I remember crying and crying, and asking, "Why?" Why did I have to go through PPD again? Why? I had done everything right. I had taken every precaution I could, desperately hoping and praying to not have to go through it again.
Why?
I was angry, so very, very angry. I had begged God to not make me go through it again, and it hit me worse than ever before. Worse than I ever imagined it could.
The only thing Ryan could do for me was hold me and hold me, and hold me some more. I remember him saying "Maybe because you're going through this, you'll be able to help others as they go through it."
And I remember saying that it wasn't a good enough reason. That it wasn't worth it. And that's really how I felt. I was so miserable and I couldn't see any good reason why all my efforts to stay healthy and strong had been rewarded with the monster of depression and anxiety that had taken over my life yet again.
Three years later... it is the only beautiful thing I can see from the whole experience, that I am able to help other mothers -- and hopefully their husbands and families too, who are experiencing the pains and strains of postpartum depression on their lives and marriages. Because lets be clear -- it does affect the marriage, the husband, and the whole family.
Maybe as time wears on and I am able to let go of more of the hurt I will see more beauty. But for now, I focus on the good that I can. And so, I write what I do now.
Over the past few months especially, I have been so grateful for the women who have given me the opportunity to give insight, advice, support, and love. Thank you. Thank you for reaching out for help. Thank you for taking the help that is available. Thank you for not suffering more than you already have to.
The rest of this blog gives more detail than I've written to date on what my experience with postpartum depression has been. It does not go into what to do about it.
With the first baby, PPD was mild. So mild, that I would never have recognized it for what it was, if I hadn't stopped many years later and went "Aha! Now I understand why I felt the way I did." It came out more in a mild detachment from my daughter, and fear. But again, it was mild, passed, and life went on.
With baby #2, the depression was definitely more succinct.... but I chalked it up to the turmoil my marriage was in already, and the stress and strain of trying to hold our family together.... and to me just being an awful mother, wife, and person. I remember bawling and bawling on the floor of the closet, begging God to give me a new heart, because mine was no good. I could see no good in me, especially as a mother. This remained my view of myself for many, many years... because I still viewed myself through those depressive eyes. More than deep sadness or typically what you would think of as depression, there was an underlying irritability and inability handle stress or strain to any degree, and yet that is what my life consisted of at the time. The result was I became enraged easily, and quickly, and the poor children around me had the unfortunate opportunity to see me turn to an ugly green monster all too often. I snapped at them, yelled at them, and all the while was trying to grab hold of the monster and stuff it back down in a corner somewhere within me. It didn't work. I think I cried more during the year after I had Taliesin than any other in my life until I had baby #7. Still, I didn't call it depression, and neither did anyone around me. I didn't ask for help, and I didn't get any help for it. Eventually, it went away, and I became more able to handle the stress life was throwing at me.
With baby #3, the depression was pronounced, and obvious to anyone who knew to call it that. But nobody did. I had trouble recovering from the birth. I stayed in bed for weeks. Physically there was little reason my body couldn't get up and out of bed, but I couldn't. I was empty inside, had no energy constant headaches, and just couldn't feel good again. I battled to get the baby to nurse, and decided if he wasn't nursing without a fight within a month, I'd give up. Every hour was spent with him screaming, me bawling, and little progress. Finally, with days to spare before my one month deadline, he finally calmed down enough to latch on and nurse without a constant fight. Months later, although I had gotten out of bed, was back to work, and things were good in my marriage for the first time in a long time, I still didn't feel good. Not only was I emotionally depressed and still battling with the irritability and agitation, but it also was affecting my physical health in other ways as well. Pain in my stomach, racing in my heart, complete anxiety attacks (although I didn't recognize them for what they were), and fluctations in my blood sugar that couldn't be attributed to any particular cause. I would simply "jellyfish" as my husband called it, and he would end up carrying me out of the store or restaurant, or wherever we were. I would be in tears, he would be embarrased, and eventually I would sleep it off until I felt good enough to get up and function again. Finally, when the baby was around 4 months old, I went in to see a family doctor. He spent fifteen minutes with me, told me I was clinically depressed, and to get on medication. I said, "No way", fumed about it, told very few people what he had said because I was completely embarrased, and sent him a three page letter telling him why that was a bad diagnosis and horrible advice. I was in complete denial. Eventually, I got feeling better, worked my way out of it, and said "See! He was wrong. I'm fine."
