I don’t like to “deal.”  Or face uncomfortable truths.  I like to control & when I cannot hold power?  I crumble with the hope of being rescued.

“What’s wrong with me?” I cried in therapy. “Why do certain things paralyze me yet leave others unfazed?”

This is the very core of my mental health, my heart-gut, my battle with postpartum depression.  The overwhelming urge to control, coupled with immature coping skills.  “So basically,” I closed my eyes & laughed sarcastically.  “You’re telling me that I’m a control freak with a horrible personality.”

She laughed. Yes.  “But no, not really,” she explains.  “I think you just feel things strongly.  You react strongly.”

It’s an exhausting way to live.

“My husband calls me ‘tenacious’ when he is being kind,” I said with a wry twist to the corner of my mouth.

“Exactly,” she smiled.

• One in four women will experience severe depression at some point in life.
• Depression affects twice as many women as men, regardless of racial and ethnic background or income.
• Depression is the number one cause of disability in women.

Only one fifth of women who suffer from depression seek treatment.  One fifth of one in four, which means that in a room of sixty women, fifteen suffer depression but only three are getting help.

Translation?  Women are suffering, hurting, bruised to the core…& not seeking help.

What is it about us as women that makes us vulnerable to depression, & then paralyzed to receive help?

Through our determination to be seen as strong, rather than the weaker sex, do we not recognize the symptoms?  Do we push aside the exhaustion & irritability as “being a woman,” not understanding that they are signs of imbalance, just as much as tears?  Or maybe that guttural instinct to “buck up” as a mother & push through, despite the nagging anxieties & cloying despair.

In the era of the supermom, we feel pressure to be an odd mixture of a June Cleaver housewife & a Martha Stewart business mogul — are we afraid to verbalize that we cannot do it all?  Is there shame in that feeling that maybe, somehow, someway, we failed womanhood?

Or the shame that buries deep in our soul when the depression pulls us away from children & spouses & the focus of our life, but we fight a losing battle against it & we are too afraid to say, “I am sorry, but my heart is not here.”  We are told that women should not feel this way.

Or perhaps the shame of the neighbor’s wagging tongue that has already weighed the label on our sweater, the car in our driveway, the organic qualities of our dinner, & the manners of our children.  Dare we expose one more Achilles Heel to the harshest judges?

Is it the rising cost of healthcare in this downtrodden economy where some of us struggle to keep shoes on small feet & food in mouths?  Perhaps it is a failure of the medical field to screen properly & then offer options.  Or even the lack of options (did you know there is only ONE inpatient postpartum mood disorder clinic in the country?!).  Is it because it is one more task on our growing lists, where small children cannot tag along?

No matter the cause, I boldly say this —   Women, you are worth it.

If you are hurting & suffering & scared, please know that you deserve to feel better.  It is not weakness that asks for help – instead, there is courage in the acceptance.

photo credit

Every mother shares a common wish.  It doesn’t matter what level of education she has, where she lives, her race or her religion: she wants desperately to be a good mom.  Imagine then, that most important dream being dashed at the start.  At a time when others celebrate new life, this mom is devastated, disconnected and afraid. ~Katherine Stone

Help.

30% of new mothers suffer from postpartum mood disorders, like postpartum depression.  Only 15% of those mommas seek treatment.  Translation?  Roughly 850,000 mothers & children will suffer from the effects of postpartum mood disorders.

Help.

Hormonal changes, social support, pregnancy or infant loss, previous mental illness, stress levels, isolation, sleep deprivation.  Biological & environmental, all feeding the disease.

Help.

We can do so much more.  I have been so lucky to be close to UNC, have survivor mommas to encourage me, to have an outlet to the public where we form camaraderie.  Others are not as lucky, & I grieve for them.

Help.

Postpartum Progress, the website that helped me survive & give me a voice, is desperate to do more in 2012.

• developing a compelling national awareness campaign for postpartum depression
• creating & distributing new and improved patient education materials for distribution by hospitals (the kind new moms won’t throw away!!)
• translating our “plain mama English” information and support into Spanish and other languages

On October 5, the day more babies are born than any other day in the year, Postpartum Progress is launching a “Start Strong” fundraising campaign to help reach more mothers, gather more support, & make a difference.

Can you help?

