***This is my experience with PPD and my own opinions. I wrote this to get my feelings out. To maybe let someone else know they aren’t the only one feeling this way. To maybe help someone understand their loved one going through PPD.***
(I wrote this a few years ago and finally have the courage to post it. I have since started therapy and changed antidepressants and doses several times. My depression is an ongoing battle.)
I have been coping with postpartum depression for over three years now. I started treating it after my son turned two and added a medication at the end of my second pregnancy. Going on antidepressants was one of the best decisions of my life, but it took me a long time to get to that point. I still have hard days. Sometimes I find myself staring at the wall while my toddler plays and my baby sleeps in my arms, and I’m numb. I have flashbacks to what it was like. I can’t believe I lived like that for so long.
I kind of expected to have PPD. I think I was more scared of that than I was of labor and delivery. When I got married and went on the pill, I became depressed and experienced seasonal depression for the following years. I knew what to look for and went to my six-week check-up sure I had PPD. I felt trapped and alone. I spent hours everyday sobbing for every reason and no reason at all. I had always wanted to be a mom, and it was nothing like I thought.
There were a lot of reasons I didn’t take action. The PPD itself played a role. I started to realize how bad my anxiety was. I was scared. Of so many things. Scared to take pills. Scared of what people would think. Scared to use the phone. Scared to go about finding a therapist. Scared it wouldn’t even help. Scared I would always feel that way.
When my son was born, everyone was so happy. Don’t get me wrong, I was excited to be a mom. I loved him so much. I loved holding him and snuggling him. I loved watching his firsts. But everyone acted like it was the best thing in the world to have a baby. “Isn’t it just amazing?” “Doesn’t your whole world just stop?” “Don’t you just love it?” I felt like I had to be happy. I felt like I had no room to say how I really felt or that I didn’t feel at all. I felt ashamed, like there was something wrong with me.
The only time I’d taken medication regularly was the eight months I was on the pill. And it altered my thinking. I gained a ton of weight. I couldn’t cope with anything. I held onto grudges and cried every single day. The thought of having to take something everyday again was too much. I didn’t want to have something altering my mind. I didn’t want to get stuck on antidepressants and never be able to stop taking them.
After all I’ve felt I just have to say, I will take my antidepressants every day for the rest of my life if it means never feeling like I did again.
I am holding a baby doll in nearly every picture of me as a child. I was obsessed! I used to want to be a ballerina or dance teacher but changed my mind when I realized how hard it would be to have kids or spend any time with them. My biggest goal growing up was to be a mom. When I became depressed, I felt like I had failed. People had always said I would be a good mom. I felt like a fraud. I was scared to admit my “failure” to all of those people.
It may sound like I blame others. That is in no way what I am implying. It had everything to do with what was going on inside my head. My anxiety was amplified. I felt invisible and in the spotlight at the same time. I felt like no one really saw me but everyone judged me. I couldn’t cope. With anything. I barely left the house. I couldn’t even begin to imagine having friends. I hated being inside my head.
I remember one day when my first was about 10 months old. I was driving north on the street right by my house. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day. My baby was happy in the back seat. I felt like the air around me was clear. It was like I was coming up for air. I remember thinking that must be what I’m supposed to feel like. It was like my fever broke and I was getting better.
I had brief moments when I would feel like life was worth living again. Like I was going to get better. I would convince myself I didn’t need help after all. I’d just needed time.
I’d like to think that if I could go back, I’d do things differently. I’m scared to think I wouldn’t. I wish I’d questioned my doctor about medication and felt comfortable trying something. Or gotten a different doctor I could trust more for depression. I wish I’d seen a therapist. I wish I’d felt like I could talk to someone, anyone, about what I was feeling.
Then again, I don’t know if I would be happy or resentful to be on medication now. I hate that I had to go through so many long months of feeling miserable, but it is a big part of who I am. It taught me. I just wish I could have learned a different way.