He probably got the letter, shook his head, and said "that just proves my diagnosis was correct."
With baby #4, we had moved into a new house, new neighborhood. I was farther away from my family and friends, and still not willing call my depression by it's name. My midwife took one look at me at the two week checkup and ordered me to get a vitamin B shot in the butt. I remember looking at her and breaking down in tears saying "You mean it's not normal for me to cry over every single thing?" I came back later for another shot, and they really did help... but I was still presenting very real physical symptoms because of the PPD, and still trying to blame it on some unnamed illness. The anxiety attacks were to the extreme. I didn't have health insurance at the time, and wasn't willing to add to the family financial stress by going to any doctor or hospital. I remember having such high anxiety that my heart was hurting and I really thought I was having a heart attack. My thinking was so messed up that I thought, "Oh well, if I have a heart attack and die then I guess I do. If this is not a heart attack, then I'm just being a baby anyway and letting stress get to me. " I don't even think I told my husband about it. For months after the baby came, there would be days I would just get so overwhelmed with stress and anxiety and have so little wherewithal to do anything about it that I would end up in tears on the floor wherever I happened to be at the time, unable to move, unable to care. I would just cry until I fell asleep and slept it off. Then get up later, feeling groggy and even worse about myself. My blood sugars were testing within a normal range, but I felt like a diabetic whose blood sugars were sky high and then crashing, and it was like that all the time. It took years before we finally connected the dots with these episodes to stress and depression. Meanwhile, my kids learned how to get their own peanut butter sandwiches and turn on a movie while I slept. Most of the time, I don't think most of my family members knew how bad off I was. My friend Tiffanie saved me by getting me out of the house and planning activities with her family and mine. But meanwhile, the depression and anxiety was affecting me mentally too. I remember one day trying to drive to her house, where I'd been many times before, and I suddenly couldn't remember how to get there. I was so confused as to where I was, where I was supposed to turn, which street was hers... it took me an extra 45 minutes before I finally found her house. I was in tears, laughing and crying at the same time, and she was looking at me completely bewildered as to how it was possible I could get lost driving to her house. This time, I was finally calling it postpartum depression -- but I still wasn't reaching out for the help I needed. I started taking more B vitamins, and getting myself to the gym to workout. Between the two, they did help a lot, and slowly, I pulled out of my spiral and eventually back to sanity.
When Baby #5 was born, I was back to square one. It felt like the same thing over again - only this time Ryan was gone working. He left when the baby was six weeks old, and I spiraled down hard. We moved soon afterward to what felt like the middle of nowhere, he was working 18 hour days, and I sank lower than I'd ever been before. This time I was reaching out, but still not to anyone in the medical profession, and my family and friends were all three hours away. I was taking B vitamins, multi vitamins, iron supplements for more energy, coupled with vitamin C drink mixes for better absorption. I was taking Omega 3's, exercising daily, and homeopathic "Dragon Lady" tablets to help as well. The result? Rage, anger, a deep, deep depression, and intense hell on our marriage, coupled with sever social anxiety. Just more of the same that I'd already experienced before. The supplements and nutritional support did help, so much that Ryan could see the difference in me when I took them or not, but it wasn't enough. It still took me months to recover. I had barely begun to feel normal again, and along came baby #6.
Baby # 6 came, and the kid never slept. He was clingy and attached and from the time he was 3 months old, he did not take naps. He woke up early and went to bed late and never stopped for a few minutes of peace in between. We called him our "rooster". Meanwhile, #5 did nothing but scream. She never talked, not even to say Mom or Dad or anything... all she did was scream. We had moved again by now, even farther away from family and friends, and I was completely overwhelmed as a mother. I was struggling emotionally and used my business as my escape. When I would leave to go to an appointment or presentation, I had 30 minutes in the van alone. No kids needing me, no potty stops to make, nobody asking for anything. It was the one thing keeping me sane. Ryan supported me in taking the time I needed because he could see I needed the break away from the kids, away from my daily routine, and I came back a more refreshed person. Meanwhile, we maintained a regimen of supplements that seemed to help and support. I still struggled emotionally, and the PPD was real and prominent. The doctor I'd had help me through the pregnancy and afterward recognized it and encouraged me to get on some medication. I didn't want to and he didn't push it. The anxiety this time didn't seem as bad as before, and in some respects my life had settled into more of a routine. My stress level seemed lower because of the breaks I was getting, and some of the physical symptoms didn't seem as bad. The inability to smile and laugh though, or to do anything but feel overwhelmed and irritated never went away, and the social anxiety was still very real and vivid. When the baby was about 6 months old, my teenage brother came to live with us. With him came new stresses, new situations, and new problems. After he had been there about 4 months, and before my baby was even 1 year old... there were several things that happened to add tremendous stress on our family. And just then, I very unexpectedly became pregnant with Baby #7.
