Postpartum Depression and Anxiety: It's Okay To Not Be Okay
What is Postpartum Depression? What about Postpartum Anxiety? Isn't that just when someone gets the baby blues or feels a little extra worry because they have a baby to take care of now?
Y'all. No. No. No.
It's also not ONLY the two extremes of drowning your baby or feeling a little down about your new role in life. It is so, so, so, so, so much more.
Postpartum Depression is, "a more severe (than baby blues), longer lasting form of depression," and it happens (documented) in 1 of 8 new mothers. And by new, I just mean a new little one, not only first time moms.
Postpartum Anxiety is typically a feeling of losing control; going crazy; or excessive, constant worry surrounding the baby.
The big factor in diagnosing these, are the symptoms that come along with them. Postpartum depression isn't just being sad; it's feeling anything but love toward your new baby, it can be a lack of bonding with baby, it can be numbness, it can be irritability, etc. Postpartum anxiety isn't just being worried about your baby or how you're doing as a mother; it's having panic attacks over the things you're worrying about, it can be feeling like you're losing your mind over trying to keep things in perfect order or over wondering whether the baby is still breathing, etc.
So here we go, I'm going to talk about myself again. :)
When I had my oldest son in 2010, I knew nothing. Literally. NOTHING. About parenting. I was just shy of 21-years-old when I had him. My now husband and I had only been dating for a short period of time and most of that time had been long-distance. My entire pregnancy was unreal to me. I remember after my water broke, sitting on the toilet--sorry, TMI--thinking, OH MY GOSH, I will never be back in this house without a baby again. It was like my entire pregnancy became real in that moment. I had nine months to come to terms with this, and it only just started to happen 2 and a half hours before my son would be brought into this world.
Yes, two and a half hours because I basically shoot my children out with a sneeze. No, I'm just kidding about the sneeze: but not about the time frame. Everyone thinks a two-hour labor sounds awesome. It's not. It has it's fair share of horrid moments, I promise. The worst being that when my contractions started, both times around 6 minutes apart, it didn't take them long before it's basically one long contraction until the baby arrives. Also, no matter how many times you yell at the nurse, there is no time for an epidural. I digress.
So, I bring my beautiful baby boy home, my husband comes back from overseas, and life is great, right? Well. No. Not really. I want to first say, that I am so thankful that my husband stuck by my side through my mood swings, my numbness, and my lack of involvement. He actually proposed to me during this time, so he must've kind of liked me a little, right?
People would say things like, "Isn't it amazing how much love you felt immediately?!" And other variations of this statement, and I would smile and nod and say, "yes, it's so great!" But at the same time I was silently thinking, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!? WHY DON'T I FEEL THE WAY EVERYONE ELSE SAYS I'M SUPPOSED TO FEEL!?"
Every time I went to the doctor, I would fill out the forms, intentionally lying about how I felt because... people with postpartum depression want to kill their babies, and I don't feel that way, so it must not be PPD, right? If that wasn't my thought, it was "what if they take him away from me!?" As I said, I knew nothing back then.
So basically, I went through the forms and the appointments lying, saying everything was fine, that life was great, etc. I didn't know anything. I didn't know how bad it was until sometime around 6 months of age, I walked through the door after work, right past my sweet, beautiful baby boy, to my bedroom to change out of my uniform, walked back out and straight to the couch where I slumped down. My husband walked up to me and said, "are you even going to acknowledge your son?"
I honestly, cannot think of a time in my life where I've felt worse than I did in that moment. It was then that I knew something was really, really wrong. How could I just ignore him after a twelve hour shift? Shouldn't he be the first person I want to see when I walk in the door? What is wrong with me!?
Of course, I still didn't get help. I did some research online, but of course at that time, most everything I could find were horrifying articles about PPD gone really wrong with some kind of loss of life. I was so worried that because I was in the military and his dad and I weren't married that if I mentioned anything even related to PPD that CPS would show up and take my baby. And even if I didn't feel the way people told me I should, I still loved him.
Unfortunately, it took me a really long time to REALLY bond with him and I don't think we did any real bonding until he was around 2 years of age. I still feel sometimes like I need to prove to him that I love him so much because I'm afraid he remembers my being distant and crabby all of the time.
Now, lets move on to my second child. In between the two, I received my Masters Degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and knew SOOOOO much more on the subject. I voiced my concern to my OB and she mentioned a medication I could take before I gave birth, just in case, but it could cause some breathing difficulty for the baby. WHAT!!? No-freaking-way. She then told me, "well, we don't want you to hurt yourself or the baby." I stopped seeing her immediately. I couldn't believe the doctor had just told me I needed to take medication that could harm my baby so I didn't hurt him or myself. I get the concern, but I feel like her bedside manner needed an adjustment.
So, I didn't take the meds. I just figured I would be super aware and go to the dr at the first sign.
