Before I ever had Princess, I just couldn’t understand the idea of post partum depression. It seemed so odd that “just having a baby” could in some way make you depressed. Don’t get me wrong, I had dealt with being depressed before, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that something so wonderful as having a baby could lead to such a difficult mental state. I was happy, well rounded, spiritually sound, and thrilled to be pregnant, so I didn’t even fear the PPD demon. I should have.
I don’t know if I even made it home from the hospital before my battle with PPD began, but I do distinctly remember that within an hour of getting home with Princess, my first meltdown occurred. I was sitting in a glider that my parents brought over for me to use until I could get up and down out of my comfy (yet extremely low) living room set. I was surrounded by people who loved me and were trying to take care of me, my child was healthy, life was great. I was not. With no warning to even myself, I started crying. To make things worse, I couldn’t figure out why I was so sad. Now, I’ve already told you before that I’m a hold it together through the tough stuff and fall apart later type of gal, so I should have seen this coming. I had a 20 hour labor that ended in a c-section and was followed by a string of tests on my heart, one of which meant that I couldn’t nurse or even hold my one day old baby for 24 hours. (Thank you God for a husband who took up the role as a father wholeheartedly.) The epidural caused my heart rate to be extremely elevated, so my heart needed to be checked for any damage. If I could go back, I would have taken the Doctor’s thoughts into consideration when she suggested a c-section the first three times. But, being who I am, I was determined to try to have Princess naturally. Too bad her shoulders were hung in my hips. In the end, everything was fine. My heart was not damaged, not technically anyway. I tell you this, not to share a horrible birthing story, (believe me, I’m trying to make it sound as least frightening as possible) but because I think my own ideas of what I could control going into the entire motherhood situation contributed to my PPD. First, I thought I could control the birthing process to at least some degree. WRONG! When they finally broke my water, I was almost taken in for an emergency c-section because they lost Princess’s heartbeat. They found it, thank You God, but Dean and I were horribly shaken from that moment on during the labor process. I had never had surgery of any kind, and I was terribly afraid of even the thought of it. SO, I determined to try everything I could to avoid surgery. Well, I gave it a good effort, but when they finally got me to the pushing phase, Princess wouldn’t budge, and we had to throw in the towel. Secondly, I thought I could control my worries as a new mother by being logical. WRONG! I don’t think I had the mental capacity to be logic about anything for a little while. My friends who had babies before me made it look easy, but for this Type A control freak, it was impossible at times. The pressure I put on myself for perfection as a new mother only made things worse. Thirdly, I thought I was prepared for the 24 hour a day demand that a baby presented. WRONG! I thought I could handle it all by myself. WRONG! I thought asking for help showed weakness. WRONG! Eventually, I learned these things, but my life would have been so much easier had I just been able to express the feelings then and accept the help from others that I needed. Don’t get me wrong, I did plenty of talking, but for some reason, I just couldn’t let things go. My PPD was probably not considered extremely severe, but it felt like it lasted an eternity. I had to constantly fight to enjoy Princess fully rather than giving in to the darkness looming. I loved everything about Princess and being a mother (well, maybe not the lack of sleep), so I couldn’t understand why I was so depressed. I would love to be able to say that I immediately hit my knees in prayer to God for strength, but I can’t. Honestly, I felt like every day and night was so full, that I didn’t even stop long enough to think about praying. Satan is a wily one. I did eventually have one of those days where I just completely melted down to God, and poured my heart out to Him. AND, little, by little, things got better.