Throughout the pregnancy, although I worked to do everything I could to avoid the PPD... the truth was I never had gotten past it after Baby #6. Looking back now, I can see I was doomed from the start. Besides never moving past the previous bout of PPD, the stressors I experienced over the first 6 months of the pregnancy were enormous, threatening, and more intense than I could process... my brother included. My body went into a protective mode for the baby's sake and my mind could not process through anything I was dealing with, though I couldn't see that at the time. Looking back I can see my anxiety started early on in the pregnancy and never left. I remember the look on my doctor's face as I came in for my first prenatal appointment, and now I can see the concern on his face as he recognized he was dealing with a very anxietous pregnant woman. I remember him carefully answering my questions and concerns and then saying repeatedly, "but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, you're okay and the baby is okay."
Why can't we see anxiety for what it is when we are in the midst of it?
After Jonnie was born, there were problems with nursing, problems with infections, problems with him being able to keep his food down. It seems like the problems didn't end. After bawling for six weeks straight, finally some of the problems were resolved and he was at least getting enough nutrition. I hoped the bawling would stop and that would be as bad as it got. Instead -- it was the beginning of hell. Once the baby was finally safe and my body was beginning to heal... the emotional dam that had been built up for the past year broke loose. With my chemical and hormonal levels completely out of whack, there are no words to describe what I went through next. I really don't know how to explain it.
A couple weeks after the baby was born, I remember being a t my brother's house for Christmas and although I can't remember what triggered it, I remember bawling. And bawling. And sobbing, deep gut-wrenching sobs that turned my heart inside out. I was crying uncontrollably and with no particular reason other than I was a complete and total wreck. It hurt to cry. It hurt to feel so much emotion. It was physical pain casued by a heart and life wracked with an unfathomable ache.
Why?
I was angry, so very, very angry. I had begged God to not make me go through it again, and it hit me worse than ever before. Worse than I ever imagined it could.
The only thing Ryan could do for me was hold me and hold me, and hold me some more. I remember him saying "Maybe because you're going through this, you'll be able to help others as they go through it."
And I remember saying that it wasn't a good enough reason. That it wasn't worth it. And that's really how I felt. I was so miserable and I couldn't see any good reason why all my efforts to stay healthy and strong had been rewarded with the monster of depression and anxiety that had taken over my life yet again.
Three years later... it is the only beautiful thing I can see from the whole experience, that I am able to help other mothers -- and hopefully their husbands and families too, who are experiencing the pains and strains of postpartum depression on their lives and marriages. Because lets be clear -- it does affect the marriage, the husband, and the whole family.
Maybe as time wears on and I am able to let go of more of the hurt I will see more beauty. But for now, I focus on the good that I can. And so, I write what I do now.
Over the past few months especially, I have been so grateful for the women who have given me the opportunity to give insight, advice, support, and love. Thank you. Thank you for reaching out for help. Thank you for taking the help that is available. Thank you for not suffering more than you already have to.
The rest of this blog gives more detail than I've written to date on what my experience with postpartum depression has been. It does not go into what to do about it.
With the first baby, PPD was mild. So mild, that I would never have recognized it for what it was, if I hadn't stopped many years later and went "Aha! Now I understand why I felt the way I did." It came out more in a mild detachment from my daughter, and fear. But again, it was mild, passed, and life went on.
With baby #2, the depression was definitely more succinct.... but I chalked it up to the turmoil my marriage was in already, and the stress and strain of trying to hold our family together.... and to me just being an awful mother, wife, and person. I remember bawling and bawling on the floor of the closet, begging God to give me a new heart, because mine was no good. I could see no good in me, especially as a mother. This remained my view of myself for many, many years... because I still viewed myself through those depressive eyes. More than deep sadness or typically what you would think of as depression, there was an underlying irritability and inability handle stress or strain to any degree, and yet that is what my life consisted of at the time. The result was I became enraged easily, and quickly, and the poor children around me had the unfortunate opportunity to see me turn to an ugly green monster all too often. I snapped at them, yelled at them, and all the while was trying to grab hold of the monster and stuff it back down in a corner somewhere within me. It didn't work. I think I cried more during the year after I had Taliesin than any other in my life until I had baby #7. Still, I didn't call it depression, and neither did anyone around me. I didn't ask for help, and I didn't get any help for it. Eventually, it went away, and I became more able to handle the stress life was throwing at me.
