The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

This is one of my longer, and more serious posts.  You’ve been warned.

Last week, at my first post-natal appointment, with sincere compassion, my OBGYN asked, “So, how are you feeling now?” I replied, “So much better.  Still not awesome, but way better.”

I wasn’t going to share my experience with Post-Partum Depression (PPD) until I was back to awesome – but I’ve since decided that because I’m an open book, it would be too hard to skate around the topic in coming posts. I anticipate that much of my current, and future, musings about motherhood will inevitably be colored by this “condition,” so why not just put it out there? Besides, if I can help even just one woman recognize that she’s not alone in her thoughts and feelings, then I owe it to her not to delay sharing my story.

I am prone to anxiety.  I’ve been an anxious person for as long as I can remember.  About 10 years ago, the anxiety escalated to full-blown panic attacks.  For a brief time, I was on medication, but weaned myself off of it after a year.  While the anxiety slowly crept back in, I never did have another panic attack – THANK GOD because those are awful. Awful.

I had feared the possibility of PPD when I was pregnant with DJ. I knew that because of my past issues with anxiety, I was considered “at-risk” for PPD.  I was one big, walking worry wort  throughout my entire pregnancy with DJ (Actually, I was kind of a hot mess). My thoughts were often irrational, stressing not only over things out of my control – but literally obsessing over the what-ifs.  However, the moment she was born, all of my fears, my worries, my doubts, and my anxieties just melted away.  Seriously, the second she was placed on my chest, everything felt calm, and peaceful. I was whole, balanced, sane. I remember being pregnant and people telling me to “just wait, once she’s born you’ll have a new set of worries.” But, the thing is, I have never worried about DJ to the extent that I did while I was pregnant with her.

When I got pregnant with Z, naturally I thought that because I’d done it all before, the worrying would be at a minimum. I was so wrong. In fact, the two pregnancy experiences were so similar that I diagnosed myself with pregnancy-induced anxiety (I don’t even know if that’s a real thing). Anyhow, I’d assumed that once Z was born, just like with DJ, all the worrying would stop. I’d be overcome with contentment and joy, and I’d revel in each new moment.

So, when things didn’t go quite like that – I was ashamed.

It happened very slowly. It wasn’t anything extreme. I didn’t want to run away from home, abandon my husband or toss my baby out a window. In fact, I wasn’t struggling to bond with Z at all. I was struggling to tolerate DJ. I was living life by holding onto the promise that each day would bring DJ’s nap time. In those early days, just 8 weeks ago – I’d barely breathe while DJ slept for fear of anything waking her. And then, when she’d begin to stir and moan, I’d feel myself desperately holding back the tears. “Don’t wake the beast,” became a mantra in my head.  And when the almost-three-year-old beast would wake, I’d count down the hours till my husband got home from work. Living life watching the hands of the clock slowly tick by, is an excruciating way to pass time.

Day by day, DJ’s tantrums grew less possible to manage, and my resentment began to mount.  I was aware of it, though – and I’d crumble daily under the guilt of how I’d gotten there.  How had I gone from denying I’d ever be able to love another child as completely as I loved DJ, to just trying to make it through each minute with her.

Time out. Mothering had been my favorite thing in the world. Mothering had been my calling. There was no greater source of happiness – and there I was, loathing it at times. Something wasn’t right.

I couldn’t sleep.  I stopped showering daily. I stopped caring what the house looked like. I stopped answering my phone. I stopped replying to email. I stopped leaving my house. I stopped being patient. I stopped being fair. I stopped thinking. I began depending on our DVD player to get us (me, DJ and Z) through the day. I realized that I didn’t like who I had become. Something wasn’t right.

I remember laying in bed, Z on my chest, DJ at my side, with the umpteenth cartoon of the day on. With both girls touching me, pawing at me, needing me, wanting me – my skin began to crawl and I literally thought I might scream. Instead, I sobbed. I sobbed and I texted a close girlfriend whom I knew was currently on medication for PPD. “Can we talk PPD later?,” I wrote.

