The face of Postpartum Depression

I am the mom of two. I am a wife. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a friend. I am a labor and delivery nurse. I am the face of postpartum depression.

I vividly remember the first night we brought our daughter Callie home from the hospital. She had been crying off and on all day and despite my best attempts to comfort her nothing seemed to be working. My nipples were cracked and bleeding. I was wearing an adult diaper and hurting in places I didn't even know I could hurt. I hadn't slept in what felt like days. I was exhausted and overwhelmed. The thoughts in my head surrounded me like hungry sharks circling their prey preparing for attack.

You're not good enough.
You can't do this.
You're too young.
You have no idea what you're doing.

I felt like I was drowning and gasping for air. I didn't know how much longer I could tread water. I didn't know how much longer I wanted to. My soul deep sobs led my husband back to our bedroom where I laid curled up in a ball, trying desperately to contain the fear that had consumed me.

 "Did we make the right decision?" I asked him. "Are you sure we shouldn't have given her up for adoption?" I sobbed harder, thinking about all the moments that had led up to welcoming this perfect human being into the world.

Unwed, pregnant and a senior at a Christian college I endured harsh judgment, criticism and ridicule from close friends, peers and professors. I lost friendships I thought were rooted deep in the love of Jesus.

 . Many in my position would have chosen abortion (and did), but I chose life. 

"I think you just need some sleep" my husband reassured me. The next morning I woke up and thought, "I can't imagine my life without this girl". Looking back I now chuckle about my freak out moment, but at the time the emotions I felt were very real. 

Fear. Anxiety. Worry. Panic. Exhaustion. Fear. Panic. Fear. 

Fast forward 8 months. We found out we were expecting baby #2. Joy. Thankfulness. Excitement. Fear. 

The second pregnancy flew. Maybe it was because I was so busy chasing after a toddler that I didn't care to look at all 15 pregnancy apps I had downloaded during my first pregnancy to track each passing day, but before I knew it D day was just around the corner. 

Panic. Fear. Worry. Anxiety. 

How would I love another human being as much as I loved my daughter? It couldn't be possible. I felt like if I loved another human I would be betraying her. It wouldn't be fair to her. She needed me. And I needed her. She was MY baby. We knew each other. I loved her. I didn't have room for more in my heart. I wasn't sure I wanted to have room. 

Good friends assured me it would be ok. They said despite feeling like you couldn't love another child as much as your first that you would. In time, you'd learn them too and they'd have a special place in your heart. The love isn't divided, a good friend told me, it multiplies. 

I remained skeptical. 

Then he came. I cried tears of joy. Relief. Love. Instantaneous love. 

Nothing can quite compare to the moment my daughter met her little brother. I thought my heart was literally going to explode. The joy on her face. I will always always remember THAT moment. 

Then we went home. I ate my placenta (a story for another day), was overwhelmed and thankful for all the support from our friends and family and felt great. No better than great. I felt high. High on life. Sleep evaded me but it didn't matter. I hardly noticed. I was so in love with my new family of 4 I felt unstoppable. 

Then came the crash. During my second pregnancy I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and needed to have it removed. I made the difficult decision to wait to have it removed until after I delivered. My sweet boy was 5 weeks old when I underwent a total thyroidectomy. The doctor had told me that I would need Radioactive Iodine (RAI) therapy after surgery to ensure all the cancer was gone. This meant being away from my kids for an entire week, as the radiation could be emitted off of me onto them and destroy their immature thyroids. 

Long story short, the cancer was smaller than anticipated and I opted out of RAI. I was thankful and hoped to resume life as normal. 

But it wasn't normal. My hormones plummeted. I didn't want to be around anyone. I didn't want to go anywhere. I cried off and on, day and night. I looked at my newborn baby and knew in my heart that I loved him but couldn't feel anything. That made me angry. Where love and patience should have been, anger and resentment grew. No, festered. 

My sweet babe would cry and I became so overwhelmed I couldn't even think. I'd place him upstairs in his crib and say "I'm sorry I'm such a terrible mom. You'll be safer up here". 

Let me take a moment before I go on to say that my babe was always taken care of. I never neglected his immediate needs. I never thought of hurting him. But the thought that I COULD get to a point that I could think about hurting him haunted me. 

I felt like a horrible mom. The worst mom. I remember one night going to my own moms house to get away and I sat at the kitchen table and sobbed. "It's not fair to him. He didn't choose me. He didn't get to choose his mom. And now he's stuck with me. He's stuck with me forever."

