I am currently three and a half years postbirth from my experience with postpartum depression and am sharing my journey in three parts as I journaled about it along the way. See the second part below.
Did I just not love the newborn stage like some women do or was my baby more difficult than most? I felt ashamed of most of these thoughts but also desperate to be rescued.
That afternoon, after texting my friend, I got an idea. Alex, at that stage, would fall asleep instantly in the car seat on a drive and stay asleep for a couple of hours afterward. I hadn’t ventured out on my own with him yet, but I fed him, quickly packed us up, and got in the car. We went to a coffee shop just down the road, I got a drink and we sat outside. He slept in the car seat beside me peacefully, something I hardly ever got to enjoy, the beauty of a sleeping baby while hands-free, and I brought my journal and wrote. It helped me so much to get some feelings processed and suddenly I felt like I could do this!
The next day though, I felt down; anxious and stressed. Why? I can’t remember. It was something about him not sleeping well without being in my arms; crying and not taking the pacifier. Oh, and I was tired. I remember Wayne coming home and asking him if we could please take a drive together. I longed to not feel solely responsible for the baby; to not be alone with him. If someone else was there, even if he was crying, I felt better. I remember we put a game plan together on that drive. I tried to pull myself together; trying to be strong while I explained to Wayne how I felt. I decided I would take Alex and myself to get chiropractic adjustments the next day, even though going out with him and getting somewhere on time felt huge. I would get a massage to help release excess hormones that were trying to exit my system. Wayne drove me to my massage therapist (a friend of ours) while we were on that drive. He dropped me off and drove Alex around in the car. It was the first time I was away from him. Though strange, it felt wonderful.
We had our adjustments the next day and it was the most wonderful day. Alex was happy and I felt so good. The next evening though, sitting in the garden waiting on Wayne to get done with work, felt like an eternity. Alex wasn’t even that fussy, but I felt incapable of being alone with him. If he was sleeping, I would worry about when he’d wake up because I felt like I didn’t know what to do with him. My hormones seemed to take over. I felt sad. I felt lonely… and neglected (not because of lack of support, but something I deal with from time to time). When Wayne came around the fence to greet us with a smile, the beautiful way he does when his whole face lights up, I was so sad that I couldn’t be happy for him. Alex was sleeping peacefully in a bassinet in the garden but I walked up to Wayne with tears in my eyes, “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t feel capable.” My brain was foggy and it seemed to be betraying me. I looked at him and said, like a confession, “I think this may be more than the baby blues.” That was the first either of us acknowledged it.
Wayne’s parents, sister, and 14-year-old niece arrived that night from Ohio to stay the weekend with us and meet the baby. I felt instantly comforted by their presence. They understood what it was like after having a baby and offered such encouragement. They took Alex anytime I wasn’t feeding him and let me sleep and have a break. I still felt very anxious, guilty, and sad. I could only think of what I would do when they left. I tried to take naps with the luxury of their help, but I did not want to sleep in the bedroom with him. It caused me so much anxiety to even be near him. This is something I look back on with introspection. So, I would sleep on the couch in daylight with people buzzing around me and thoughts buzzing in my head. I was desperate for naps and showers in those days, and there never seemed to be enough time for both. I confessed to my friend later about my feelings, that I would look at people in public and think how rested and free they seemed and instantly feel bitter. Bitter that they could take a nap whenever they wanted, that they had smiles on their faces and generally had a life they felt capable of living. Wow. I felt trapped by this new tiny human in my life. This was not how I imagined it; this dream I’d had since I could hold a baby doll. Molly Millwood in her book To Have & To Hold, Motherhood, Marriage & The Modern Dilemma, talks about this misunderstanding we have of impermanence as new moms. I somehow felt like this stage would never end and I would never get enough sleep ever again.
I broke down Sunday afternoon in a bedroom alone while Wayne’s family was packing up to go home. I was trying to take a nap but felt so anxious and scared that I started to panic. I found Wayne, started sobbing, and with fear in my eyes, I asked, “Will we get through this?” and as if I could not navigate another minute, I told him, “I need help.”
Wayne’s niece, instead of going home with the rest of the family, offered to stay with us for the week and help. I needed someone with me, we both knew that. Joanna rode home with us after his family left the cabin they were staying in and Wayne went up to the barn and called my midwife. When things get serious in life like this, he becomes the most gentle, hands-on support. I’m amazed at his ability to emotionally tune in. He does this very rationally. Looking back, I’m amazed at his ability to recognize the signs of what was going on and reach out for help. I owe a lot of it to our birth classes that talked about the possibilities of postpartum depression and how it differs from the baby blues, but also his attunement to me. My midwife, who had spent the last 9 months monitoring me, assessed that what I was dealing with was serious. She recommended that I go on medication for depression. She told Wayne we caught it early and could hopefully wean off quickly as well. So that evening, deciding together, I started taking medication.
For some reason, though I considered the possibility of getting postpartum depression, I did not consider the possibility of going on medication. I don’t know why… my mom took medication for depression at one point. I guess I figured this type would be dealt with another way. So, when it came to this moment, when I was so far buried under incapability and had to make this decision, I did not feel prepared. My fear and emotional state felt dire enough that natural methods, which I would later learn much more about, did not seem like they would cut it. I did not know if I could make it another day like this.
SSRI drugs take time to kick in; 1-2 weeks until fully effective. At the beginning, things tend to get worse before they get better. The first day on medication was the hardest, I broke down in tears to my neighbor who stopped in, pleading with her for help because “I didn’t know what to do.” I was more afraid than I’d ever been in my life. She came back and stayed with my niece and me for nearly the whole week as well.
I battled pretty hard with the idea of being on medication, as it had sore associations for me. That added to my load. I called my Dad in tears, feeling so ashamed.
