May is Mental Health awareness month. Which is kind of a coincidence, because since having a baby almost 8 months ago, this month has kind of been a breakthrough for me in feeling comfortable enough to talk openly about my postpartum mental health experience.
I have Postpartum Depression. It’s in the present tense because I am not completely out of the woods yet, but I am in a much better place than I was even 1 month ago. I see a lot of people talk about PPD when they are finally out of the darkness, and I understand why. I could not have talked so freely about this in my deepest, darkest moments (though I alluded to it here in early March). But I wanted to share some things while I am still in it, so that I don’t write about it later with too much of an optimistic ‘looking back at it now’ point of view.
In the weeks leading up to giving birth, I made sure to talk with my husband, Nate, about how I was a possible candidate for postpartum depression. I knew it existed, and I have a history with sad days and anxiety-driven moments, so PPD/PPA was in the back of my mind.
But then I had our baby. And I was fine. I was happy! And so in love! The first two months of motherhood were definitely a roller coaster, but the type of rollercoaster I had prepared myself for. My baby and I were learning how to breastfeed. My husband and I constantly snuggled our sleepy Julien, and we all slept in 2 hour increments. I was enamored with how cute and small my baby was. Friends were bringing us dinner 3 times a week. I got a little fresh air every day. I even worked a little. I did have anxiety around having visitors over too often, but what new mom doesn’t? Overall, our first two months were pretty honeymoon-y.
And then about 10 weeks in, something changed. Not with how much I loved my baby, but with my levels of anxiety and overwhelming sadness. They skyrocketed. It may have had to do with our baby’s skin problems we couldn’t figure out, and it may have had to do with breastfeeding still being a big (mental + physical) struggle, but I have a feeling the PPD would have happened even with out those factors. Because PPD doesn’t need a reason. Over the next weeks, things felt increasingly out of control. Everything. Nothing was mine anymore. My brain wasn’t mine. Pretty much every day I felt some type of either overwhelming sadness or overwhelming anxiety. The amount of times I told myself “I love my baby, but I hate this. I hate being a mom.” is too many to count.
I couldn’t admit to anyone I was feeling this way. I wanted to be a mom! We planned! We tried! We miscarried! And we tried again! And we got our precious rainbow baby who we loved! But I couldn’t tell people how sad I was all the time, how I lived in a constant state of either really sad or really rage-y. When people looked lovingly at my baby and commented “ohhhh it’s just the best, isn’t it?” I’d cringe inside, but smile and tell them yeah, it’s pretty great. When they said “motherhood looks so good on you.” I’d say a quick thanks and change the subject. When they said “how are you doing?” I’d tell them about how Julien’s skin problems were frustrating or how we weren’t sleeping well, but other than that everything was really good. But my actual thoughts looked more like “Motherhood is the worst thing I’ve ever been through.” and “I want to leave. Nate is such a good dad, they don’t need me.” and “I dread the start of every day. I am so sad, but I don’t know why.” But there was no way I could say any of that out loud. (And if I haven’t made it clear, at no point did I resent or hate my baby. The feelings were all towards life with a baby, but not Julien himself.)
My mind felt like this (and so many other feelings of anxiousness, unworthiness, sadness and frustration) for a solid 2 months. Through holidays and getaways. Through get togethers and through social media “highlights”. Even while sitting in church, listening to others worship God.
Even in the earlier days, I knew I was probably experiencing PPD, but I didn’t want to admit it myself. I wanted to be ok!! I wanted to love this!! And even after I did admit it to myself, it was hard to really believe that it would get better. It’s a sadness that, when you are in it, can’t be solved. And for me, my heart became very cynical. Everything made me mad. I couldn’t control being so mad about everything. I felt dark. There is no light. I remember telling Nate that I could not see a light at the end of the tunnel. The idea of feeling good, feeling like myself, was foreign to me. There were multiple weeks when I, a lifelong Christian, did not believe in God. Straight up. It wasn’t even a question to me. God did not exist.
The worst of it were months 4 and 5. In my true deepest moment, I remember thinking “I am not going to kill myself, but I understand why people do.” When he got home from work, I told Nate that exact sentence, and his face was scared. I promised him that I was not going to do anything destructive to myself, but I truly felt the darkness of why people do. It was a state of living/thinking that I wanted to get out of, and that is how some people do it. And I now, and forever will, understand why.
Sitting here, almost 8 months postpartum, I can tell you I’m definitely feeling more like myself, but I’m not fully back to ‘normal’ yet, back to me. Around 5 months postpartum, I stopped breastfeeding (sharing that story soon) and started going to therapy, which I’m super thankful to have as a resource (fyi: it took me about a month to even do any research and set up my first session). I do believe those two changes have helped me start this healing process. But I still have days when I have to fight to stop the sad thoughts. Just recently I fell deep into a hole of “Julien deserves better than what I can do for him. He is so happy. He deserves a happy mom.”. I know that is the PPD. Generally, now, I know when I’m ‘in it’, but I’m still learning how to get myself out. When I’m in it, fighting to grab hold of the good thoughts is hard. It’s so hard.
I’m not glad to have experienced this, and I certainly do not wish PPD on anyone, but I do have 100% more empathy and understanding for people who live with depression every day.
I share my story for 2 reasons.
The first reason is to kind of come clean? I feel like maybe I have been a little dishonest about how this motherhood journey is going. Too highlight-y? I feel like I have been hiding the truth, and writing this has helped me feel free and open and honest. I promise to be more open and honest in real life, as well.
The second is to hopefully help people realize that postpartum depression doesn’t always show up the minute your baby is born. It can develop over time. I took the postpartum depression ‘screening’ (12 questions about how I was feeling) at my 6 week postpartum appointment and passed with flying colors, only to start experiencing signs of it 4 weeks after that.
I also want to emphasize the PPD isn’t only about not connecting with your baby, or not loving your baby, or thoughts about wanting to harm your baby (as a lot of PPD stories talk about). It can definitely be about those feelings towards yourself as well.
I read so many PPD stories (like Chrissy Tiegen‘s) before I was even pregnant, and while I was pregnant, but I didn’t truly understand until I was in it. Once I realized it, I went back to those stories and cried from the relief that I am not alone, that I am not crazy, that I am not the first person to experience this.
If you’re reading this and you’re in the deepness of PPD, tell someone you trust. Soon. Don’t hold it all in. It’s, of course, easier said than done, but the sooner you tell someone, the sooner you can navigate the steps to recovery (I know “steps to recovery” sounds so mentally exhausting, and it is. Focus on just one step a day.) Read this. And this.
Also, if you are pregnant, please don’t let this scare you. Every woman is different. You are reading this, so you know PPD exists, and that’s good. It’s good to at least know.
Everyday is better. Not every day is the best. There is never a day I don’t love my kiddo. But I’m only now learning to love myself in this new role of mom. One day at a time.