Again, after a very short labor, my second son was brought into the world. And I felt it. I felt all of things people say you should feel. I cried when they set him on my chest for skin-to-skin. I loved him so much right then in that moment. Then I cried some more because I couldn't believe what I was feeling and that all those years, people really were feeling that way!
Then I got to my recovery room. I had the normal fears moms have, or at least I assume most moms have. Is he getting enough milk, why is he crying, oh my gosh he's so small I'm going to break him. Except. Every time I had these fears, which was basically every second of every day, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop worrying. No matter how many times the nurse said he was getting plenty to eat and that his stomach was the size of... an olive? I don't really remember what she said, but I still worried. EXCESSIVELY. I couldn't sleep. I stared at his chest to make sure he was breathing. ALL NIGHT LONG.
When we were ready to go home, I wanted to stay one extra day because if something happened, at least we would be in the hospital. Less than 5 minutes after walking into the door of our home, I had a panic attack. We had had friends watching the older kids, and because they lived in another city, they brought their dogs to stay with them. Which meant we had 5 dogs living in our house while we were in the hospital. Imagine 3 days worth of 5 dogs shedding hair. So, we walk in the door, and I see the balls of hair in the corners and under the furniture and on the rug and everywhere else. I start to complain about how the kids didn't do their chores while we were gone, etc. etc. My very dear husband immediately starts to pickup and pull the vacuum out.
I had to walk back outside where I sat on the porch with my brand new baby and my visions of dog hair being sucked into his tiny, baby lungs, and I cried. Thank goodness it was the middle of a work day, because I can only imagine what the neighbors would have thought. As I sat on the porch, hysterically crying, hyperventilating, and still watching my baby take each breath, I wondered again, "what the hell is wrong with me." And unfortunately, it didn't stop there.
I worried about everything. If I didn't put the baby in the carseat, I would wonder, "did we grab the baby? Is he strapped in? Is he strapped in the right way? Is it tight enough? Is it too tight?" I would worry like this, struggling to breathe, EVERYWHERE we went, for the ENTIRE car ride.
If I did put him in his seat, I would still have the same worries, just a little less on the first one.
Still to this day, I check his breathing. He is 15 months old, and I still check to see if he is breathing daily.
This time, I asked for help. And it has been SO much better this time around. Yes, I still worry. But now, it's almost at a normal level. ;)
It's OKAY to ask for help. It's more than okay to ask for help. Society puts so much pressure on moms that we sometimes feel like we have to bottle up our feelings and do what is expected of us, but that isn't necessary. Ask for help. Take a moment or two or however long to yourself. Postpartum mental health is no joke and needs to be taken care of just ask much as your postpartum physical health.
You're doing great, mama! Keep it up, and don't be afraid to ask for help!
Y'all. No. No. No.
It's also not ONLY the two extremes of drowning your baby or feeling a little down about your new role in life. It is so, so, so, so, so much more.
Postpartum Depression is, "a more severe (than baby blues), longer lasting form of depression," and it happens (documented) in 1 of 8 new mothers. And by new, I just mean a new little one, not only first time moms.
Postpartum Anxiety is typically a feeling of losing control; going crazy; or excessive, constant worry surrounding the baby.
The big factor in diagnosing these, are the symptoms that come along with them. Postpartum depression isn't just being sad; it's feeling anything but love toward your new baby, it can be a lack of bonding with baby, it can be numbness, it can be irritability, etc. Postpartum anxiety isn't just being worried about your baby or how you're doing as a mother; it's having panic attacks over the things you're worrying about, it can be feeling like you're losing your mind over trying to keep things in perfect order or over wondering whether the baby is still breathing, etc.
So here we go, I'm going to talk about myself again. :)
When I had my oldest son in 2010, I knew nothing. Literally. NOTHING. About parenting. I was just shy of 21-years-old when I had him. My now husband and I had only been dating for a short period of time and most of that time had been long-distance. My entire pregnancy was unreal to me. I remember after my water broke, sitting on the toilet--sorry, TMI--thinking, OH MY GOSH, I will never be back in this house without a baby again. It was like my entire pregnancy became real in that moment. I had nine months to come to terms with this, and it only just started to happen 2 and a half hours before my son would be brought into this world.
Yes, two and a half hours because I basically shoot my children out with a sneeze. No, I'm just kidding about the sneeze: but not about the time frame. Everyone thinks a two-hour labor sounds awesome. It's not. It has it's fair share of horrid moments, I promise. The worst being that when my contractions started, both times around 6 minutes apart, it didn't take them long before it's basically one long contraction until the baby arrives. Also, no matter how many times you yell at the nurse, there is no time for an epidural. I digress.
So, I bring my beautiful baby boy home, my husband comes back from overseas, and life is great, right? Well. No. Not really. I want to first say, that I am so thankful that my husband stuck by my side through my mood swings, my numbness, and my lack of involvement. He actually proposed to me during this time, so he must've kind of liked me a little, right?
