I was dealing with a lot of un-diagnosed physical issues after Little Monkey was born so his first few months of life were a bit of blur. However, the one thing that remains crystal clear was hitting a point halfway between 6 weeks and 7 weeks postpartum and feeling like I had walked into a brick wall. A fog descended, I felt emotionally and mentally detached in a really disturbing way. Thankfully I was seeing a therapist weekly so I was able to get the help I needed. I do remember calling my therapist at one point and telling her that I was beginning to have a need to hurt myself just to feel something. She got me in for an appointment that very afternoon and we talked through everything running through my head. I think part of the reason for how bad things got was because Little Monkey’s birth was pretty traumatic for me, and I didn’t realize that until months afterwards. Because of a very clear onset of my postpartum depression after Little Monkey, I started preparing for ppd this time around 6 weeks pp (postpartum), and sure enough, I hit 7 weeks and enter the beast.
The past 8 months have been nothing but buckle down and fight forward with all of my might and then keep going when I have nothing left to fight with. I thought I would have an extra month between when finishing my lists to when Little Bear was going to arrive. I had planned to take those last four weeks to really take care of myself and make sure I had some energy and mental rest stored up. Even though that’s what I told myself, I knew even then that I wasn’t going to get a full last month. I just hadn’t expected to not get any of that time. As things are in a calm spot right now, the craziness of the past 8 months is catching up to me. Two weeks ago, Phil had a breakdown and I realized that we both have been barely holding it together. We’re holding each other up and giving each other safe spaces to process everything, but we’re both falling and I’ve known that unless we both got individual care and help, we weren’t going to make it much longer. The very next day I found a therapist’s name from our insurance company’s list and I called and set up a first appointment a few days later. Phil’s going to do the same. While our relationship is continuing to gain strength and is actually stronger than it was a year ago, everything with Little Bear is enough to wear anyone down. We both need individual care and that’s what we’re going to do.
I have learned, mainly a self-preservation technique, to shut my mind down and let my body relax and to let go any guilt that I’m not doing “enough” around the house. I know I am functioning the best that I can, and even if that means that I spend a few hours a day on the couch with Little Bear mindlessly binge watching a movie, then that’s okay. Letting my body relax is the only way that I am functioning still despite the lack of sleep at night. But even this small hold on functionality is slipping.
Four years ago today I walked into a therapist’s office for the first time ever in my 22 years of life. When asked why I was there, I simply responded, “I just need help.” I spent two years with that therapist and since moving halfway across the country two years ago, I have remained in contact with my now mentor/friend. Those two years taught me how to cope with my constant up and down depression, but the past 8 months since finding out something was wrong with my baby have brought up things that I know I can’t do on my own. The pain of having a child needing extra care is more than I think I can safely carry. That being said, I am going to be asking my new therapist tomorrow her advice about going on meds. I am not okay with not feeling okay and I need to be fully functioning if I’m going to be fighting with doctors to make sure Little Bear gets the best care possible.
I promised at the beginning of this blog that I would be honest, so here’s me being honest.
I. Am. Not. Okay.
And that is okay. I do not feel guilty for not feeling okay. I know the things that have occurred over the past 8 months since that October day when I was told “something is wrong with your baby” have been more than any person can bear and still be mentally intact. I know postpartum depression is a bitch of a beast and it’s taken out some amazing people. I have watched other moms around me struggle with PPD and some of them have almost lost the fight. I have watched this culture become more aware of the battle torn fields of PPD and PPA (postpartum anxiety). I, myself, broke chains surrounding my own depression a few years ago and started speaking up about it; trying to bring it in to the open and make it a more normal topic of conversation.
I have never taken meds for my depression, but this time I am willing to take that step. I am afraid of being “out of control” of my mind, but here’s the thing; I already am out of control. I know most of what I’m feeling (or not feeling) is because of chemical imbalances and hormones still out of whack.
If you’re struggling with depression, specifically postpartum depression, please get yourself help? Heck, if you just can’t pick up the phone and make a phone call, ask your partner to do it for you, or a friend. Simply having someone to talk to is a safe place to start when managing your postpartum depression/anxiety. The next step is determining whether you need meds or not. And please know there is no shame or guilt in that! We live in a culture where the needing of medicine to function is not looked kindly upon. But I think that mindset is slowly changing as more and more people are talking about how things like anxiety medicines are helping them feel more like themselves and like they can function.
So here’s to facing the beast and killing the beast. I am struggling to stay afloat and not completely shut down. I am pulling out my weapons and preparing to fight tooth and nail if I have to. My boys need me, I need me, and I am going to get the help I need.