Today my oldest daughter asked me if her youth pastor and his wife had their child yet. That conversation started another conversation about her birth and her sisters birth. She wanted her dad to tell her the story about how her sister, “held onto mama’s ribs and didn’t wanna come out”, because that’s how my husband and the hospital staff described it. I seriously doubt that she was actually hanging onto my ribs. What happened though was I had a scheduled c-section with my second child, as the doctor had pulled her out she was basically sucked back into my body like a vacuum and they couldn’t free up her hands for whatever reason. So it seemed like she was essentially delivered twice. Haha! It is funny to think about though because when people ask what’s the matter with her when she’s upset (she’s upset a lot, she has sensory issues and health issues), we laugh and tell them, “She had to be born and that made her mad; because she wanted to stay put where she was!”

All joking aside, it was a very hard pregnancy and I delivered a baby who would go onto live a chronically ill life; I don’t know how I’d be here if I’d suffered with postpartum. That’s not a statement I make lightly.

I also understand that my focus with my blog is to sometimes tell random stories, whatever comes to mind or heart, but that I want to tell people about Jesus. I want people to know the God that I know. I certainly do take careful consideration to what I say because I don’t want to ever leave people confused about who Jesus is. Yes, He is my Savior; yes, He is my Redeemer. No, there’s nothing that He can’t save me from; No, there’s nothing too far from Him that His grace can’t spill over a persons life and heal and make new. There is nothing too great for my God.

I am a Christian . . .

But I have struggled with depression.

I want to tell you about that time.

It wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t fair.

I thought I would die.

. . . and at the time . . . I wish I had. It was bad. It was the worst.

Even though I am a Christian . . . the depression I went through . . . it’s such a hard place to go back to . . . it brings this anxious feeling up in my chest and throat to even think about. But I need you to know. I thank my God that I didn’t suffer through that after my second daughter was born because I can barely even handle the memories; they become overwhelming.

…………………….

I’d like to tell you about my first delivery.

Postpartum came to my mind today because I sat there talking to my daughter about her sisters birth, she then asked about hers, and that always brings back very real and raw emotions. I told her that I was induced.

39 hours of labor.

The doctor came in and said they had to wheel me back for a c-section for the baby’s health.

It had been a long few days up to that point. Of course anyone who had just went through 40 hours of labor would tell you that’s a task, but leading up to that I had to “have it my way”. I was big and brave and was going to do everything “right” for me because so many first time moms are all about doing that, right? There’s maybe not a lot of room for negotiating. lol So I had decided against any epidural. It wasn’t for me. I wanted a natural delivery, I wanted to be coherent and up and walking and to just feel good and strong. *Of course the second daughter I wanted an epidural immediately, I told my doctor, haha, but she said I had to have a c-section.

I fought hard.

At some point I told them I was ready for the epidural. I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I wasn’t going to make it without one . . . they told me I had waited too long and I’d have to wait for the doctor to come back and check me again. By the time she did that’s when she told me I was having the c-section. I was so groggy when I first held my daughter that I remember crying out, basically yelling, at my mother who had walked away from me after handing her to me. I insisted she take the baby back because I was afraid I was going to drop her. I don’t remember much except being in the hospital for seven days. I ended up being on pain medications which had my feeling yucky and tired, on top of the long hours of laboring. I was just exhausted.

The day we were discharged from the hospital came, my husband drove us home, and I had a good friend waiting for me at my apartment who held her while I showered a long hot shower; and I was okay that first day but I felt anxious. It had just been such a long day – a long week, I just needed rest, and routine.

I had my mom (and every older mother figure in ear shot) telling me I needed to rest and sleep when the baby slept but I couldn’t. I needed to do laundry and clean and cook. Plus I was so anxious that when I tried to sleep I thought I heard her cry. Just like when I showered and she was asleep, in the car-seat (in the bathroom with me) I thought she was crying (by the way don’t we all still think we hear babies crying while we shower? Even when our kids are grown now and there are no babies in our house? No? Just me?) I tried to go back to “me”. I was trying to be everything without losing my mind. But I was losing my mind.

The funny thing is that there were only two extremes with postpartum that I knew of. When I was pregnant I had some people tell me about postpartum depression which they always, always, referred to as the “Baby Blues” and they just made it sound like some “slump” you got into, just a little funk that kept you from functioning as the healthy adult that you use to be for like a minute but then you’d be fine. Maybe you didn’t get up and fix dinner, or shower, or do laundry, or clean up the house like you use to. Also you got the “mommy brain fog” and maybe became a little isolated but that it was “okay” because it was normal for a lot of women to get that. (By the way, the “mommy brain fog” that lasts forever. Sorry.)

