I never struggled with postpartum depression (PPD) with our first child (LK) and had never had depression before having children at all. However, after our second (LE) was born, it didn't take long for the nasty symptoms to rear their ugly heads.
Unfortunately, my knowledge of PPD was despairingly minimal. I knew it was a real thing and should be managed, but I had no idea what it really looked like. At my 6-week follow up after baby was born, my OB asked if I had any thoughts about harming my baby ("no"), and that was the end of the discussion. (Let me add that I love my OB and trust her so much and place no blame on her whatsoever.)
Fast-forward to about 3.5 months postpartum, and I was all over the place. I was extremely tired all the time. I had incredible mood swings and crazy irritability - the littlest things could set me off in a rage. I never wanted to harm my baby but definitely had moments of thinking we made a monumental mistake having a second child and sometimes - and I'm being extremely honest and vulnerable saying this - even wishing he just wasn't here. There were times he would cry, and I would cry because I felt too overwhelmed. I would be instantly stressed when he woke up from his naps and weirdly anxious about nursing him, even though we had no issues with it physically. After spending time with other people, I was so unbelievably physically and emotionally drained from putting on a smile and happy front that my face would literally hurt from the effort.
All-in-all, I was a freaking mess.
And I simply assumed I was merely not handling having a second child well. So many of the things I was feeling seemed so normal for life with a newborn and toddler that I never really questioned it.
One of the worst parts about the whole thing, on top of all the awful symptoms of PPD, was that it made me second-guess who I was as a mother and my ability to be a good one. Of everything, that hurts the most because it was a big, fat, ugly lie, and I unnecessarily doubted myself for far too long because of it.
I remember two very distinct situations where I started to really understand that something wasn't right.
The first was Easter morning. Easter is usually such a good day for me because of what I believe and the joy that comes with knowing Jesus is alive and conquered death! But this first one after LE was born was terrible. I was trying to get the kids ready for church, a normal circumstance for us on Sunday mornings, and I couldn't find LK's tights to go under her dress. And it's cold here on Easter in the PacNW - she needed to wear something under her dress.
I lost my mind. In the most extreme way (for me), I could not contain my anger. I was slamming doors and yelling and reigning terror upon my family. Over a pair of stupid tights. In my mind I knew I was being irrational and over-the-top about something mundane, but I could not convince my emotions of it. I felt completely out of control.
I spent the whole morning feeling numb and distant from everything. Easter was not a celebration for me that day - it was another day to endure. And then I saw all of my friends posting their beautiful, happy family pictures on social media, and I broke down weeping because I felt like our family was anything but beautiful and happy. My sorrow quickly turned into deep guilt because how could I be so ungrateful and unhappy amidst this beautiful life God had given me.
Then about two days later, the second situation occurred. Matthew was trying to snuggle with me in bed, and I wasn't having it. And he was angry, enough to leave and plan to sleep on the couch, which is something that we never do. Besides that, he isn't the type to get angry easily or often.
So I went out to the living room and asked him what was wrong, and he said he felt like I was completely uninterested in him anymore. And that stopped me in my tracks. Because, of everyone in my life at that time (and even now), Matthew was the lifeline of love and support keeping me afloat. My love for him was (and continues to be) so strong that I could not believe he felt at all that I was disinterested in him.
That was the moment the veil was really lifted from my eyes to recognize all the symptoms as a possibility of being a part of something bigger than me just feeling overwhelmed and under-adjusted to having two kids. It finally occurred to me that maybe all the things I was going through emotionally weren't normal. I knew I was irritable and unhappy already. And now I could see how it all was really affecting my family.
So I called my OB's office the next day and was scheduled for that afternoon. I'm so grateful that they don't hesitate to schedule patients who say they're struggling with PPD symptoms because I needed something, anything to get me through that day. After having a meltdown in her office over all my emotions, she knew right away that I was suffering from PPD. She encouraged me to do something for myself every day that helps fill my cup, like reading, and prescribed me a low dose of medication to give my serotonin levels a boost.
I am forever grateful that I sought help from my OB. By the time I returned to her office 2 weeks later for a follow-up appointment, my whole demeanor had changed. I was smiling real smiles and had an abundance of affection for LE that I was struggling with prior to seeking help. It was like a new person had stepped out of the shell of who I was before, and I was so happy.
Looking back on what I call the "dark days", it's scares me how deep I was into PPD without realizing it. I fully believe that I eventually would have had suicidal thoughts if I had not gotten help when I did. I was spiraling out of control and was completely oblivious.
Now, I'm passionate about raising more awareness of PPD and what it can look like for moms of newborns. Had I been better informed about what the symptoms are and what to look for besides thoughts about harming my baby (which I still have never had), I might have been able to recognize what was going on inside of me a lot sooner. I also think that, had he been given more information ahead of time, Matthew would have more easily and quickly realized more was at play for my mental health.
I know many pediatricians have started adding a PPD questionnaire for mommas at baby's 4 month check-up in an effort to catch it sooner and more efficiently, which I think is absolutely wonderful, and I hope more will adopt those practices.
If you have/had PPD or are struggling and think you might have it, YOU ARE NOT ALONE and THERE IS REAL HELP. Please, please, please seek out a doctor you trust who can help you. PPD is nothing to be ashamed about and more common than you know. And you deserve to relish happy moments and bonding with your baby.
Source: Fix.com Blog
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