People would say things like, "Isn't it amazing how much love you felt immediately?!" And other variations of this statement, and I would smile and nod and say, "yes, it's so great!" But at the same time I was silently thinking, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!? WHY DON'T I FEEL THE WAY EVERYONE ELSE SAYS I'M SUPPOSED TO FEEL!?"
Every time I went to the doctor, I would fill out the forms, intentionally lying about how I felt because... people with postpartum depression want to kill their babies, and I don't feel that way, so it must not be PPD, right? If that wasn't my thought, it was "what if they take him away from me!?" As I said, I knew nothing back then.
So basically, I went through the forms and the appointments lying, saying everything was fine, that life was great, etc. I didn't know anything. I didn't know how bad it was until sometime around 6 months of age, I walked through the door after work, right past my sweet, beautiful baby boy, to my bedroom to change out of my uniform, walked back out and straight to the couch where I slumped down. My husband walked up to me and said, "are you even going to acknowledge your son?"
I honestly, cannot think of a time in my life where I've felt worse than I did in that moment. It was then that I knew something was really, really wrong. How could I just ignore him after a twelve hour shift? Shouldn't he be the first person I want to see when I walk in the door? What is wrong with me!?
Of course, I still didn't get help. I did some research online, but of course at that time, most everything I could find were horrifying articles about PPD gone really wrong with some kind of loss of life. I was so worried that because I was in the military and his dad and I weren't married that if I mentioned anything even related to PPD that CPS would show up and take my baby. And even if I didn't feel the way people told me I should, I still loved him.
Unfortunately, it took me a really long time to REALLY bond with him and I don't think we did any real bonding until he was around 2 years of age. I still feel sometimes like I need to prove to him that I love him so much because I'm afraid he remembers my being distant and crabby all of the time.
Now, lets move on to my second child. In between the two, I received my Masters Degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and knew SOOOOO much more on the subject. I voiced my concern to my OB and she mentioned a medication I could take before I gave birth, just in case, but it could cause some breathing difficulty for the baby. WHAT!!? No-freaking-way. She then told me, "well, we don't want you to hurt yourself or the baby." I stopped seeing her immediately. I couldn't believe the doctor had just told me I needed to take medication that could harm my baby so I didn't hurt him or myself. I get the concern, but I feel like her bedside manner needed an adjustment.
So, I didn't take the meds. I just figured I would be super aware and go to the dr at the first sign.
Again, after a very short labor, my second son was brought into the world. And I felt it. I felt all of things people say you should feel. I cried when they set him on my chest for skin-to-skin. I loved him so much right then in that moment. Then I cried some more because I couldn't believe what I was feeling and that all those years, people really were feeling that way!
Then I got to my recovery room. I had the normal fears moms have, or at least I assume most moms have. Is he getting enough milk, why is he crying, oh my gosh he's so small I'm going to break him. Except. Every time I had these fears, which was basically every second of every day, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop worrying. No matter how many times the nurse said he was getting plenty to eat and that his stomach was the size of... an olive? I don't really remember what she said, but I still worried. EXCESSIVELY. I couldn't sleep. I stared at his chest to make sure he was breathing. ALL NIGHT LONG.
When we were ready to go home, I wanted to stay one extra day because if something happened, at least we would be in the hospital. Less than 5 minutes after walking into the door of our home, I had a panic attack. We had had friends watching the older kids, and because they lived in another city, they brought their dogs to stay with them. Which meant we had 5 dogs living in our house while we were in the hospital. Imagine 3 days worth of 5 dogs shedding hair. So, we walk in the door, and I see the balls of hair in the corners and under the furniture and on the rug and everywhere else. I start to complain about how the kids didn't do their chores while we were gone, etc. etc. My very dear husband immediately starts to pickup and pull the vacuum out.
I had to walk back outside where I sat on the porch with my brand new baby and my visions of dog hair being sucked into his tiny, baby lungs, and I cried. Thank goodness it was the middle of a work day, because I can only imagine what the neighbors would have thought. As I sat on the porch, hysterically crying, hyperventilating, and still watching my baby take each breath, I wondered again, "what the hell is wrong with me." And unfortunately, it didn't stop there.
I worried about everything. If I didn't put the baby in the carseat, I would wonder, "did we grab the baby? Is he strapped in? Is he strapped in the right way? Is it tight enough? Is it too tight?" I would worry like this, struggling to breathe, EVERYWHERE we went, for the ENTIRE car ride.
If I did put him in his seat, I would still have the same worries, just a little less on the first one.
Still to this day, I check his breathing. He is 15 months old, and I still check to see if he is breathing daily.
This time, I asked for help. And it has been SO much better this time around. Yes, I still worry. But now, it's almost at a normal level. ;)
It's OKAY to ask for help. It's more than okay to ask for help. Society puts so much pressure on moms that we sometimes feel like we have to bottle up our feelings and do what is expected of us, but that isn't necessary. Ask for help. Take a moment or two or however long to yourself. Postpartum mental health is no joke and needs to be taken care of just ask much as your postpartum physical health.
You're doing great, mama! Keep it up, and don't be afraid to ask for help!
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