When I was expecting my son, I expected postpartum depression, too. With a history of mild but chronic depression and anxiety, I knew I was at a high risk. I had a plan: I could go up on the anti-depressants I took. I could attend postpartum support groups and get a therapist. I was prepared.
Except, you can’t really be prepared.
Not for the bleakness. The unfairness of what is supposed to be a happy time instead feeling so raw and wrong.
I wasn’t prepared for being up for three nights before my son Max was even born. I wasn’t prepared for a hard labor, or a hard infant.
The first night home, we planned to set our new bundle into the bassinet by our bed and he’d sleep. At least for a few hours.
He did not.
Instead, he cried. He nursed and nursed and nursed. He fell asleep, and as soon as I slid him ever so gently back into the little white bassinet, he would startle awake. We’d repeat the process, over and over again.
Meanwhile, my hormone levels plummeted. I lay awake for nights, even for the brief periods when Max slept. Every one of his little snorting, breathing, animal sounds activated my brain.
Lying on my side, milk dripping down my ribs, I watched him breathe. My mind bounced from Is he breathing? To, What have we done? Had we gone and ruined our perfectly good, mellow, quiet, restful life?
More thoughts blazed through my brain. Uninvited images of hurting my baby. The guilt of having the thoughts added to my rapidly increasing depression. What kind of a mother has these thoughts?
A week after Max was born, my husband had to return to work. My parents left for their winter home in California. I was alone.
Except I was not at all alone, because there was a small, unhappy, unsleeping baby with me. All the time.
Slowly, like the drip of winter days, I got better. Some combination of action and time soothed me. And there were two phrases that I clung to that winter.
You didn’t choose this.
Every morning, I’d carry Max downstairs to find the low February sunlight striping our wood floors. It felt so terrible, so bright. The light meant there were still hours to fill before my husband got home from work. What do you do all day with an unhappy newborn, when you’re an unhappy mom?
I felt like a zombie. A tired, miserable, scared, light-hating zombie.
Within a few weeks of Max’s birth, I went to see my midwives. The medical assistant, Marcia, who had taught our birthing group, peppered me with questions. I answered them, sitting in the small room I had sat in so many times during my pregnancy. But instead of measuring my belly or discussing remedies for heartburn, Marcia asked if I was having any thoughts of harming my baby.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. She looked at me, and I felt like she was gazing right through my lie.
“You know, you didn’t choose this,” she said. “It chose you. And I’m so sorry.” She looked serious, but full of kindness.
While her words didn’t boost my mood, they did lighten my load. I hadn’t caused this—it was, like my other bouts with depression, luck of the draw. A lottery of brain chemistry and hormones, genetics and fate.
It gets easier.
After my visit with the midwives, we upped my anti-depressants. I found a therapist, and I started attending the post-partum adjustment group at a local hospital.
I walked into my first post-partum adjustment group on a Wednesday when Max was only a few weeks old. I was exhausted and reeling. But I knew I had to climb out of this somehow—I was responsible for another human being now. I snapped his carseat into the stroller and slowly pushed him through the hospital corridors. The white walls and fluorescent lights were as bland as my mood.
Max and I joined a few other women and their babies around a table in a small conference room. The two facilitators asked us to introduce ourselves and share what brought us here. As our babies nursed or slept, I heard stories mirroring my own. Women with histories of anxiety and depression that returned with a vengeance after birth. And some stories that were different; one woman was clobbered with sudden anxiety a few months after giving birth to her daughter. She’d never been an anxious person before.
One of the hardest parts of post-partum depression is that the birth of a baby is supposed to be a blessing. A harvest of love. Quiet time spent inhaling the soft, earthy sweet smell of new skin. But instead, I felt like I was dying. I couldn’t sooth my baby. I couldn’t sooth myself. And I didn’t feel like I could tell most people.
But at the postpartum group, I felt like I could breathe. Here, with these other tired, anxious women, I didn’t have to pretend.