The other extreme was the horrible stories I heard about, only because I watched them on the evening news, and it was news stories of women killing themselves, or driving their vehicles into an ocean, or drowning their children in a tub, or whatever awful thing you could think of. It was the most horrific thing I had ever heard of. How in the heck could anyone ever have terrible thoughts like that? How could anyone every harm a tiny, newborn infant? How could anyone so selfishly kill themselves when they had a tiny baby at home to take care of?

Here’s a bombshell just for you:

I understand.

Yeah, now I get it.

No. I never had any thoughts of harming my child. Yes, I had thoughts of harming myself. But before we go on I want to clarify something I’ve since learned: there are three types of this postpartum emotional roller-coaster. There is the typical “Baby Blues”, the kind that people told me about even when they called it postpartum. It’s actually ‘Baby Blues’. Then there’s Postpartum Depression. This is worse than Baby Blues, it lasts longer, it’s much more intense, it wreaks havoc on your life, and it can affect every facet of your life. Then there’s Postpartum Psychosis. This is rare but is the ugly step-sister of Postpartum. Please learn more about these! I’m including links throughout this post to different websites so you can learn the signs and symptoms! You CAN be the voice of reason for a struggling mother. You CAN help. Educate yourselves, please!

I wish that the doctors and nurses would have fully educated me about postpartum depression. I wish they would have told me the signs and symptoms because I guarantee you that the few times that this topic was brought up to me at prenatal visits that I just shrugged my shoulders and shook it off as another nugget of information I’d never need. I wasn’t going to be one of those statistics because I know me, there’s no way on God’s green earth that I would ever, EVER, consider harming my child, any child, OR kill anyone; especially not myself, not when I’d just had a baby. Plus what did I care if I had a messy house or forgot to shower after I had a baby, I knew that was normal, I didn’t care if my house got a bit messy.

But here’s what really happened.

I was an unhappy girl that came home with a happy baby girl. I was unhappy because my birth plan didn’t go as it was suppose to, I was unhappy that I was in extreme pain from a c-section, and I was unhappy that I felt unhappy about anything. . . and trust me the pain medications that make your head feel funny and make you constipated don’t help. Narcotics are terrible. She was a beautiful, precious, and happy baby. She was colicky and that was a demon of a ride; seemed like she started crying at 7 pm and cried till 7 am every night. The G.E.R.D and colic were awful. But they didn’t last.

But . . . . .

The depression.

The postpartum.

That’s the closest to hell that I ever want to be.

I remember going in for my two week check up and my doctor asked me if I was having any depression or thoughts about harming myself or my baby and I told her no, because I wasn’t, but now I wish I had just five more minutes with her. If she would have asked about the feelings of sadness, anxiety, withdrawal, hopelessness, feeling ashamed and lonely . . . I think I would have told her, “Yes, I’m feeling that.” But when you’re a new mom who is being asked if you’re having thoughts of harming your child or yourself, at the same time you’re being asked about the depression, well you tend to lump it all together: “She’ll think I’m going to harm my baby or myself if I’m not super happy and why wouldn’t I be happy to have a beautiful, healthy newborn baby girl at home?” I was sure if I told her, at that point, how I was feeling that they’d try to take my child from me. (By the way, that’s a part of the depression; being irrational.)

I remember being home with the baby for couple weeks and I felt okay. I was tired but I was so thankful, oh so thankful, to be at home. I actually had a routine of when I was getting up and breastfeeding her, when we laid down for naps, and when I sang to her and read to her, and things were good. But then it hit me. It just hit me.

It wrecked my whole world.

Like a ton of bricks falling from the sky, my body went heavy, and my legs turned jell-o. I had this unimaginable, just overwhelming fear of impending doom. I began having heart palpitations and my mind was racing . . . I wasn’t having thoughts of harming the baby but I felt I was losing touch with reality . . . I called my husband and told him to come home immediately (he worked over an hour away). I told him that I was going to die and that he needed to come home and if he didn’t that I was going to call 9-1-1. He thought I was insane, I could hear it in his voice as he questioned me. I’d call them, I warned. I tried to explain how I was feeling, even though I wasn’t really sure how I was feeling, but I told him I’d call them to come get the baby because they would take care of her. Now understand this, my sister lived at the same complex as me, I had a good friend upstairs, my parents lived in the same town and so did his, and there were several people I could have called . . . but all I could think was, “I have to call 911. I have to get the police here. She’ll be safe with them; I’m going to die.” As I was on the phone with him, slowly slipping from reality, my best friends mom showed up. We actually worked together also and she hadn’t seen the baby yet. She brought her daughter with her.

