gave a flying frak about me and my family, and who really didn’t. This was incredibly stressful and heart breaking for me.
And then baby B’s birth experience was not the incredible one I’d had with Miss H. The people I had depended on to help me were not dependable at all. One person didn’t even bother to be in the same freaking state – she took off to a Nascar race even though I’d asked her to be there. The other was too consumed with herself and her beauty sleep and texting boys to help me during my greatest time of need. I needed someone to help with Miss H, and instead, I had to be left alone during the most horrendous part of labor so J could tend to Miss H. It was during that time that it truly felt like this ugly, dark cloud came over me that I later learned was my post partum depression.
After baby B was finally born, who I had been certain was my second little girl, turned out to be a little boy. I was never sad that he was a boy, I was thrilled. But my mommy-instinct had been killed. And I had not been prepared for a boy. I didn’t even have a name picked out for him!
So I gave him the first name that came to my head, and spent many months lamenting that perhaps it didn’t fit him (though it really does!).
I loved baby B immediately. Tremendously, fiercely, unconditionally. Just as I had Miss H. But I also felt a bit disconnected from him. And surprisingly, from Miss H too.
I felt like everything I was doing was wrong. That I couldn’t make my children happy. That everyone outside of my immediate 4-person family hated me. I felt like no one cared about poor baby B except for J and I. And of course, Miss H. She was in love with her baby brother immediately.
Juggling two babies turned out to be incredibly easy, but I just couldn’t get past the feelings of disconnect. Of doing everything wrong. And of being extremely alone. J was gone far more than he was home due to work travels. I didn’t have a single person to call when things got overwhelming, it was just really hard.
I was eager to leave B and H whenver the opportunity would arise. It would only be a 20 minute trip to the grocery store while J stayed home with them, but I’d never in my life been eager to leave Miss H, and most certainly not as a newborn! I knew this was not normal.
And then we went to New Mexico
My children are perfect. They are mine. I love them. Why did I feel all these overwhelming feelings of failure, when only two months ago no one could have rocked my mothering boat?
And it hit me. This is what they call post partum depression. When we got home I read Brooke Shield’s book Down Came the Rain and was amazed, and appalled, at how much of it I could relate to. To be honest, I was pretty disgusted with myself. How I could allow myself to feel this way. Really, it just made me feel worse to see all my feelings and thoughts in print.
It made me incredibly sad to know that even one single other human being had to feel the way I did. Ever in all of their life. Because no one deserves to feel that way.
But I took matters into my own hands. I finally broke down and told J what was going on. I told him 2 hours before he was getting ready to leave for a 2 week long trip. I know it killed him a bit. He was devastated. Devastated that I was going through this, devastated that he hadn’t realized it. But I assured him that it was not his fault, I had hid it well. Very well. One of my biggest irrational fears during this time was that he would leave me. This was ridiculous, because when I could allow myself to think rationally I knew he loved me unconditionally, and would never leave me. He was totally supportive and told me he’d do whatever needed to get me back on the right track.
I knew medicine was not an option for me. I refused to take Tylenol while breastfeeding, so some prescription pills were not going to work out. I started taking tons of vitamin D, completely changed my eating habits to Paleo, and started frequenting the gym. It was a slow change, but it did happen. By the time baby B was 7 months old I could confidently say I was PPD-free.
Post partum depression is not something I would ever wish on anyone. It differs for all women who experience it. Some are able to overcome it without medicinal help, some are not, and that’s okay. Some need to speak with someone on the outside, a therapist or counselor, some do not. Some will overcome it in a few short months, others will suffer for years.
Do not judge these women. Forgive them for their words and actions during this time. You have no idea what they are going through. Unless you have gone through it yourself, you cannot even relate (count yourself lucky!).
I know that before having baby B I couldn’t understand how not everyone is over the moon, giddy and ecstatic after having their babies. Now I can. And it’s a very humbling experience.
More women experience PPD than many realize. Many just suffer in silence. But we’d do a lot better if we didn’t have to. PPD isn’t taboo, it’s very real, and women need to feel safe and able to talk about it. The more women speak out, than hopefully the less others will have to suffer. At least I really hope so.
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