With baby #3, the depression was pronounced, and obvious to anyone who knew to call it that. But nobody did. I had trouble recovering from the birth. I stayed in bed for weeks. Physically there was little reason my body couldn't get up and out of bed, but I couldn't. I was empty inside, had no energy constant headaches, and just couldn't feel good again. I battled to get the baby to nurse, and decided if he wasn't nursing without a fight within a month, I'd give up. Every hour was spent with him screaming, me bawling, and little progress. Finally, with days to spare before my one month deadline, he finally calmed down enough to latch on and nurse without a constant fight. Months later, although I had gotten out of bed, was back to work, and things were good in my marriage for the first time in a long time, I still didn't feel good. Not only was I emotionally depressed and still battling with the irritability and agitation, but it also was affecting my physical health in other ways as well. Pain in my stomach, racing in my heart, complete anxiety attacks (although I didn't recognize them for what they were), and fluctations in my blood sugar that couldn't be attributed to any particular cause. I would simply "jellyfish" as my husband called it, and he would end up carrying me out of the store or restaurant, or wherever we were. I would be in tears, he would be embarrased, and eventually I would sleep it off until I felt good enough to get up and function again. Finally, when the baby was around 4 months old, I went in to see a family doctor. He spent fifteen minutes with me, told me I was clinically depressed, and to get on medication. I said, "No way", fumed about it, told very few people what he had said because I was completely embarrased, and sent him a three page letter telling him why that was a bad diagnosis and horrible advice. I was in complete denial. Eventually, I got feeling better, worked my way out of it, and said "See! He was wrong. I'm fine."
He probably got the letter, shook his head, and said "that just proves my diagnosis was correct."
With baby #4, we had moved into a new house, new neighborhood. I was farther away from my family and friends, and still not willing call my depression by it's name. My midwife took one look at me at the two week checkup and ordered me to get a vitamin B shot in the butt. I remember looking at her and breaking down in tears saying "You mean it's not normal for me to cry over every single thing?" I came back later for another shot, and they really did help... but I was still presenting very real physical symptoms because of the PPD, and still trying to blame it on some unnamed illness. The anxiety attacks were to the extreme. I didn't have health insurance at the time, and wasn't willing to add to the family financial stress by going to any doctor or hospital. I remember having such high anxiety that my heart was hurting and I really thought I was having a heart attack. My thinking was so messed up that I thought, "Oh well, if I have a heart attack and die then I guess I do. If this is not a heart attack, then I'm just being a baby anyway and letting stress get to me. " I don't even think I told my husband about it. For months after the baby came, there would be days I would just get so overwhelmed with stress and anxiety and have so little wherewithal to do anything about it that I would end up in tears on the floor wherever I happened to be at the time, unable to move, unable to care. I would just cry until I fell asleep and slept it off. Then get up later, feeling groggy and even worse about myself. My blood sugars were testing within a normal range, but I felt like a diabetic whose blood sugars were sky high and then crashing, and it was like that all the time. It took years before we finally connected the dots with these episodes to stress and depression. Meanwhile, my kids learned how to get their own peanut butter sandwiches and turn on a movie while I slept. Most of the time, I don't think most of my family members knew how bad off I was. My friend Tiffanie saved me by getting me out of the house and planning activities with her family and mine. But meanwhile, the depression and anxiety was affecting me mentally too. I remember one day trying to drive to her house, where I'd been many times before, and I suddenly couldn't remember how to get there. I was so confused as to where I was, where I was supposed to turn, which street was hers... it took me an extra 45 minutes before I finally found her house. I was in tears, laughing and crying at the same time, and she was looking at me completely bewildered as to how it was possible I could get lost driving to her house. This time, I was finally calling it postpartum depression -- but I still wasn't reaching out for the help I needed. I started taking more B vitamins, and getting myself to the gym to workout. Between the two, they did help a lot, and slowly, I pulled out of my spiral and eventually back to sanity.