This year, I met my friends in the brisk fall air with excitement & happiness.  We laughed & sipped coffee while we waited for the walk to begin, while very sweet husbands pumped stroller tires for those of us that oops! had flats.  (okay, I was the only one)

Amy & I set out with our matching Bumbleride strollers, chatting about selling homes & the exhaustion of motherhood.   I’ve known Amy for almost ten years now, back when boys & booze were our topics.  Funny how things change.

Harry & Charlotte were antsy after the walk, so we unleashed them on the playground.

(side note:  a girl looked over & said, “Are you Beth Anne?” & then she said my maiden name & I almost fell over, but she was a girl I knew in middle school.  That’s over 15 years ago & there we were, standing on a playground with our kids.  It’s nuts living in your hometown, even if your hometown is one of the biggest cities in the state.)

& then…Harrison was done.

When the kid is done, he is done.

So I took him home, tucked him in bed for a nap & began editing pictures.  It had been a fantastic morning of friendship & motherhood & happiness.  I looked to my right at the bottom desk drawer & the notebooks it held.  Notebooks from last year, journals from the beginnings & the lows & the hospital.  Without a hesitation of doubt, I gathered them up & walked them to the trash cans outside.  I do not want those words anymore, or those feelings.  Those notebooks, full of angry words & sketches made when I was hurting — I feel no urge to keep them.

I want to be like Harrison & be done.

& simply be thankful for the journey they gave me.

I sit down on the tiles, leaning back against the cold sides, but I’m staring at the belly, so stretched & soft from child-bearing.  The child-bearing that led me to this place so many times, both physcially & emotionally, for the past three years.  I close my eyes against it’s constant reminder of miracles & pain & the sacrificial love of motherhood.  I sit up cross-legged & spread my hands through the running water, tracing the rivers they make with my palms & I wonder if I will ever leave the floor.

The floor where I cried over my lost baby.  Where I ripped out my heart over the baby I birthed.  Blood & tears, both escaping me.  Where I escape & pray to find answers to the part of my brain that does not seem to click the way it should, the part that wraps silently around my entire life until I back into a corner & let the water fall, warm & steady.  I am a constant mess; ripped & broken & pieced back together so many times that I wonder if my flaws show to the outside world.

I wonder how I feel both renewed & trapped behind the white curtain, relaxing to the rhythmic fall of the water while I place my head in my hands, raggedly running fingers through my hair as I fight for hope, for relief, for feeling that it will all be okay.

A soft knock on the door, a patter of small feet wrapped in cotton as the boy flings back the curtain with a joy & exuberance I wish for in myself.  Relief floods my heart, hope reaches up to my eyes.  His impish smile stretches past his cheeks into my heart & I nod over his blonde head to my husband that yes,  I am okay.

____________________

p.s. i wrote this two weeks ago. i’m doing better now.

Late Sunday morning, I scooped Harrison up & waded knee-deep into the water.  After hours of playing in the sand & dodging waves, my tired boy laid his head on my shoulder, arms draped but hands firmly grasping my shoulders.  The water glittered crystal blue & the waves came – some rocking gently, some causing me to regain footing in the sand.  Much like life & this past year.

I stood there in the quiet with my son, feeling the burden lift.  The guilt I felt over missing so much of his first year, not wondering if he would ever forgive me, but wondering if I could ever forgive myself.

Somewhere in that sunshine & salty air, the forgiveness came.  Warmly, slowly, seeping upwards until I felt everything melt away.

I stared out into the water & came to the realization that it was just a season in my life.  Just a moment in the bigger picture, much like the wave that just made me side-step to the right to keep balance.  An entire ocean out there of hope & life, but to let go of that wave so I could be ready for the next.

I forgot to refill my prescription.

& then I kept forgetting.  I forgot for an entire week .  By Friday, I threw up my hands & figured that since I was seeing my doctor on Tuesday, a few more days wouldn’t hurt.

“Well,” she said as she adjusted her crossed ankles.  “This was unexpected.  How are you feeling?”

Then I admitted that I wasn’t sure – the plan had been to wean me off anti-depressants in the spring but then we decided to keep on keepin’ on with the doctor switch.  & I’d already gone through the hardest part of weaning, so a part of me wanted to just see how I did off the medicine.

You know, since I made the worst mistake ever & took myself off them.  Alone.  WHEN I KNOW BETTER.

