Motherhood Musings: Postpartum Depression

Everyone tells you how wonderful it is to be a mother, but no one really tells you how hard it will be, and it’s impossible to really know how hard until you’re knee deep in it. 

The first few days after Bea was born, I was in heaven.  I felt confident, radiant and peaceful.  But gradually the euphoria wore off and reality set in.  I became a crying milk-machine still carrying around the after effects of gaining 40 pounds during pregnancy.  Don’t get me wrong, I was utterly in love with her, but that doesn’t change the fact that postpartum depression showed up and is still rearing its ugly head.

Every day is different.  Some days I feel happy and confident; on these days I feel totally in tune with her and we sail through the day.  Many days though find me crying in the rocking chair while trying to get her to take a nap, knowing the nap will only last about 30 minutes and she won’t want another one until 3 or so hours later.  Or you might find me in tears desperately trying to find something in my closet that makes me feel good about myself, that fits and that I’m able to nurse in.  Or you might find me sitting at the kitchen table weeping because I haven’t gotten anything done and I’m afraid that Ike will get home and wonder what I’ve been doing all day (even though he has assured me that he doesn’t think this).  See a theme here?

There have been many, many times that I have questioned whether or not Bea and Ike would be better off without me, and many, many times I have wondered how permanently my sadness or anger have affected Bea.  Every morning I wake up and promise myself that I will stay calm and patient, and focus on everything I have to be grateful for.  Some days I hold on to this all day, some days I make it a couple of hours.

I’ve heard from friends and seen comments on social media that, hey, it gets easier.  I loathe this comment because that isn’t always true, and when it isn’t true, when it gets harder, it only makes that mom (me) feel even worse; like I’m doing something wrong.

This is also why I’ve quit reading any books on baby anything and quit looking things up online.  If I don’t match up, or Bea doesn’t match up with what is “supposed to be” it only serves to make me feel like I am failing her in some way, which I know in my heart isn’t true.  There are times when I know I’m a good mom, but then it gets clouded over with doubt and insecurities.

Postpartum depression is real and it is incredibly hard to live with.  It makes you feel weak and ashamed and guilty.  And worst of all, it makes you feel like a bad mom.  It helps to have loved ones around who really care about your well-being, a partner who is reassuring, loving, supportive and non-judgmental, and other mothers who are honest about the realities of motherhood.

I know that I will eventually make it through this, I just have to keep looking at Bea’s smile and how happy she is and how happy she makes people when they see her smile; I just have to keep looking at Bea and how healthy and bright she is; and I just have to keep reminding myself that I am a good mom even if I don’t always feel like it and even if I don’t always believe it.  I know I’ll continue to make mistakes and I’m probably not doing things the way you’re “supposed to”, but I’m doing the best I can and I’ve just got to hold on to that.

—-I hope that by sharing this it helps even one mom out there feel less alone.  If you are scared or sad or angry and need someone to talk to, I would be glad to listen.  I’m still in the thick of it, too, and know how lonely it can feel.  If not me, please talk to someone or even write down how you are feeling.  It helps to put it out there.  Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable especially with those who love you.  There is no shame in feeling this way.  Remember that.—-

—-Also, if someone confides in you that she is suffering from postpartum depression, she probably just wants someone to listen to her; she doesn’t necessarily want advice.  Sometimes giving her advice can make her feel even worse.  Just be an ear.—-

Pregnant Musings

With my due date only 2 1/2 weeks away I felt compelled to get a few things off my chest so that I may go into labor and experience the birth of our child with a clear head and open heart.  I want to make sure that I don’t have any unresolved issues or hang ups that could impede or slow down the natural birth process.  I also want our baby to be born into a calm, positive, peaceful environment.  

So, on that note, I just want to share a few questions I have been routinely asked throughout the last handful of months and why they have been difficult for me to answer honestly.  In short, this is my attempt to finally answer them honestly.  This is mostly for myself; a kind of therapeutic release, but I also hope that in sharing my experience that it may shine a light on something for someone else out there.

First question (asked more recently as I enter the last part of pregnancy): “Aren’t you ready for it to be over?”

How I usually answer: Oh, I still feel pretty good.  The baby will come when he/she is ready.