When Baby #5 was born, I was back to square one. It felt like the same thing over again - only this time Ryan was gone working. He left when the baby was six weeks old, and I spiraled down hard. We moved soon afterward to what felt like the middle of nowhere, he was working 18 hour days, and I sank lower than I'd ever been before. This time I was reaching out, but still not to anyone in the medical profession, and my family and friends were all three hours away. I was taking B vitamins, multi vitamins, iron supplements for more energy, coupled with vitamin C drink mixes for better absorption. I was taking Omega 3's, exercising daily, and homeopathic "Dragon Lady" tablets to help as well. The result? Rage, anger, a deep, deep depression, and intense hell on our marriage, coupled with sever social anxiety. Just more of the same that I'd already experienced before. The supplements and nutritional support did help, so much that Ryan could see the difference in me when I took them or not, but it wasn't enough. It still took me months to recover. I had barely begun to feel normal again, and along came baby #6.
Baby # 6 came, and the kid never slept. He was clingy and attached and from the time he was 3 months old, he did not take naps. He woke up early and went to bed late and never stopped for a few minutes of peace in between. We called him our "rooster". Meanwhile, #5 did nothing but scream. She never talked, not even to say Mom or Dad or anything... all she did was scream. We had moved again by now, even farther away from family and friends, and I was completely overwhelmed as a mother. I was struggling emotionally and used my business as my escape. When I would leave to go to an appointment or presentation, I had 30 minutes in the van alone. No kids needing me, no potty stops to make, nobody asking for anything. It was the one thing keeping me sane. Ryan supported me in taking the time I needed because he could see I needed the break away from the kids, away from my daily routine, and I came back a more refreshed person. Meanwhile, we maintained a regimen of supplements that seemed to help and support. I still struggled emotionally, and the PPD was real and prominent. The doctor I'd had help me through the pregnancy and afterward recognized it and encouraged me to get on some medication. I didn't want to and he didn't push it. The anxiety this time didn't seem as bad as before, and in some respects my life had settled into more of a routine. My stress level seemed lower because of the breaks I was getting, and some of the physical symptoms didn't seem as bad. The inability to smile and laugh though, or to do anything but feel overwhelmed and irritated never went away, and the social anxiety was still very real and vivid. When the baby was about 6 months old, my teenage brother came to live with us. With him came new stresses, new situations, and new problems. After he had been there about 4 months, and before my baby was even 1 year old... there were several things that happened to add tremendous stress on our family. And just then, I very unexpectedly became pregnant with Baby #7.
Throughout the pregnancy, although I worked to do everything I could to avoid the PPD... the truth was I never had gotten past it after Baby #6. Looking back now, I can see I was doomed from the start. Besides never moving past the previous bout of PPD, the stressors I experienced over the first 6 months of the pregnancy were enormous, threatening, and more intense than I could process... my brother included. My body went into a protective mode for the baby's sake and my mind could not process through anything I was dealing with, though I couldn't see that at the time. Looking back I can see my anxiety started early on in the pregnancy and never left. I remember the look on my doctor's face as I came in for my first prenatal appointment, and now I can see the concern on his face as he recognized he was dealing with a very anxietous pregnant woman. I remember him carefully answering my questions and concerns and then saying repeatedly, "but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, you're okay and the baby is okay."
Why can't we see anxiety for what it is when we are in the midst of it?
After Jonnie was born, there were problems with nursing, problems with infections, problems with him being able to keep his food down. It seems like the problems didn't end. After bawling for six weeks straight, finally some of the problems were resolved and he was at least getting enough nutrition. I hoped the bawling would stop and that would be as bad as it got. Instead -- it was the beginning of hell. Once the baby was finally safe and my body was beginning to heal... the emotional dam that had been built up for the past year broke loose. With my chemical and hormonal levels completely out of whack, there are no words to describe what I went through next. I really don't know how to explain it.
A couple weeks after the baby was born, I remember being a t my brother's house for Christmas and although I can't remember what triggered it, I remember bawling. And bawling. And sobbing, deep gut-wrenching sobs that turned my heart inside out. I was crying uncontrollably and with no particular reason other than I was a complete and total wreck. It hurt to cry. It hurt to feel so much emotion. It was physical pain casued by a heart and life wracked with an unfathomable ache.
