Category Archives: Postpartum Depression

I have almost everything I have ever wanted.

I have more than what most people dare to dream of having.

And yet I want something I can’t have.

I want to be medication free.

(I would have everything I ever wanted, if I had that)

Having Patrice ushered in postpartum depression and anxiety, which ushered in bipolar depression.  And lots of medications.

I hate them.  I hate the side effects.  I hate needing them.  I hate KNOWING I need them, most of all.

I want them gone.

When we  had Patrice, I just wanted a baby.  NOT ALL THIS.

Don’t get me wrong…I wouldn’t trade her for all the med free days in the world, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting something I can’t  have.

I want them gone.

I want what I can’t have.

(If you are an astute reader, you have seen this topic previously, but hey, it is my place to whine, so there you go. Even linking up with Shell at Things I Can’t Say)

My head is a bit of a jumble.  I highly doubt this blog post will make sense, but maybe a miracle will occur as I type???

Last week I started to feel the dark tendrils of depression coming.  They didn’t crash in, just tickled, to remind me it is still there.  In all my stomach issues I had stopped taking my meds.  I was desperate for the stomach pain to stop.  So I thought if I just restarted them, I’d be in the clear.  It hasn’t been so neat and tidy this time.

It’s getting darker, and other triggers are there.

I am feeling too many feelings.  I can’t let go of things that upset me or hurt me.

I think about them over and over.

From today.  From seven years ago.

The worst part, when I react, I know it’s not how I would normally react.  Things that might normally sting, are burrowing and causing anguish.  Things that normally wouldn’t matter at all are suddenly devastating.  If it weren’t for some wonderful friends, things would be really messy right now.

This morning, I was thinking in the shower (dumb, I know).  And got upset about a couple things in Patrice’s birth, you know 3 years ago.  And because that’s not enough, my mind when back to Caitlyn’s birth 7 years ago to get upset.

Logical, huh?

And I’m pretty good at the putting on a good face in the day to day, so it’s hard for people to see the truth.  My psych I saw, and liked when working, even said it was often hard for him to tell what was really happening—and that’s his job.  What it means is I often have to tell people in the day to day that I am struggling.  And I feel stupid for saying it.  Like I am making it up.  Then I get mad at them because I have to tell them.

It sucks. (classy vernacular, huh?)

So off I go to the new psych tomorrow. I’ve seen her once and talked to her on the phone twice.  She seems good.  Her office is responsive.  That’s huge to me.

Baby Blues hit me with each of the girls.

I remember when Caitlyn was born being overjoyed, then two days later, sobbing as the nurse tried to take my blood pressure and temperature.  Hubby had left to shower and freshen up.  I was alone with our girl for the first time.  You know, as alone as you can be in a hospital.  And I was totally overwhelmed with fear and dread.  How would I be able to take care of her?  How would I know what she needed?  How would I know if she was eating enough?  Bless that nurse, she spent quite a bit of time with me reassuring me, going over the feeding cues, those things that came to be second nature to me, but at the time, wow!

It wasn’t quite as bad with Sue.  I had done this newborn thing just 15 months before.  I knew a little more of my mothering style.  I was a little more comfortable in my mommy skin.  But there were still these unexplained tears.  The moments that boggled my mind.

Right on cue, the baby blues hit when Patrice was born too.  Then I got a week where I felt good.  All felt right in my world.  I had three amazing girls.  That was an awesome week!  I remember it and can almost feel it even now, 2 and 1/2 years later.  What came after was what can only be described as a descent into hell.

I developed postpartum depression and anxiety.  With anxiety being the biggest demon.  Thankfully I was happy with my mommy skills.  I never had any doubt I could do what was needed for my girls.  If anything I overdid.  We went to the park.  We went to the library.  We went to the zoo.  We went non-stop.  At first it felt kind of good, making up for lost time with my older girls for the stuff I couldn’t do with them in my last weeks of pregnancy.  But then it got sinister.  I cried more.  And my activity got frantic.  I was tired, but couldn’t sleep.  I would watch Patrice sleep and was so jealous.  So jealous.  I mean, who has a newborn and insomnia?  Talk about irony.

I went to my beloved midwife.  We started me on zoloft.  We thought maybe it helped a little bit, so we upped the dose.  That did not help…that began a spiral that ended with me at my midwife’s office begging her to take my girls home and just love them.  She did the best thing…she called my hubby…and made arrangements for me to be hospitalized to make sure I was safe and medication could be addressed.  I spent 24 hours in the hospital…it was hard, really hard.  When I got out, my midwife continued to help by finding me a psychiatrist who would treat me while supporting my decision to nurse my baby.

It’s been a hard road.  My youngest is now 2 and a 1/2.  It’s been a long journey since my girl was born, but we are all healthy and well.  I have a team of people who love and support me and help keep us that way.

If you are new mom, a mom many times over, and adoptive mom or a dad, struggling after the addition to your family, seek help.  Do it for yourself and for your loved ones.  You’ll be glad you did.

If you need immediate help, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8225)

If you are looking for pregnancy or postpartum support and local resources, please call or e-mail us:

Call PSI Warmline (English and Spanish) 1-800-944-4PPD (4773)

Email  support@postpartum.net

There are two people living in me. And I am not dealing well with this fact.