Thank God.

I tried to play it cool but my whole world was crumbling down. I handed her the baby and went and took a hot shower and cried so hard. She stayed, and when she got up to leave, because they wanted me to get some rest, well I began to babble on some nonsense to keep them around. By the time they left there were only a few minutes in between them leaving and my husband showing up. God’s good grace spilling out over us that day, of that I’m sure.

That night we did a lot of fighting, my husband and I. I was so mad at him for not understanding, but really I didn’t understand either. A few days later the weekend was upon us and he was taking me out to dinner in the city and I was very thrilled to get out of the apartment. I thought that’s just what I needed. I was ready for a change of scenery, I was excited to show off this beautiful infant of mine, and I had lost some of my pregnancy weight those first few weeks from nursing. We were driving in the city on a road called Memorial and he needed to turn around so he put on his left signal to turn down a street. This street was going to take us across a turnpike to the other side, also Memorial, and all the sudden I just remember thinking, “What if I get out of the car and jumped off this bridge? What then?”

What then? Well if I had then I wouldn’t be here telling you this story about how postpartum wrecked my mommy-hood and the shame it brought me. It was a very manic, crazy thought that I was having at that time, but it was also very real to me. We got to the Olive Garden and went in and I was very jittery, and I sat there trying to act like everything was alright, as I laughed nervously at whatever it was that we were talking about. I acted like things were fine.

They weren’t.

Nothing was after that.

After that I began to question everything. I second guessed every decision that I made. I questioned my sanity. I questioned my ability to be a mother. I questioned if I should leave the baby with him and leave town and never come back. I questioned if perhaps I should kill myself before I became a danger to her; because obviously I was crazy, right?

Postpartum depression is a very hard thing to deal with. You can experience so many emotions. Now there’s also something called Postpartum Psychosis where someone has basically a break from reality, this is very severe but also temporary, and though I wasn’t diagnosed with this, and only diagnosed with Postpartum depression at the time, it’s the same thing in my mind. When you have Postpartum Depression or Postpartum Psychosis a lot of things go on in that head of yours . . . your mind races as you fight to snap back to reality.

You start questioning things: Why was it so easy to breastfeed in the hospital but I’m too stupid to figure this out at home? Why didn’t I wait till I lived my life to have a baby? I can’t take care of the baby, what if I do something to hurt it? What if I dropped it? (On a funny, but not so funny, note, I did drop mine – sort of, we rolled off the couch, but she’s fine) Will I mess her up? What if I don’t keep my promises to her? What if I yell at her? Why can’t I figure out why she’s crying? Why is my husband looking at me? My husband knows that I don’t know what I’m doing, why doesn’t he just say it? Am I the worst parent? Am I always going to be fat? Why is he texting someone? Is it his mom? Is he telling her how bad of a mom I am? Is he texting my mom? Is he telling my mom I’m screwing everything up? Does everyone know what a bad mom that I am? Does everyone know that I am becoming crazy? How am I going to afford her . . she’s only two weeks old and I already owe several thousands of dollars just for having her? Am I going to have to keep spending all our grocery money on her diapers . . . why are they so expensive? She only cries when I try to eat or sleep or pee; is she mad at me? Oh bless it, all the questions.

The emotions. The anger. I threw a baby bottle at the nursery closet one time because I was so angry. The baby cried and cried and my husband was breathing . .. look I’m trying to be funny here but seriously . . . I have no idea what the heck was going on at that moment except I was under attack by some demons. For real. Don’t worry . . . the baby was in bed and not near the bottle but it was the bottle or my husbands head at that moment. I was full of anger; rage, yet I was sad, just emotional. I was scared, anxious, hateful, suspicious, and completely full of regret for all of it; for my feelings, for having the baby, for having the guy, for having breath in my body.

Day after day went by. Week after week went on. Each month flew into another.

I hated myself.

I loved having my newborn baby girl. Please don’t think that I didn’t. But I was a very scared girl myself.

It’s scary enough to be a mom, a parent. It’s very scary to have a tiny newborn at home, especially when you are a first time mom. But it’s just scary, friends. I love being a mom. I loved holding my sweet brand new baby girl. I loved nursing her. I loved changing her and swaddling her up and holding her close to me. I loved looking into her eyes and just staring at her. I was so in love with her. But when it started it just kept getting worse and worse. It was there, always present, but I feel like it got worse from 3 pm to 5 am, those were like the “witching hours” at our house, at least that’s how we refer to them now. Because of my depression and the colicky baby. Of course, I had the depression far long after her colic was gone.