“That’s up to you,” she replied.  It’s equally maddening & empowering how much she let’s me control my care.  Ultimately, we decided that I should go back on the Zoloft as this summer will probably be pretty darn busy & I will be back in my original doctor’s care (hopefully!) in August.  She called in the prescription & reminded me that it was my decision, but that I only had about two weeks left of “trace protection” from the remnants of Zoloft in my system.

I waited to fill it.  Another mistake.

I’m tired.  I’m unfocused.  I’m short-tempered at work & quick to bite (not literally).  I’m not sleeping well.  I feel anger at the dog & I feel myself retreating into my little weird brain shell where I kind of hate everyone else in the universe.

Why am I doing this to myself?!  Just because the original goal was to attempt to wean me in the spring?

I know better.

p.s. I refilled the prescription yesterday.  YOU’RE WELCOME, UNIVERSE.

I was wondering if I could request a follow up post? I would love to hear what you have to say about future pregnancies and babies. You must be terrified of going through this again, but you mention wanting more kids. Is it just a matter of knowing how and when to seek treatment that much quicker next time? Is your PPD likely to be as severe next time? I can’t imagine how hard it must be to want more kids, but know you might face walking through that shit again.  ~Patti

Yes, I am scared.

Some days it feels more like I should say I am scared, terrified, choked with fear, two seconds away from strapping on a chastity belt & never letting my husband get near me again.  Harrison is totally cool enough on his own, you know?

Other days, I feel confident & ready to face the next pregnancy & baby.  I look at Harrison & my heart explodes & I just can’t wait to experience it two-fold.  Or three-fold.  I’d like to draw the line before four-fold.

I worry more about my husband & his fears.  He’s the one that will be worrying over me, juggling a toddler while I attend to a newborn, & I know that he will lie awake in bed at night, wondering what is happening in my brain.

So yes, I am afraid.  I am at risk for repeated postpartum depression & as someone who experienced a psychotic event, my risk of full-blown postpartum psychosis is high.  But we want more children, so we face the fear & make a plan to take it on.   As someone who came from a large family with a husband that longed for more siblings as an only child, we cannot think of a better gift for Harrison than a lifelong partner in crime. (remind me that I said that in a few years when I’m on here screaming about how they destroyed my garden with a game of cowboys & indians)

The first part of our “plan” is to have a minimum of three years between kiddos. I needed time to heal & now, I need time to enjoy Harrison & gain confidence in myself as a mother.  I need to be able to have conversations with Harry & I need to be able to say, “Harrison, I’ll play trucks with you when I’m done feeding the baby.”  He may not like it, but he’ll at least be able to comprehend the words.  I hope.

The second part is therapy.  I will continue seeing my doctor every few months until I am pregnant again.  During the pregnancy, we’ll just have to see how I feel but after the baby is born, I’ll go in more often – once a week for the first few months.  I will also be delivering in the same hospital system so that my doctor has immediate access to me in the hospital as psychosis usually occurs quickly.

& of course, there’s the medication aspect.  We are hoping that I will be off anti-depressants in the first trimester.  It’s simply a personal decision to try & avoid medications in the first 12 weeks of gestation.  I’ll begin anti-depressants at the start of the second trimester, then begin the Risperdal (anti-psychotic) in the third trimester.  I am nervous about the Risperdal as it is a powerful drug.  But I am more afraid of a complete psychosis & detachment with reality & this drug is the best way to combat it head-on.  I do not look forward to returning to weight gain & facial ticks & oh God, the weaning process when it’s time.  But if I can avoid that whole “I see demons” thing, it will be worth it.

This is where you begin gagging – I am researching placenta encapsulation.  You know, ingesting my placenta.  Word on the street is that it can improve moods, help regulate hormones, increase energy, etc.  Don’t worry, I won’t be making placenta lasagna but I am looking into having it dried & put into pill form that I will take along with modern medication.  I am fully aware that this is a) not proven & b) enough to make some people vomit.

The final part is my support group.  As psychosis usually occurs in the first two weeks, The Momma will be staying with us in those first two weeks postpartum to help & watch me.  My husband is so incredibly willing to go to bat for me, so he will be attending therapy sessions.  I am extremely blessed to have a set of incredible friends that I know will have my back & be watching.  I have my momma friends that experienced postpartum depression with their first kids & then survived beautifully the second go-round.  Their hope & advice will be instrumental.   This is where you come in, too. You know, if I start going all crazy on the blog again.