Raw emotion. Fear. Anxiety. Worry. Depression. 

The days turned into weeks and nothing got better. A friend of mine had delivered a week after me and shared with me that she was being treated for postpartum depression (PPD). It was the breakthrough I needed. 

I needed to know I wasn't the only one. I needed someone to tell me they were struggling too. I needed to know it was ok and that it wasn't my fault. 

No one chooses to look into their child's eyes and feel nothing. No one chooses to place their child in a crib feeling like their better off there than in their mothers arms. No one chooses to feel disconnected to a life they grew inside of their very being. 

She gave me the push I needed to seek help and I will forever be grateful. It wasn't easy. Admitting you're depressed isn't easy. Admitting you feel (or don't feel) certain things towards your child is torture. I felt like a monster. 

I went to the doctors and told them I was pretty sure I was struggling with PPD. The medical assistant that did my intake exam said, "well why don't you tell me a little bit about your life". So I did. I told her I had a wonderful supportive husband, a beautiful toddler and newborn, and a job I was passionate about that I looked forward to returning to after my leave. "Well it sounds like you have a wonderful life dear! It sounds Iike you have a lot to be thankful for!"

I did. I had a lot to be thankful for. But in that very moment I felt defeated. In that moment, I felt like her words negated my feelings. In that moment, I felt like every little bit of hope I had left, was lost. 

Here I was sitting in the doctors office with my newborn baby who I felt nothing towards but desperately wanted to feel just a fraction of the love I knew I had for him. I wanted to scream. Help me. Please help me. You're not listening to me. I need help. This is not normal. This can't be normal. 

I frantically texted friends for reassurance as I waited for the doctor. I wanted to take my baby and run. I couldn't do this. If the medical assistant hadn't taken me seriously neither would the doctor. No ones going to believe me. Why won't someone believe me? 

She knocked. Then entered. My heart was racing. "I can't believe I'm here. I'm embarrassed" I blurted out. But I didn't stop there. "This is how I feel and I don't want to feel this way anymore. It's killing me. It's literally killing me. My kids deserve better. I deserve better. I know I can be better" I said to her. She sat and listened patiently. I felt like I was talking to mother Teresa. Or Jesus. Not a hint of judgement or doubt passed across her face.  She just sat. And listened. 

When I was done she suggested a progesterone shot and a low dose of Zoloft. God, please let this work, I thought. 

Within days I felt like a new person. I felt like me again. The relief was overwhelming. 

The floodgates of depression were violently opened and a current of love began to flow. And flow. And flow. It hasn't stopped since. 

Praise God. Praise God. Praise God. 

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. 

PPD is real. It is real and it is scary. It is easy to become isolated and think you're alone. Friend, you're not alone. There is hope. Not only can you survive PPD, you can claim victory over it. 

If you or someone you know is dealing with PPD please encourage them to seek help. It does get better. It can get better. It WILL get better. 

I wouldn't wish PPD on anyone. Unfortunately PPD doesn't care who you are. Wife, daughter, sister, friend, or labor & delivery nurse. No one is immune to it. No one is above it. It can happen to anyone. 

And it's not your fault. 

Say it out loud. 

It's not my fault. 

Say it again. 

Now believe it. 

There is hope. Praise The Lord. 

"The nights of crying your eyes out give way to DAYS of LAUGHTER" 

[psalm 30:5] 

Addendum-- since sharing this blog post I have received an OVERWHELMING response. I am humbled. Truly. To those of you seeking help, I applaud you. My heart is so so happy. I want to support you anyway I can. Even if that just means praying for you. I also want to encourage you to persevere. If for some reason you feel as if your cries (or whispers) for help are not being heard or taken seriously PLEASEEEEE get a second opinion. Or third. Or fourth. You are worth it. Depression is a serious matter. Don't waste one more second feeling like you're stuck like this forever. You're not. There is hope! 

Callie & Jax, someday I hope you look back at this and know how much I love you. I have always loved you. I am not perfect. I never will be. But the One who is loves you with an  eternal love. One I will always strive for but will never obtain. In moments you feel unloved (Lord let them be few) remember I'm imperfect. But I'll always try my hardest. You both are my life. 

And they were right. Love doesn't divide. It multiplies. I'm so lucky to be your mama. And even though you didn't get to choose me, I chose you. And I will continue to chose you every single day for the rest of our lives.