It is common to hear how different pregnancies can be, even for the same mother. And we all know how dissimilar children can be, especially siblings. But I never thought that the same health issue – postpartum depression – could manifest itself so differently in the same person. I have three children, and each birth was followed by a unique variety of postpartum depression. (It sounds like a dish at a fancy restaurant, doesn’t it? PPD, baked, roasted, and fried.) This is a long post, but one that has been on my heart for quite a while.
Anger
My first round began after the birth of my son. From the beginning, even in the hospital room with everyone oohing and ahhing over the baby, I was anxious. I was terrified of “failing” at what was supposed to be so natural. When he was about 10 weeks old, I returned to work and he came with me to the office all summer long. I assumed that he would start sleeping better as the months passed, but I was so wrong. In fact, he was a year and a half old before he slept through the night with any consistency. Every day I was logging about 3-4 hours of sleep a night, working all day, then coming home to a messy house. I was barely holding it together.
In the fall, we started daycare at the local school and everything truly fell apart. For the first time, I had to worry about an outsider’s constant approval of my mothering. He wouldn’t drink stored expressed milk, so I would drive to the daycare on my lunch break to nurse him. I would often fall asleep in the rocking chair, then stagger back to work for another 4 hours, not bothering to eat a meal.
The anxiety and fatigue eventually manifested as intense rage. The slightest provocation would upset me, but I had no way of expressing it. I just kept it all bottled up until night, but the baby wouldn’t sleep, and I would have thoughts of shaking and throwing him out the window. I could barely stand to be alone because I was afraid of what I might do in the heat of the moment. Knowing that this couldn’t be right, I tried to reach out to my OB’s office, but since it was nearly 7 months since I delivered I was basically brushed off. I tried to ask for a referral to a mental health professional, but I got a number to a walk-in street clinic. Um, no. I resolved to just make it on my own.
I fought the anger for another 6 months. Then, after several major life changes including a move and quitting my job, I was… me again. I was able to finally see the joy I was missing. I was also pregnant.
Darkness
My second pregnancy was a breeze. My daughter was an easy, happy baby. She slept all night long. I didn’t give a thought to the anger that had permeated my life a year before. I wasn’t working, and I was in great shape physically. My son was growing into a cute toddler. But, when she was about 7 months old, I started having intrusive thoughts again. This time, it was a constant repetition of all that I had ever done wrong, all that I could screw up now, and all that I would probably ruin in the future.
I relapsed into a cycle of self-harm that I thought I had left in college. Something would go wrong, I would take the blame on myself, then slam my head into a door frame or punch myself in the temple until my ears rang. If I was in public I would pinch my upper arms or bite my lips. I needed the physical pain to drown out the emotional chaos.
Then my daughter hit a stage of sleep regression. This fresh torture sent me into a new downward spiral. I started crying uncontrollably at times of stress, driving me to avoid people I knew for fear that they would find out. Finally, a friend caught on and helped me find help. I was diagnosed with postpartum depression & generalized anxiety disorder. I started cognitive-behavioral therapy and Zoloft. And the sun came back out for me, for a while.
Lethargy
I knew now that another baby would probably lead to another fight with postpartum depression. Then two surprise pregnancies and subsequent miscarriages happened, and these losses rocked us so much that we wanted to try again. With newly upped medication, careful supervision by my midwives, and a therapist I liked surely, I would be fine. Another little girl soon joined our family. After a rocky delivery, we were soon at home and settling into our new normal. However, about 6 months later, I started staying there.
I was finally exhibiting what most people think of as typical depression. The weather was miserable that spring, and I stayed in day after day. My husband started taking our son to school and buying groceries. He washed dishes and did the laundry. I didn’t realize it then, but he and the kids probably ate cold cereal for breakfast and dinner four or five days a week. I wasn’t eating much with any regularity, nor did I bother with little things like showering or even brushing my teeth most days.
Eventually, I realized what my life had become, and was determined to get “better.” This time, I sought out a naturopathic doctor, and with her guidance I slowly made changes. I added supplements to my prescription medicine, and tried to start eating, then eating healthier. I began sitting outside with the kids, then taking walks. Slowly, steadily, I pushed ahead.
What Now?
Am I “over” my issues? Probably not. But I have learned what I can do to make it to the next day.
Keep going.
Trust in those that care for you.
Look for help in new places.
Love yourself.
Featured Photo Credit: Lori Lamb