So, mommas that survived postpartum depression – what did you do for any follow-up offspring?  How did you feel?  Mommas that have not yet reproduced again – do you mind sharing your game plan?

_____________________________

To the mommas that are on the verge, sorting through the muck, or stepping into the light – I know what you’re feeling.  I know how you’re hurting, I understand your  fears, but I have a story of hope.  You will be okay.  You will make it into the light.  You will be whole again.

To the family & friends witnessing her pain – you’re going to be okay, too.  This is a season.

So many questions I get revolve around the “stages” of postpartum depression – how I knew I had it, what my treatment was like, how I knew I was on the recovery, & what family & friends can do to help.

Before.

Postpartum depression can be such a nasty thing to diagnose, because the truth is that it looks different on everyone.  I thought that it meant tears – lots & lots of tears.  So when the tears didn’t come but I was angry & resentful of my fresh baby, I did not recognize it as a problem with depression – I thought it was a problem with me.

• Anger
• Frustration over the smallest tasks
• Resentment of my husband & new baby
• Feeling that I made a mistake
• Detachment (aka feeling like he wasn’t my baby)
• I thought about giving my son up for adoption.
• Irrational thoughts about harming myself, my family, my baby.
• Zero interest in food.
• A fixation with keeping the house absolutely spotless at all times.
• Inability to fall asleep & stay asleep.
• Taking long showers. (this seems to be a common thread as a way to hide crying & escape responsibilities)
• Constant complaints of exhaustion.

Do you know a new momma that feels this way?  Any of these?  Here’s the thing – you can help, even if you’re not a licensed therapist or OB/GYN.

• Make that momma some good food.  When a friend dropped off a casserole that I just had to pop in the oven, it was bliss.  Especially if there was a frozen one to go along with it.  Tip:  Make something SIMPLE that she can recreate with no pressure.  Do not pull out the big gourmet guns because it may just make her feel more worthless that she can’t match your standard.
• Keep her company.  Sit at her feet while she feeds the baby -my husband did this & I enjoyed the security of his presence in a situation where I felt vulnerable.
• Don’t tell her that a clean house or a perfect nursery “don’t matter.”  They DO matter to her & it hurts to have someone brush it off.
• Guys, leave her alone for sex.
• When you ask her how she’s doing, more than likely she’ll lie & say “fine.”  Pay more attention to her reaction to the baby’s cries, her sleeping patterns, & whether she’s still “engaged” in life.
• Simply state that you think she’s hurting & you hate to see it because she deserves better.  She deserves to love motherhood because she is so wonderful at it.
• Remind her that they will not take her baby away from her.
• Remind her of that again.
• Then suggest that she seek help with her trusted OB/GYN.

During

This was the hardest part for me – the fight.  Believe me, any momma that is in the throes of postpartum depression is FIGHTING.  You’re fighting for motherhood, for love, & sometimes for your life.  It is exhausting.  It can really toll on a marriage.  It can be hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel some days.  But it is so worth the fight.  For some, therapy alone can help pull the darkness away but for others (like me) it took a combination of medication & therapy.  For a smaller portion (like me again), it takes intense therapy that is usually done in a hospital setting.

Some options for treatment:

• Talk therapy with a licensed therapist or psychiatrist.
• Medication
  • Antidepressants
  • Antipsychotics
  • Anti-anxiety
  • Sleeping aids
• Light therapy by solar lamp.
• Exercise therapy.
• Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
• Meditation
• Hospitalization.

As a spouse, family member, friend – you are her most important asset outside of her medical professional.  You see her every day.  You speak with her, watch her interact with her baby, watch her run her home.  You can make the difference between making it or breaking it.

