May 23, 2018
Got a chance to start again. I was born for this. It’s who I am, how could I forget? I made it through the darkest part of the night and now I see the sunrise. – Macklemore
Hello again. I know I haven’t written for a bit now; after my last post I needed a little break. Talking about my PPD in such raw terms is a very vulnerable and, frankly, scary thing for me to do- especially because it is still a current struggle for me. They say everyone loves a comeback story, but what if you’re still coming back? Can that be loved, too?
As I mentioned in my last post, there was no overnight cure once I started the antidepressant. It takes about 6 weeks for the medication to build up in your system enough to make any difference, so for quite a while nothing really changed except the fact that I knew I was working towards getting better. During this time, I continued to feel, well, nothing. I told my therapist I fluctuated between feeling comfortably and uncomfortably numb. She remarked how profound I was for saying that; little did she know I was just ripping of Pink Floyd lyrics.
I would say this period was hard, but the truth is I really don’t remember it. It breaks my heart to admit this, but from the time my son was about 3-9 months, my memory is just a black hole. It almost feels like my psyche was protecting me from myself. It’s devastating to have missed out on so much of my son’s early life, but I am grateful for all the photos I took. My lowest moment came when Fox, my parents, and my therapist all agreed my parents should take my daughter with them to Washington for a few weeks to give me a break. Even though I knew it was for the best, not being able to fulfill my role as a mother made me feel the worst.
Once the medications started to act in my body I started to feel more again. Unfortunately, it was mostly bad feelings at first and I found myself wishing I could be numb again. I remember having a disagreement with Fox one night and I started to tear up out of frustration; we stopped arguing, he held me close and told me it was nice to have me back again. I still mostly saw a stranger when I looked in the mirror, but at least I could catch glimpses of myself now and then.
As luck would have it, as I started to be numb less and less, life decided to throw me more and more. Through various circumstances unrelated to the depression, I was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with my job, but I stuck it out because we had reason to believe the Army might be moving us soon anyway. This move would mean Fox would have to do some extended training as well so we made plans for me to move back to Washington with the kids for a few months. As much as I hated the idea of breaking up our family, I couldn’t wait to live around a larger network of support. But Uncle Sam is a fickle ringmaster and all of that got canceled. The “break” I had been so hoping for was pulled right out from under me; I started to really backslide and spiral into a bad place again. In a fit of spontaneity-fueled-by-panic, I told Fox I needed a change and somehow convinced him we should move into a small apartment in a town further north. Subsequently, this made the commute to my work too far and I quit. I was desperate for a change and, if I couldn’t change myself, changing my surroundings was the next best thing.
And that brings me up to today. If you ask me how I’m feeling I’ll probably say I’m fine. But the truth is some days I’m good and some days I’m really not. Just last week I locked myself in the bathroom and sobbed. Fox came home from work to find me like this and I’ll just say it wasn’t my proudest moment. But the fact that days like this are the exception and not the standard anymore is indicative of my progress and I am proud of that. I am still on medication and I still go to therapy weekly (albeit with a different therapist who has been much more supportive and therapeutic). I don’t know how long I will stay on the meds or with a therapist, but I need them now and that’s okay.
In addition to becoming my best, I am attempting to restore what I lost while I was at my worst. When my mental health suffers so does my physical health; I am an emotional eater and let’s just say I ate a lot of emotions. And despite exercise being something that helps clear my head, I often couldn’t muster the energy or care to work out. I am now working to get healthy and look and feel my best. I’m also trying to better invest in the relationships that I neglected while I was in what Anne of Green Gables would call the depths of despair. At my core I am an introvert and when things become overwhelming I tend to withdraw from friends and family. So if I forgot your birthday or take 6 weeks to reply to your text, rest assured it’s not you- it’s me. I’m sorry. And beyond grateful to those who love me when I can’t love myself.
As I mentioned in the last post, I am not sharing this because it’s unique or special. I am sharing because I know I am not alone and I want to help others realize that, too. Depression, in all its forms, is nothing to feel guilt or shame about, although I’ll admit that’s easier said than done. I also want to impart that PPD doesn’t always look how we think it will, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I had a hard time accepting my diagnosis because I wasn’t crying every day and I didn’t have thoughts of wanting to hurt my kids. It also doesn’t always occur when we most expect it. Many women are prepared for an initial case of “baby blues” due to the hormonal drop you experience after you give birth, but did you know PPD can start at any point during the first post-partum year? We need to start doing a better job of checking in and asking moms how they’re really doing- and not just during the newborn phase. If you have any questions or personal experiences to add, I would love to hear them. Let’s talk and take care of each other.
We got this, mamas, even if it forever feels like we don’t.
Home is Where 