I was driving to work one day and had one of the worst anxiety attacks of my life. That afternoon when I got home I called the doctors office where I had my general doctor. I told them what had been going on and asked if maybe I could get some antidepressant pills for a little bit. Or could they just see me to talk. The nurse called me back ten minutes later and said that they wanted me to give it a little bit more time but if it didn’t stop then I would need to come in and they thought they would need to do some impatient with me. I didn’t know what that meant exactly but what my gut told me was that they thought I was crazy and they were going to lock me up and throw away the key and I’d never see my baby ever again.

I never called them back the next week like I was suppose to.

I called another doctor and told them what was going on. I explained the anxiety attacks, the depression, the mood swings, and the breaks from reality. By the way; the anxiety attacks from driving back and forth to work each day were something like this: I’d take my daughter to my moms and drop her off but then when I’d be on the way to work I kept looking in the back seat not sure that I’d dropped her off at my moms even though I knew I had. Then when I’d go into work I’d worry that she was left out in the car. It was a very difficult and frightening time.

This doctor asked me if I could come in that day. I did. I told him everything, and more. He did an assessment and diagnosed me with postpartum. He gave me a script for two medications. One an anxiety medication for when the anxiety attacks happened, and the other was more like an extended release anxiety medication rather than antidepressant. He had me start journaling when things became difficult and he got me in touch with someone to talk to. I pray that God blesses that man. I was hesitant about speaking to a male doctor about my problems because they weren’t going to understand like a female would; but he helped me through the darkest times of my life and I don’t know where I’d be with out him. I went in regularly for check ups. Eventually I did an anti-depression pill for a few months and then went back to the anxiety meds which I took for a while. It was a long process, but eventually I got to where I needed them less and less, and then one day I realized I just hadn’t been taking them at all but I also didn’t even feel the need for them anymore either. It was a relief.

I survived postpartum depression.

Some of my girlfriends and I were sitting around one time talking about some struggles that we’d had after having our babies. I told them I’d had postpartum depression and it grew silent. I told them it was the deepest, darkest time of my entire life . . . and no matter how hard my life ever gets, I know that my life will never be as dark as that time was.

It was that hard.

Little by little, tears began to fall around the room, stories kept on coming, and the girls began to open up about their own struggles with the depression and anxiety that they had been through. I was so surprised when some of them mentioned that to this day their own parents, siblings, and even their husbands don’t know about their struggles or diagnosis because so many of the feelings they have kept to themselves. Even the medications they ended up taking; some who are still being medicated or in counseling. There’s so much stigma.

Wow

They have come so far, they were so transparent, and all I could think was – there is still such a stigma about this. And there’s still such a misunderstanding surrounding it, too. Women need to know, they need to know what it is. They need to know where they can go. They need to know there is help. They need to know there is nothing wrong with them that isn’t going to get better – because it is going to get better. They need to know that they are loved. They need to know that people will surround them and support them. They need to know they don’t have to be ashamed! They can speak out!

If you’re curious what all my symptoms were, thankfully I don’t remember all of them, but I remember the intensity of many of them. My symptoms varied some, but they were often pretty similar from the night before, and none were pleasant. I had anxiety, insomnia, my hair began falling out, irritability, I cried a lot, A LOT. I loved my shower times back then. I cried and cried and cried in the shower when my husband was home to watch the baby. I would find ANY excuse to leave the apartment so I could be in the car just so I could cry . . . to this very day I still do the same thing if I need to cry. But I just cried. I could cry from watching a commercial, from nursing, from peeing, from cooking, or just walking to check the mail. I was such a mess. I thought I could die and I wanted to. I was so ashamed. So ashamed. Him and I fought all the time. I hated him so much. He was the one person who was suppose to “get me” and he didn’t know anything. I couldn’t have hated him more. Hate. Such a strong word? It was the only feeling I have that actually describes it; the rage back then. I wasn’t happy at all and I was never going to be happy; that was the feeling. I had trouble with my appetite, I had extreme fatigue and body aches all over. I had mood swings, like hello Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and I got to the point that I didn’t want to be around anyone. I didn’t want do anything; I felt hopeless, and my heart shattered: I wasn’t able to bond with my baby. To this day I struggle with that. Her and I laugh, we have fun together, I’d die for her, I love her with all my heart, but I don’t have the same bond with her that I do with my youngest and it is earth shattering to me. Part of me, because I want to sooth me heart, tells me it’s because I have a soft spot for the little one because she’s been through a lot and has some delays and is chronically ill . . . but the mom gut in me tells me it’s because we never got to bond like the little one and I have, because I was a terrible person back then. Because that’s what I think when i think back to that time. I think about the awful no good mama I was, or felt that I was, rather. I don’t have the bond with her that her and her daddy do and it breaks my heart.