• Love her unconditionally.  Remember that above all, she is hurting all the way down in her soul.  So be gentle with her.
• When she says she cannot do something, like change a diaper or feed the baby, do not force her.  Trust that she knows her limits.
• Gently ask/remind her to take her medication in the morning (this one is for spouses or very close friends only)
• Go with her to therapy sessions.  (spouses once again)
• Remind her that this isn’t forever.  She will beat it.  She is strong enough.  She deserves happiness.
• If she works outside of the home, remind her to tell her human resource department about her treatment.  She is covered under the Americans with Disabilities Act.
• How is she responding to treatment?  Is she responding?  Remember, there are all kinds of medications that react differently with different body chemistry.  Don’t be afraid to ask the doctor if doses or meds should be altered for better results.  Don’t be afraid to switch doctors/therapists, either.
• Is she getting worse?  Are her symptoms exacerbating?  Is she showing new symptoms?  If so, tell her medical professional IMMEDIATELY.
• Remember that there are good days & bad days.

After

Coming through the storm can feel like a big sigh of relief – you see that light & you just want to race, race, race towards it.  Freedom!  Relief!  Wholeness!  Life!!  Beating postpartum depression has been my greatest achievement, past growing & sustaining another human life.  I am so proud of my hard work, so thankful for my family & friends, so absolutely humbled to simply be alive after falling into hell.

How I knew I was whole:

• When my son cried, I wanted to respond.  I wanted to make him happy & care for his needs.
• I was waking up refreshed after sleeping the entire night.
• I enjoyed the “small things” in life again – sunshine coming through the windows in the morning, a good movie, making cinnamon rolls with my boys on Sundays.
• I started performing well at work again.
• I felt like he was my son – I began enjoying that he had the same eyes that I did & I began realizing that he reached for me first.
• When emergencies/stressful situations occurred, I was able to face them.  I don’t always handle them with the most grace, but I do not crawl under the covers & pretend it’s not happening anymore.
• I could go eight weeks between therapy sessions easily.

So many folks wonder what they can do to help speed up the process & “get back” their wife, daughter, friend….but the best thing you can do is let her take things at her own pace.

• Be willing to listen as she sorts through what happened -the truth is, she’s been through something traumatic that has changed the way she views life & motherhood & it is a lot to process.
• Understand post traumatic stress.  She may have recurring nightmares, or irrational fears about certain tasks or events.
• She may have a bad day here & there where the PPD seems like it’s coming back.  It’s okay & normal.  Remind her that tomorrow is another day.
• Make sure she’s taking time for herself – as she heals, the guilt may make her feel like she cannot be away from her baby.  Get her out the door by herself at least an hour per week.
• When she says she can handle it, trust her.  That can be a huge leap of faith for those that love her, as they’ve been pulling her through the recovery, but it is important for her to take her life back fully.

]]> http://theheirtoblair.com/2011/05/26/momma-on-the-verge-signs-of-postpartum-depression-the-journey-through-what-you-can-do-to-help/feed/ 28 http://theheirtoblair.com/2011/05/18/sometimes-pictures-make-my-heart-ache/ http://theheirtoblair.com/2011/05/18/sometimes-pictures-make-my-heart-ache/#comments Wed, 18 May 2011 14:00:40 +0000 heirtoblair http://theheirtoblair.com/?p=6233 I loved these pajamas.

Last May, Harrison’s toes pushed against the fabric feet of his size six months jammies.  My throat caught – my little boy was growing up.  He was gaining independence.  He was outgrowing his pajamas.  So on a Wednesday night, I quickly stole out to our local Kohl’s after tucking Harrison to bed.  I wandered through the racks of baby pajamas, touching them for softness & measuring length.  Comparing tags & styles, determined to pick the best pajamas.

I couldn’t be the best mother, but I could at least pick pajamas.

I settled on a pair of yellow jams with a sweet giraffe stitched up the side with a circus tent.  & then paired it with the blue monkeys.  Two sets of jams to hold him over until he was ready for size nine months.  Two sets of jams to keep him warm during spring.  Two sets of jams to prove that I loved him.

Less than a week later, I checked into UNC’s psychiatric hospital.

While I was there, my father texted over the photo above of my sweet boy ready for bed in the pajamas I picked.  I remember staring at the photo & wishing I was there to inhale that freshly bathed sent & nuzzle my cheek on his back.  Wishing I was anywhere but a sterile hospital room.  A week later, I sat in Harrison’s room with The Momma, folding clothes & healing as my boy played at our feet.

“Here,” she said as she handed me the blue pajamas.  “These are too little already.”

I never got to see him in those pajamas that I picked so carefully.

Sometimes, my heart still aches with the emptiness of everything I missed.