Most of the women at the group had babies older than mine. One day, the mom who had the sudden onset of anxiety was spooning pureed squash into her daughter’s mouth.
I started sweating, thinking of all I would need to learn about in the months to come: solid food, babyproofing, sunscreen. And later: homework, bullying, puberty. I voiced my concern, and one of the facilitators said something that I clung to.
“Parenting doesn’t usually get easier as you go along.” She paused, leaning forward on the table. My heart sunk a smidge lower. “But if you have post-partum depression, it does get easier.”
Every Wednesday, I returned to the small cluster of women and babies. I came back all spring and summer. With time and the boost of my anti-depressants, the lengthening light stopped feeling so suffocating. I made some new mom friends, some of whom I met at the post-partum group. We went for walks together, our babies strapped to our chests. We talked about how hard it was, and we pressed our lips to our babies’ scalps.
It was still hard. Max cried a lot. I cried a lot. Becoming a parent is one of the biggest transitions we humans experience. I felt so tethered. The demands to nurse and change diapers were relentless; a dull, exhausting loop.
But it did get easier.
Max is almost five now. And I have a daughter who is almost two. I had post-partum depression with her, too. This time I was even quicker to have my medication adjusted. I already had an amazing support system of mom friends. I knew to ask for help, and I asked quickly.
Parenting is still hard. I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.
But I welcome the splay of morning light across the floor every morning, even as it illuminates the parade of toys and crumbs. The light shows the signs of a full family, a full life. The morning light which quickly becomes the afternoon sun, fading all too fast these days. My depression got better. Parenting got better. I got better.
This was passed on to me by one of the women in my online PPD group. THANK YOU. Every time I read something like this it makes me feel less alone and less crazy.
I’m a new mom and new to postpartum, although not new to depression. I’m writing and it’s helping. So are the meds and the counseling, but the writing gives me back a feeling of control that I really need.
Oh, thank you for your comment! Hugs to you. It is so, so hard and you are not alone, nor are you crazy. I think it’s wonderful that you’re writing. It is certainly a lifesaver for me. I’ll check out your blog when I have the chance.
i was you 31 years ago….nothing prepares you for being the unhappy new mom. all my friends glowed (sleepily} after their babes were born. i never glowed and it felt like my world lost all its color and i was very alone after my older son was born. he had colic for 3 months, but he outgrew it and we all grew together and things were wonderful…until i had my younger son. all my symptoms came back amplified. i wish i’d known of a support group then. and i am so glad for you that you had one both times!!!
my sons are now 30 and 25 and i can’t imagine life without them. My life is divided into 2 parts: BC (before children) and AD (after delivery) and i won’t go back to live without them.
Cathey, thank you for writing. Your story is so similar to mine. I wish you had access to a support group during your journey with PPD. It’s so hard.
My best wishes to you and your boys. I can relate to the division of life into “before” and “after” having the kiddos.
Thanks for sharing your feelings. I am a mother of a 4 years old boy with Autism and my baby is 6 months old. I feel exhausted and sad most days but I know is gonna be better. Still difficult is helpful to know that I am not the only one that feel this way.
Thanks, Paula. Sorry you are struggling. It is such a hard place to be, especially with the demands of young children while you are in a rough spot. Hang in there. Hugs to you.
Thank you so much for being honest. This was my story 4 years ago when my daughter was born. She was premature and had complications, and once we got out if the hospital- I was on my own, my husband worked out of town and we have no family close by that could help. I can remember one day she cried all morning long, and after no sleep I finally had a melt down. It got better for a while, and as she got healthy I did too. Then my dad died, and I tails pinned to the point I should have been hospitalized. Finally the antidepressants and an awesome counselor I came back.
I had even prepared myself for PPD, I have battled moderate chronic depression since I was 14, but nothing could prepare me for how hard it hit me.