On the one hand, I am a good mama. I take care of my kids, and my home (okay, don’t look around at the home right now…). I talk to my husband. I love my family so much. And that is the real me. The me I recognize.

Then there is this one me. An angry, angry me. She was escaping for a few days. Then the doctor upped my medication and she doesn’t show anymore. He said it was mania or depression. The horrible words and screaming are not escaping. But the angry woman is still there.

She gets so angry. Her thoughts and words are vile. And I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t scream the words and get them out. No one would ever forgive me if I said those things to them.

So I read my Bible more. It says what is in the heart comes out the mouth. So I have to fix the heart, right?

It’s not working.

The anger, judgement, and hatred are still there.

I don’t know what to do.

And I hate myself for it.

This isn’t how I am supposed to feel, think or act. This isn’t how I was raised.

I am a Christian woman. I spend time reading the Bible. I know an awful lot of what is in there. I have been studying it since I was 4. I am definitely not supposed to be thinking or feeling this way. I can’t even bring myself to tell any of my friends from church. What would they think? The woman inside of me really is that bad.

Have you ever struggled with anger? What did you do about it?

The last two weeks I have been battling something. I didn’t talk about it for days unless it was completely unavoidable. I even kept my mouth shut on social media expect in private messages. I was terrified of judgement. I was afraid people would think I was a bad mom.

We were battling head lice. That is an epic battle in a house of 5 people.

But nobody talks about it. Nobody warns you of all the laundry. All the tears shed by the girls as their heads are combed through again. Nobody tells you how isolated you will feel as you are afraid to go to church or public places for fear of spreading the little buggers.

And nobody told me the anger it would incite inside of me. How I would feel so helpless and mocked as I did everything to get rid of them only to have us find more bugs.

Unfortunately, lice are not the only things mamas don’t talk about.

People don’t talk much about depression and mental illnesses. It is taboo. We want to pretend it is not there, because then it can’t happen to us, right?

This attitude hurts mamas. They bring home a baby through adoption or birth. The happiest time of their lives, right? And yet they are filled with anxiety, anger, rage, sadness. But they don’t talk about it. They don’t find out postpartum depression is very common and treatable. They slug it out alone.

But you don’t have to. There are lots of mamas that know the reality of postpartum depression. I found an amazing community on twitter, #ppdchat. We have moderated chats twice on Mondays (yesterday we were even trending during one of the chats) and the rest of the week there are always mamas if you just tweet with the hashtag.

I also found great support through my midwife. She worked with me for over a year until I found a psychiatrist who could help.

It takes work, which is likely no what a mama wants to hear when already doing so much with a new baby, but just like that baby is worth all that work, so is the mama.

Reach out, get help, talk about it.

with a baby.  A baby I prayed for, begged my husband for.  A baby.

After she was born, things went crazy.  I had to be busy or I would cry.  And busier and busier.

I knew something was wrong.  I even guessed it was depression of some kind.  But I’d never heard of the term postpartum anxiety until MONTHS after Patrice was born.  Until I found a website, www.postpartumprogress.com.

The resources and information on this site are epic.

And today she is doing her annual fundraiser, Strong Start, to keep the site going.

Won’t you please donate for all the mamas you know, whether they have dealt with postpartum depression/anxiety/OCD or not?

Help a mama out.

www.postpartumprogress.com

My doctor is a psychiatrist, can prescribe medications, and a psychotherapist, does talk therapy.  I am very blessed to have one who does both.  It is the ideal situation for treating bipolar, but is hard to find.

I see him once a week.  Sometimes we deal primarily with medications.  Sometimes we work more on the therapy side.

This week was more therapy side.  It is harder work for me, but where I hope to see long-term results.

Did I mention this week was a lot of talk?  Well it was.  Starting with, what went on this week.  I blanked.  Apparently, if you ask me about my week straight up, I can’t remember a thing…you have to lead me to it with more specific questions.

We moved on to my transitions blog post.  He read it and then I gave a synopsis of the amazing comments people left.  In the end, my take away was, be sad for a while, miss what is past but suck it up and move on.

Shockingly, he didn’t agree.  Crazy, isn’t it, that a therapist wouldn’t agree with that?

And we talked about it.  About the need to express thoughts, feelings and emotions.  We talked about how I express things on my blog, he was glad to hear I am back to writing, but that I, again, tend to suck it up.  I decide nothing can change by talking about a situation, so why talk about it.  He believes that “sucking it up” is actually sucking it in, or stuffing it.  He also thinks this is a bad idea.  He says expressing it, whatever it is, helps it lose its power; it helps to get rid of the pain or the issues ability to cause depression and anxiety.

Honestly, I do feel better about a couple things that we talked about.  I feel validated.  But in other areas, I’m not so sure.  I don’t know if talking about it will help, but what I’ve been doing all these years hasn’t worked, so I might as well keep giving this a try.  He’s been right about so many things.  I’m willing to trust the process.

Will you continue to join me on this journey of self discovery–without thinking I’m off my rocker?