The Day I Had My Baby and Lost My Mind

This might not be my most eloquent post. I'm not going to do much in the way of editing. I'm trying to get it written during my 7 month old's nap time.

I need to write this because I can't stop thinking about it, and wanting to put these words out there, in the mix. I had an experience 7 months ago that shook me deeply, and now that it's over I have a sense of clarity about it that I want to offer to anyone who is willing to listen. Here's the story:

I've had 3 babies. I experienced post partum anxiety/depression after each of them, to varying degrees. Let me tell you about this last one. Asher was born June 19th at 6:00 pm. He ended up in the NICU later, but at this point all was well, and we had no reason to think otherwise. They moved us to a different room, Asher with us, and we settled in for the night. (as "settled" as you can get in a hospital room). I started to feel weird.

I mean, of course I felt weird, right? I had spent 2 days in labor. I was exhausted and I knew that there were no long stretches of sleep in store for me. I had done this before. So there is some understandable trepidation. I "knew" what I was getting into, but there was the inevitable "oh crap, I remember now" feeling of having a brand new baby who is entirely dependent on you to survive. So there's that.

But this was more. The weird I felt went from weird to white hot dread and terror. By midnight that night, 6 hours after I gave birth, I was sitting next to my husband sobbing and begging him to promise that he would help me, and that somehow we would get through this because I was so scared. I went from capable mother and wife - superwoman pushing a baby out with no pain meds, to a small, scared child. That is how I felt. The change was so swift and severe that I couldn't make sense of it.

That night while Bill tried to doze I couldn't sleep. I held Asher and cried, my tears falling on him, and a sweet nurse came in the room and found me like that. I told her I couldn't calm down and I was afraid something was wrong with Asher, that he was breathing fast. Was that normal? I know I'm hormonal, I just can't sleep. She offered to take Asher to the nursery where they would take good care of him while I slept. That night he ended up in the NICU because, in fact, his breathing wasn't normal. His lungs were underdeveloped. That was a big deal, and a story of its own but I don't want to take a lot of time on it now because it isn't the point of THIS story. Thank God, Asher is well, his NICU stay was only 4 days. An eternity to us, but much shorter than what a lot of people have experienced.

I had been fairly steady emotionally through this pregnancy (after the first trimester of feeling disgusting all the time.) Yes I was irritable and physically uncomfortable. I'm not saying I was full of sunshine all the time, but I know myself and my moods and I was normal. I really felt fine. My emotions were in line with my reality. I've gotten pretty good at gauging this over the years. Just hours after Asher was born, this was no longer the case.

For three weeks I was in a state of holding my breath, muscles tensed, tears and dread. Overwhelming, dark dread that feels like the only thing that exists or will ever exist again. I was afraid to be alone. Yet all I wanted was to be left alone. I had support. Bill was home for 6 weeks! We had an excellent meal train. I could take all the naps I needed. I could go sit in the sunshine. I could relax and heal and settle in with this new little guy and all was well. And I felt like bolting, every second of every day. The ONE thing that gave me relief was Ativan, and with that came despair because I am a recovering alcoholic who knows my addictive nature. Once I felt relief I wanted to have it ALL THE TIME. They cautioned me to take it only when things were absolutely unbearable, and I remember thinking, you don't understand - it's ALWAYS unbearable. I don't recognize myself. I want to crawl out of my skin. I literally felt like I didn't belong in my body. I didn't belong to this person I was living inside of. I didn't get joy from anything. Bill would urge me to do the things I enjoy, get into a new tv show, work on my beads, go on walks, get some sun, get out with friends. It was like I couldn't even remember how I derived pleasure from those things before. I literally felt like a different person.

And I think that's the point I want to emphasize. I wasn't just struggling to re-adjust to life with 3 kids. It wasn't "baby blues". Something was wrong.

Many people will go through their lives never experiencing this kind of chemical explosion in their brains and bodies. And that is good. Unfortunately that also means that lots and lots of people don't understand that this is a legitimate issue for those of us who do experience it. It is not something we can control. It isn't because we want to be dramatic, or get attention. It isn't because we are weak. It isn't because we are eating poorly. It is not a lack of character. And for the love of all that is good and Holy, it is NOT evidence of our poor spiritual condition. There is not one person who isn't at the mercy of the chemicals and hormones in our brains. If any person is stripped of the homeostasis your brain needs to function correctly, this could be your reality. And it's particularly brutal for the woman who has just given birth, who needs to be able to function in order take care of her baby.

There is a narrative out there that says that when you have a baby you will instantly fall in love with it, and your instincts will make caring for it a breeze. It's a myth. I haven't seen good come from the myth. Its breeds guilt and shame and fear for those of us (the majority, I would argue) who don't have this experience. Even women who recover relatively quickly and don't have post partum depression or anxiety fumble through with unmet expectations of themselves, their baby, and their partner. I wish we could smash this narrative and change it to something that resembles reality because maybe then we could offer and receive the kind of support that makes the experience something truly incredible and beautiful.

For me, at about 3 weeks the zoloft I started taking the day after I gave birth started to do the trick. Almost like someone flipped a switch. I started to feel like a person again. I started to feel like me again. I had a way to go, but I noticed that the dread came and went, instead of sitting on me constantly. After a few more weeks I started to enjoy things again. I began to feel like I belonged in my skin again. My feelings started to line up with my reality again.

I don't want to be on zoloft forever. I think there are problems with ssri's and with the way pharmaceuticals get passed out so freely. BUT that is a different blog post, and I have no shame in taking what I needed to in order for my brain to start producing the chemicals I needed.

If you have your own story about anxiety or depression (post-partum related or not), let me be another voice taking the shame out of that experience for you. If you have not been met with support or understanding, let me apologize to you for that. There is nothing shameful about you. It isn't your fault. You didn't do something wrong for this to have happened to you. There may be reasons yet undiscovered about our food, or environment that cause these things, but that doesn't change the fact that there is something legitimately happening in your brain that needs to be addressed.

If this isn't your story, let me gently urge you to approach other's stories with compassion and open-mindedness. If a loved one is suddenly not acting like themselves, or is claiming depression or anxiety, please listen. Please don't shame them. Please realize that if they are making your life difficult, they most likely are feeling that pain more deeply than you are. Particularly in the case of post-partum issues. Let me also add the disclaimer that mental illness doesn't excuse abuse, and there are certainly cases in which someone needs to remove themselves from someone they love. That can be done without heaping shame. That can be done better with the help of professionals. If you are the child of a parent who is mentally unwell, it is NOT your responsibility to take care of them, or twist yourself in knots to accommodate them. Oh lord, this could turn into an entirely different blog post, so I won't say anymore on that subject for now.

More than anything, now that it's over, I'm grateful for the severity and swiftness of the experience I had after having Asher. I have struggled with these things throughout my life, but never in such stark contrast. It solidified in me that conviction that it was not my fault, and I could not control it. It sparked in me a desire to speak up about mental illness, both post-partum and otherwise because we don't help each other by being embarrassed, or ashamed about it. We help each other by sharing our stories truthfully, and offering support and solidarity, compassion and hope, and love.

I am well now. I have up, down and in between days, and I am very much myself in them. Asher is an amazing, thriving, sweet, drooly, sometimes screamy 7 month old, and we are finding our feet as a family of 5. Somedays we can't wait for bedtime, some days we are better at savoring the moments. But we are good. The dread is gone. If your season today is dark, let me bring you some light and love and solidarity. I know that darkness, and I promise it doesn't have to last forever.