She called me that very night, and for the first time, I shared with another human being that I wasn’t enjoying being a mom. A feeling so contradictory to the truth that I knew to be inside of me. It felt so good to spew the entire truth without fear of judgement. To my relief, some of the things I was feeling were “normal.” Overwhelmed, insecure, exhausted…those were universal feelings when trying to find balance in a new, more complex parenting role.  Even the fleeting, “What was I thinking to alter the family I already had, already knew?,” was a familiar thought to many other healthy women.

“On a scale of 0 to 100%, how much are you enjoying being a mom right now?,” my friend asked. “Maybe 40%,” I reluctantly admitted. She encouraged me to reach out to my doctor.

Once my doctor and I got on the phone, all 5 weeks of shame came pouring out. I bawled as I told her that I kept thinking it would get better, but that everyday felt darker than the previous day. She asked how I wanted to proceed, with medication, therapy or both. “Both.” I was afraid that I’d start therapy only to recognize that I also needed medication, and that by then I would’ve spiraled down even deeper. I also didn’t want to lose one more day of enjoying my children. So, I got the happy pills and I’ve been on them for almost 4 weeks now.

Like I said, I am better – way better, really. I force myself to leave the house everyday and I shower at least every other day (insert smiley face here). I’m cooking again and keeping the house tidy. Most importantly, I am once again head over heels in love with my first born. Despite her wicked tantrums, I can’t get enough of her hugs and giggles – and I have the presence of mind to deal with her negative behavior in an effective way.

Once again, I’m falling in love with motherhood. I am slowly returning to the woman I know myself to be. I start and end each day feeling extremely blessed for, and by, my two girls. In between morning and evening, there are still struggles…still temptations to stay in bed, still tendencies to shut the world out, and still debilitating guilt over the amount of TV happening in this house – but overall, I’m feeling so much more in control. So much more present. Hallelujah!

I have a little ways to go yet – but let me tell you, I am miles from where I was. I am so grateful for the many women in my life who shared their own personal struggle with PPD. It’s much more common than I was ever aware of. I am hoping that by sharing my story, you’ll feel inspired to share your own. The more we talk about this, the fewer women will spend a second longer than they need feeling trapped in their own skin.

Motherhood is so beautiful…and complicated.  Do whatever it takes to enjoy it purely, and to embrace it wholly. There’s just no need to “tough it out” when you’re feeling so disconnected to the very thing you were most longing for – to love, and be loved, by your children.

You’re trapped! You can’t imagine getting out of that dark place of despair and desperation. The walls are closing in. To make matters worse, people are telling you “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”  Your guilt for feeling the exact opposite silences your screams and so you just nod and say thank you. What else are you supposed to do? How can you say what you really feel?

This is what I experienced after the birth of my first child. When my son was about two weeks old, I started having intense feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought my life was over and couldn’t believe what I just done. I ruined my life. A lot of my feelings were unfairly directed at my husband. I took my anxiety, and anger out on him. I couldn’t be with him. Feeling that I had to escape my “life”, I fled my house. I took my son and moved in with my mom. I would lie awake all night with my heart pounding, my body sweating. It felt like time was standing still. The clock seemed frozen, just like me. I was in utter despair. Each minute was torture. I didn’t want to do any of the things normal people do. Taking a shower was a big deal. I took care of my son because I had to not because I wanted to. I had no maternal connection to my son, for he was the one who had gotten me into this mess.

This wasn’t my first exposure to mental illness. My identical twin sister had severe postpartum depression and anxiety after her daughter was born. Years before that my mother went through a very debilitating mental illness after my father was diagnosed with colon cancer. Even though I was witness to my mother and sisters recoveries, I truly felt my situation was different and I would never get out this. When you are in it, it doesn’t matter how many times people tell you “things will get better”.  You know, or so you think you do, the truth, “Life sucks and I am trapped.”

I remember my Mom going to her morning tennis match and thinking, “Mom, what the f*** are you doing? How can you go about your normal business? I am in crisis here.  How can you just go on as if nothing is wrong when everything is wrong?” In hindsight, my mom was just following advice she received on caring for a loved one with PPD. She was taking care of herself.