What I really want to say: As excited as I am to meet our baby, I’m really going to miss being pregnant.  I will never get to be this close to my child again, especially in such a profound and intimate way.  Each pregnancy, for each woman is experienced in such a unique way; it’s heartbreaking that this once-in-a-lifetime experience will be over soon.   Of course the reward will be mind-blowingly awesome, but after being pregnant for so long, one’s identity becomes increasing wrapped up in being “the pregnant one”.  Everyone is kinder and more generous with you, and unfortunately, in our society, that doesn’t really carry over to a woman once she is a mother.  Pregnant women are met with smiles and warmth, while mothers are often met with eye rolls and judgement.  Instead of becoming anxious and impatient, I’m really just trying to revel in this beautiful, blissful experience (swollen ankles, sore back and all)!  I try to remind myself every day that, yes, the baby will come when he/she and my body are ready, and in the mean time, I should soak up every second of this divine closeness with this brand new soul.

        Photo by K. Bree Walker Photography

Second question (especially if the person asking finds out that I’m giving birth at home): “Aren’t you scared/nervous/worried about the pain/(or any other negative perceptions about birth)?”

How I usually answer:  No, not really.  I’m actually pretty excited.

What I really want to say:  If you had any idea what my previous birth experience was like, and the fact that I made it through that, you would know that nothing else could scare me/make me nervous/or worry me.  You see, nosy stranger, a little under a year ago I had to give birth to my stillborn daughter.  After a man who was tweeked out on meth pulled out in front of me on the highway, causing a serious car accident, I had to find out in the hospital later that night that, at 22 weeks pregnant, I had lost our baby.  Over the next twelve hours, I had to have a pill digitally inserted into my cervix every few hours to induce labor, and then lay flat on my back for another hour while it dissolved.  When that didn’t work I was given Pitocin, which is a synthetic form of Oxytocin, also to induce labor.  Pitocin increases the severity and strength of your contractions beyond what you can imagine (especially when they crank the dosage up to an ungodly level).  When the pain from the Pitcocin combined with the pain from the injuries I sustained from the accident became too much, I was convinced to get an epidural, which literally, temporarily paralyzed me from the waist down.  The paralysis from the epidural was worse than the contractions from the Pitocin, but worse than all of it, was the emotional pain of knowing that all of this was happening so I could give birth, for the first time, to a child who would not be coming home with me.  Soon after receiving the epidural, the baby was born, and Ike and I found out we had a daughter, who we named Helen.

This experience turned out to be the exact opposite of the quiet, serene home birth we had been planning for Helen.  So, now as we inch closer to the quiet, serene home birth we are planning for our second child, I can assure you, that if I can get through the above scenario, and come out of it in one piece, I can damn well get through anything, especially something as beautiful and awe-inspiring as a natural birth.

Photo courtesy of The Manhattan Mercury

Third question, and by far the hardest to answer: “Is this your first?”

How I usually answer: Yes.

What I really want to say:  Actually, no.  If I’m going to be honest with you, this is my third pregnancy, but no, I don’t have any other children at home to show for it.  You see, about two years ago I had a miscarriage—on my honeymoon—when I was four weeks along.  Oh, and last May, I gave birth to my stillborn daughter.

Every time I answer yes, I feel a dagger going through my heart because I feel like I’m betraying Helen.  It makes me sick to answer this way, but I can’t, emotionally, continue to explain Helen to strangers.  They want a nice, short answer, not to be made aware that these things are often more complicated than they seem.

I know that this may all come off as sounding bitter, and really I’m not.  I make my own choices, and I have chosen to answer these questions this way, mostly because it’s exhausting to answer honestly.  And also because I don’t feel like being vulnerable with every person who asks these questions; questions that to them seem harmless enough, but to me, open up a wound that will never fully heal.

There will always be questions about my children or our family, and I will have to choose, for the rest of my life, how or where our story of Helen fits into that.  But, right now, I’m choosing to let my guard down and be honest with you, my friends, and honest with myself: I love being pregnant and am sad to see it come to an end, but excited about meeting our baby—After having experienced the worst, nothing about birth scares me.  I trust nature, my baby and my body.—No, this is not my first baby.  I had a daughter.  Her name was Helen and I miss her every day.