We meet again…

Photo Cred. Janean Gray Photography.

 

That baby. That boy. That husband. This life.

I have dreamed of it. All of it. Since I was little. A boy and a girl. A great neighborhood. A job I am passionate about. A husband that I adore and who adores me.

I have it all. I’ve had it all. And yet, I can’t seem to capture the happiness I should be blissfully entangled in. I know why. I’ve met her before. Our last encounter was horrible, unwelcome, and completely by surprise. Her name, Postpartum Depression.

She’s the worst. She used to tell me ugly lies. She used to make me cry for no reason. She used to make me feel worthless. That was the first time we met.

Now, I don’t cry. Ever. She makes me numb. She puts a filter on my sunshine. She used to make me feel less than, not good enough, anxious, like everything was wrong. I’ve become wise to her tricks. I have outsmarted her. I no longer think those things or feel those feelings. This time, her approach is different.

Now, she makes me tired. The kind of tired that is never relieved. The kind that is exhausted just thinking about the next day. She makes me feel nothing. Empty.

I feel happiness, most days even, but not to the extend that I should.
I feel sadness, sometimes, but not to the extent that I should.
I mostly feel nothing.
My babies, they bring me happiness. The kind that makes me laugh until I cry and the kind that makes me thank God endlessly for the sweetness he has placed in my life. Other than them, I feel nothing.

The first time we met, I was utterly and completely sad. I cried ALL. THE. TIME. I wanted so desperately to be pregnant again. The anticipation and excitement of a baby coming was over and I was distraught. I loved my boy. Blissfully so. He made me so very happy. But, I still cried. Every day. I was still sad. Every Day. Blissfully in love and yet so sad. Can those two things coexist? Yes. they can.

Those first few days after birth, you are asked to fill out the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale. It asks you a variety of questions. The fist few days after birth, I felt happy. Exhausted. But HAPPY! So…I passed that test. Each time I took it. I passed. For each child, each time I took that test, I passed. Postpartum depression? NOPE! Not this girl. Not the first month…or the second…or even the third…and then month four came and HELLO SADNESS!

I didn’t know what it was. Because, the media, and even the doctors make you think postpartum depression is being huddled in a corner, rocking back- and- forth, crying. You have thoughts of suicide, self-harm, and no attachment to your baby. Maybe even thoughts of harming your baby.

By that account, I absolutely did NOT have postpartum depression. Not. Even. Close. I cried, albeit, a lot. But not a scary crazy amount. I felt sad. But I also felt happy.
I never, not one time, thought about harming myself. I never contemplated suicide. And my baby, I was smitten. I was attached. I adored him. I never thought about harming him. Ever.

Which is why it took me until month six or seven to reach out for help. To understand that I did, in fact, have postpartum depression. That I did, in fact, need help. And… help I got. Within a few weeks of reaching out, I was SO normal again. No more crying. No more sadness. Praise GOD!

I have fought back, I have. I have worked out, ran, prayed, got out of the house, talked for hours to my husband, and here I am, still feeling nothing. I will continue to do all of those things, until my hormones even out and I am back to the girl I used to be. But it is exhausting. I know, by doing those things, it will eventually bring me back to where I need to be. I know, from experience, that this has an end. It has an expiration date. It happens. It isn’t embarrassing. In fact, it is quite common.

This time, I know how to handle her. I know her angle. I know what she plans to do. I know how to combat her. I am fighting. Every day. If she becomes too combative, I will seek help. Right now, I think I have a good handle on her.

This post is for the girl who is experiencing this and doesn’t know what to do. SEEK HELP. Talk to your doctor. You don’t have to be suicidal or even unable to get out of bed to have PPD. You don’t have to spend the first year of your sweet baby’s life with a filter over your eyes. You CAN be happy. Reach out to someone. Let them know how you feel. Let them know what is going on in your mind and your heart. Talk to your doctor if it is seriously affecting your life.

And…most of all, know that you are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not a bad mother. You did not cause this, your crazy baby making hormones did. This is not something to be embarrassed about. A lot of women suffer from this. A LOT. Society makes us think we have control over this, we don’t. Society tells you that you are a crazy lunatic. You aren’t.

Postpartum depression, She is a crazy hag. Get rid of her.

You will be happy again. You can be happy NOW.