Looking back, I can see why things were more difficult than necessary. Princess nursed exclusively. Nursing was easy for me with her, so that’s what I did. I didn’t like to pump, so I didn’t. This meant that going anywhere was a struggle. When you have to constantly hide everywhere you go so that you can nurse, you honestly just don’t want to go anywhere. I am NOT the stay at home type of gal. (That is what makes Dean and me work so well. He has to work the farm on Saturdays, and my independence on those days makes me not feel or seem so needy or lonely.) My mom and I usually go somewhere, but carting Princess around wasn’t easy. I know they have nursing aprons for a reason, but I just couldn’t nurse inside a restaurant with people around. (I come from a long line of conservative men who feel uncomfortable with the idea even at home while covered by a blanket.) If I did go somewhere, I spent most of the trip nursing in the parking lot, dressing room, bathroom (if it was clean enough), back office (if I was desperate enough to ask), etc. Therefore, I spent the first few months of Princess’s life feeling like a prisoner. I had lost my freedom. I can see now why I got depressed. To make matters worse, two of my best friends from high school had children only three months after me, and they didn’t seem to be going through the same struggle. Athack from way back was going through much more than me around the time of her baby’s birth and still seemed thrilled with her new motherhood, and LynsRae embraced motherhood in a way that is truly inspiring. Both of them sacrificed their careers completely, which I didn’t even have to do, and yet they didn’t sit around crying about losing their freedom like I did. My feelings of incarceration were made worse by my guilt over the feeling of incarceration. (Strange circle, I know.) I loved my child so much, so why did I feel sad about losing myself? These are questions that I’m sure many new mothers ask, and if you are asking them now, or ever find yourself asking them, know that it gets better. I learned to balance a new important part of my life. Sometimes it was as simple as taking a walk (alone).
BT (Before Twins) I actually considered not having any more children for fear of PPD occurring again. Please don’t dismiss this statement as unimportant to my journey. I SERIOUSLY could have missed out on the blessings of my twins because I was afraid of PPD coming back into my life. To even write it now feels ridiculous. How could I possibly let something like that control me? I have God to thank for rescuing me from myself. My mom, godmother, and Sissy (who was only 16 at the time, God bless her) helped me to get out with Princess and see how it was possible. My husband and Adod helped me learn to venture out without Princess, which was equally important.
I’m sure you’re wondering about my experience with PPD after having the twins. I prayed fervently before their birth, not that God would keep me from feeling any depression after their birth, but that He would help me to fight off any dark thoughts the devil threw at me. I won’t say that I didn’t have moments of feeling overwhelmed, because I did (and still do four months later). I will say that I (with God’s help) only let it go that far. I did not allow myself to be engulfed in that feeling and sucked down into the hole of despair. My husband prayed about this as well, because I know he worried about PPD occurring again even more than I did, though he wouldn’t say so. PPD was as hard on him as it was me, since he felt obligated to helping me while maintaining the household during the moments I fell apart. I know more than once he came home to both of us crying as hard as we could and had to decide which of us to try to comfort first. Those who love us most rallied around us again this time around to help us adjust to our new life. This time, I let them. I slept when they offered to stay awake, I went to the store for myself when they offered to stay with my kids, and I ventured out with all three of them into the world when help allowed. It made my life so much better. And while nursing didn’t work out for me this time, I allowed myself to only feel a little guilty about it, and switched to formula. Sometimes, we have to give up on the little things we want to hold onto in order to just enjoy the moment. I would rather enjoy feeding my baby a bottle than despair while trying to nurse when the milk just isn’t there. I had to learn that the most important things are that my children are well taken care of, well loved, and learn to love Jesus. The rest, I can let go of.
For those of you who are suffering from PPD, this is my prayer for you: “God, please touch those who are suffering the pain of depression. Ease their minds and heal their hearts. Let them know that they are not alone. Show them their strengths as a mother, and be their strength through weak moments. Guide them to get help if they need it. If they are too down to praise You God, I will Praise You for them until they can praise You again. Put a blanket over their hearts to warm and comfort them. Remind them of Your blessings.”
I never know how much to say about things in this blog. Maybe I say too much and am too open. However, when it comes to an issue as serious as this one, I feel that those of us who have seen the dark times and come through them should reach out to those who may still be there. If you would like to talk to me more about PPD, you can post a message under anonymous with your information. It will not show up on the blog, but it will come to me to be approved. I would be happy to email you. If you would like to make a comment about the blog, feel free to post under anonymous and you can sign the bottom of it, or you can follow the blog and post a comment as well. I am no expert, so I can only try to understand, sympathize, and pray with you.
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