One day she made me go with her to Trader Joes. I had a huge panic attack and freaked out. I saw all these people in their daily routine and wanted to scream at the top of my lungs – STOP! Everyone stop what they are doing. Don’t you get it?

On my road to recovery, one of the first things I did, with my mother’s help, was contact a psychiatrist. Not only was professional help crucial but the support of my friends and family was invaluable. I had the benefit of two people, my mom and sister, who loved me dearly and who knew first-hand what I was going through. I also had the benefit of a very loving, supportive, and forgiving husband; otherwise I don’t know if my marriage would have survived. I had girlfriends that I could really talk to – to whom I could tell my deepest, darkest secrets.

My message to you is this – Don’t be silent. Ask for and accept help. Don’t be shy about telling people your story – don’t let fear or guilt stand in the way. While you have to do work to get better, you can’t “do” your life alone. Surround yourself with people in your life who will push you to take that shower, go to the gym, and take a walk outside, even if you hate them for it in the moment.

My family pushed me to do the things I needed to do to get better. For example, exercise has always been important in keeping me grounded. During this time, my family insisted I go to the gym each day. I remember the feeling of resistance I had. Simple things were just too much for me. But there was a glimmer of a feeling, deep inside myself, that I needed to go.

In addition to professional help and an invaluable support system, medication was part of my recovery. Yes, the “M” word. Not only is there the stigma, but also the concern, of taking medication. Does it mean I can’t breastfeed? If I don’t breastfeed, am I bad mother? With the support of my family and the advice of my doctor, I chose to breastfeed while on the medication. Not only that but I continued taking it through my second pregnancy. Deep down it was the necessary choice for me. I feel fortunate that my body responded well to the medication.

I would say it was a full year of recovery. The silver lining is that after the birth of my second child I remained healthy and was able to experience that first year of life in such a different way. I cherished each moment and lived in pure gratitude.

I will be ever grateful if, by telling my story, I have helped another Mother. I am inspired by the growth in available resources, and the increasing knowledge and acceptance of mental illness associated with postpartum.

A few resources you might find useful are:

Maternal Outreach Mood Services at El Camino Hospital

SVPPD – an email group for those affected by a postpartum mood disorder

http://www.jennyslight.org/

And remember, speak out!

Stacey Holmes grew up on the peninsula and lives in San Carlos with her husband and two children. A year ago she started a parenting newsletter for her son’s school and is enjoying writing about her Mommy experiences. She finds writing cathartic. Currently a stay-at-home mom she knows her work “outside the home” is by no means done. She believes in the power of mantras and the importance of breathing.

Life is crazy for me right now.  I am going through a very trying time in my marriage, I am looking for a full time job while maintaining several part-time jobs, I am a mom and I am at my limit.  I am sorry if this seems like a whoa is me type intro but maybe it is.  I need a “whoa is me” moment!!!!  Don’t we all?

I am by nature a go getter.  I am organized and I am good at what I do.  Lately though it seems as if I am not good at anything!  I take that back, for once I am a really good mom.  My daughter is happy!  We are having far less tantrums!  Being a mom is great right now!  It is everything else that is horrid.

My heart hurts.  I almost feel as if I am outside my body right now.  I am not me.  This person that is surviving day to day, isn’t me.  I have always been the one on top of things.  I have always been the one to get things done.  I think that girl has left the building.  Where did she go????  I need her to come back to me!

Do other moms feel this way?  They have to right?

Depression you wonder?  Um, ya think?  Yeah, I would say that I am depressed.  I take medicine for it but it is pretty darn bad right now.  I can’t get out from under everything to be on top of anything!!!!  It is a nightmare really.

I am on a mission.  My mission is to find that girl.  Where has she gone?  Who am I now that I have been home for 5 years and am trying to make my way back into the world?  I am not sure but I am on a journey to find her!

I make no amends for being a downer.  I think at some point all moms have times like these.  I would really love to hear about yours.  Please let me know that I am not alone!