When I think back now, I can actually pinpoint the first time I thought something was strange….
Moments before…
She’s not crying. She’s not crying. Why isn’t she crying?
Milliseconds felt like hours as the doctor told me our baby girl was born, at 12:21pm, but I wasn’t hearing her cry.
It felt like eternity. But before my thoughts could even be formed into words, I heard a suction sound and a very loud wail. Lol. Now THAT was certainly a precursor to how loud this little human was going to be.
It was also the last thing I remember feeling anxious about in that operating room.
Mere Minutes After Birth…
My husband and I had just snuggled our swaddled daughter for the first time. Taken our first family photo, thanks to my angel of an Anesthesiologist. I had just thought to myself ‘I wish I had more than one hand and a cheek to touch her with.’ (Due to how I had to remain on the operating table for them to finish sewing me up from my C-Section.)
Then my husband took my daughter away from my face to give to the nurse. Everyone was focused elsewhere in the operating room and I had a moment just to myself. A moment when I thought ‘Huh, I’m far more calm than I expected. Shouldn’t I be overjoyed, ecstatic, elated? Or, knowing me, anxious that my daughter is leaving the room without me?’
But I was none of those things.
An Odd Serenity
I was abnormally calm, cool, and collected as the doctor was sewing my abdomen back together after a successful Cesarian birth.
Me. The woman who overthinks everything and was in tears the day before because I wouldn’t be able to have immediate skin-to-skin contact because of ‘hospital policy’ in the operating room.
I almost felt strangely detached.
I mean, I might have called it serenity but it wasn’t peaceful so much as business-like. You know, the ‘game face’ you put on for a presentation or calmly taking control of a chaotic situation? Except I hadn’t done that. I finally just attributed the feeling to my epidural or simply exhaustion from the thirteen hours I had been awake prior to surgery (a story for another post).
That moment right there, that’s what I now believe was the first sign of what would much later be diagnosed as Severe Postpartum Depression and Anxiety.
6 years later…
It was six years this January when that moment occurred. Six years and so, so, SO much has happened. But I still remember it. And I still remember that I thought it was odd.
What’s funny, though? I don’t know if I remembered that moment when I was going through the hell of the PPD (PostPartum Depression) and the two years of therapy (and yes, medication) to overcome it. It may have only become clear after I came out of the ‘fog’. I mean hindsight is 20/20, right? But thank God for that – then we can reflect, learn, and maybe help someone else spend less time in that very lonely fog.
from healing to helping
In fact, that’s one BIG reason I started this blog…and aptly enough during Mental Health Awareness Month. If I can help even ONE mother feel less crazy, less alone, less lost in the fog, less weak and broken and unworthy by sharing my story…then it’s all been worth it.
Because suffering PPD convinces a mother she is alone.
She is convinced that NO one who hasn’t experienced exactly what she’s feeling knows what’s going on or how truly incompetent and burdensome she is.
Friends, spouse, family, all those who are helping her are simply keeping her head above water. (But BLESS you for that life preserver!)
So maybe one mother will find this when she is desperately Googling to determine if she is crazy. And maybe she’ll see my words here to tell her, my darling, you are AMAZING and you can get through this.
You are NOT alone and you are NOT crazy.
I’ve been there. I KNOW.
You are a mama, strong and brave, even though you do not feel it right now.
And THE most selfless and giving thing you can do for that beautiful baby is to ask for help.
Any Illness Needs Attention
Postpartum Depression and Anxiety is an illness. And just like any illness, you call a health professional.
So call your doctor and ask for a therapist.
Or, if you are in the USA, call the number above, from the National Alliance on Mental Illness.
Then let me know you did – truly, contact me – so I can send you a huge virtual hug from someone who knows it CAN be okay again. *huge squish*
The face of Severe Postpartum Depression and Anxiety.
Would you have ‘seen’ it on my face?
Mental illness can often be hidden very well.