I just had my 2nd daughter and thee depression hit while I was pregnant, to the point I reluctantly agreed to go back on my antidepressants during my pregnancy. I still am dealing with PPD, but this time I feel that knowledge is power and asking for help- and reading blogs from other moms has helped tremendously. It dies get easier- thank you for putting out there what many moms have battled.
Hi Corene,
Thank you so much for your comment. Wow, you had it really rough with the additional complications of health issues, your husband being away and the death of your father. I’m so sorry you had to deal with so, so much. I agree, nothing can quite prepare us for PPD.
I am glad you are finding comfort and hope through other moms’ stories. You are so not alone. Hugs to you, and I hope it keeps getting better and better.
I am so sorry you went through PPD. After giving birth, I stayed home for six months, then went back to work, while my husband took paternity leave. My son did not sleep through the night until he was ten months old and if I was home alone with him all the time, I don’t think I would have fared too well.
Is isolation a big part of PPD or do you think it is more a physical and mental confluence? Do partners take leave or do companies no longer offer it?
Thank you, Debra! Good question. I think there are a lot of factors that influence why people get PPD and how long of a journey it is. For me, I could feel the physical/hormonal shift within the first few days of giving birth, when I still had plenty of people around me. I think that most small companies aren’t required to give partners leave~ in my husband’s case, he could only take a week off.
Thanks for sharing a part of your journey. I came across it through google. I recently had a baby girl April 22, 2013. I had never struggled with depression or anxiety and when she was one month old. Well u can say I found myself in that same horrible dark pit of despair and I had know idea what in the world was wrong with me. The womens center in our area was not much help at all. They put me on celexa and I bottomed out with a humongous panic attack a month later. I then was put on viibryd which is a new anti-depressant and anxiety. This helped but gave me horrible nightmares. I still was not anything close to even okay when she was 3 months. Eventually I found some help out of Denver CO and I have been on Zoloft now for about three months at 175mg. along with cognitive counseling and also finally went to the doctor in which I had an overactive thyroid. I am still on the medication of course but feeling much better. The windows of life really do get bigger and longer. But what a slow climb. I am still not 100% but whenever I read stories like yours it gives me hope, It will indeed pass and one day be a distant memory. Thank you Jesus.
Hi Jackie,
So sorry you had to go through PPD and anxiety. It must have been a huge and terrible surprise. I am so glad you are getting better; it can take a long time sometimes. Glad you are taking care of yourself~ please keep it up. Taking good care of ourselves is the best thing we can do for our kids. My best to you.
Thank you for your honesty and sharing. I just found this site via elephant having read your ‘vagina article’. I’m there right now (both pelvic floor, possible broken tailbone & PPD) & didn’t know this happened to anyone else until about 20 minutes ago when I started reading. I’m slowly finding my way and getting help but it helps to hear your story too. Thank you & all the best for your journey.
Please post Part2 on elephant soon!!
Oh Sinead, thank you so much! Hugs to you. These things are all so hard. Please take good care of yourself~ hard to do with little ones, but so important. My very best to you!
Thank you so much for your honesty and being open about your struggle. I struggled with this alone with my first baby who is now 3 and eventually it did fade with time. With baby number two who arrived 2 months ago 5 weeks premature I wasn’t prepared for the wave of depression which hit me this time 3 weeks after my baby arrived. The intrusive thoughts were overwhelming and paralysing when I was on my own with my son. Thankfully I was able to find help quickly through by Dr and now with the power of a little bit of Zoloft and some CBT to give me the determination not let this hold me back I’m starting to turn a corner. Although I feel there will still be some bad days along the way I know when I read articles like yours (and the other comments on this chain) I’m not alone in this fight and that given time things will get better. Thank you.
Hi Victoria, Thank you for your comment. So sorry you’ve been struggling with PPD, too. I think that having a baby with medical issues and/or premature can exacerbate the PPD. So glad you are taking care of yourself and getting help. I wouldn’t go back to those dark days for anything~ my thoughts are with you and I hope the bad days are overshadowed by better days soon.