Please read about Postpartum Depression here!

My story wasn’t over then.

My story isn’t over now. God is still writing it!

Yay, God!

Ladies, if you’re struggling after the birth of your child, please don’t be afraid to speak out. Please let my transparency speak to you and be a voice of encouragement for you. I don’t like sharing this story because it’s deeply personal but it’s on my heart to do so. I just need you to know that it’s not always going to be this way. There are better days ahead, girls!

Postpartum Depression, Postpartum Psychosis, and Baby-blues . . .whichever you’ve got; do NOT be ashamed. These are temporary struggles! You can and WILL get through this! Your life is going to go on, you’re going to move forward one day at at time, taking one step at a time. You are going to make a list of goals, you’re going to talk to your doctor, you’re going to talk to your partner and friends, and get help. You’re going to get back into a routine, you’re going to get good at recognizing what each of your babies different cries means, and eventually they’re going to start sleeping. . . and so are you! You are no longer going to be living in fear, you’re going to embrace this new life, and live with courage. You ARE mom! You ARE strong! You CAN do hard things! You CAN overcome! You ARE an over-comer!

Postpartum is different for everyone. Everyone is going to experience it differently and will have different symptoms and some will have it more severe than others. There will also be different treatment options available: medication or counseling and time, it varies.

I’d like to say things magically got better for me but they didn’t; it took time. I had to work at it, but I’m okay! I’m better than okay, I’m great!!! Yes, I do still struggle with the bond with my daughter. But I’m not depressed, not even a little bit. I may feel anxious sometimes (because I’m a human being with real life problems) but I don’t have anxiety attacks anymore. I have a sound mind; I also pray more now than ever. I’ll leave some of my favorite verses below! My heart is tender this morning as I think of some sweet people that I love who are struggling with depression on a daily basis; I can’t imagine what that’s like. I may get depressed about losing loved ones and hearing sad stories on the news, but I don’t stay there . . . but I understand the confinements of depression and my heart hearts for the ones struggling with depression on a daily basis. It’s not something they can just snap out of! I experienced depression and it was awful; be kind, loving, and considerate, please!

But ladies, if you’re hurting . . . don’t hide. Please, please tell someone. Don’t live in shame. Don’t isolate yourself. You don’t have to cry alone. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. If you think you do, contact me and we’ll get through this together! I remember one time a few years ago when my husband and I were talking and all the sudden he said something about postpartum that caught me off guard and I asked what he was talking about. He began telling me about how, at one point, he went to his doctor – HIS – and asked him about postpartum and what it was because he just didn’t understand what was going on with us . . . with me. So if you don’t think anyone will understand, or wants to understand, or will care . . . how would you even know if you don’t tell them?

Could I encourage you today that if you’re reading this and nodding your head because this has been your story, too, or that something has stood out to you that you would consider sharing your story with someone? If you’re not willing to be open and share your story, at least be sensitive to other mothers who are struggling, and be vigilant. Ladies, we’re here to do life in community. We need to support each other and lift each other up. If you see another woman struggling, help her! Reach out and tell her your story, or get her help, ask how you can help, but do something! Start with learning what the signs/symptoms of PPD are! I’m including links all throughout this post and at the very bottom of the page, so you can click on them to learn more about PPD! Don’t let someone that you love turn to suicide because they’re so isolated and depressed . . . don’t let a newborn baby become the victim of infanticide because his/her mother didn’t get the help she needed.

If you’re struggling today, please know that I’ve been praying over you.

Take a deep breath.

Reach out!

You are worth it.

You ARE loved!

You ARE going to be okay!

God loves you and He will meet you where you are!

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.” Psalm 40:1-3

“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” 2 Corinthians 10:5

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

“I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

“Casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7

“For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” 2 Timothy 1:7

“The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.” Psalm 9:9

Postpartum Depression Links: THE MORE YOU KNOW!

National Institute of Mental Health

WebMD

Womens Health

Mayo Clinic

Or CALL:

• National Hopeline Network: 1-800-SUICIDE (784-2433)
• 
  National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
• 911

If you’re here because you found this blog from Amazon, please message to let me know! I tried to make it into a free book but I wasn’t given the option to publish it for free and that saddened me. So I then chose to write a “Dear Reader” section at the beginning of the book, including my blog link, so that anyone reading it could have access to come right here and get the whole story (and MORE) for free, like I originally desired to happen! I hope that someone was able to figure that out! =)