The Fight of My Life

TRIGGER WARNING – Postpartum Depression

How it all started

Honestly, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when things started to spiral for me, but I would say that it all began with my terrible experience in the hospital after birthing my son. I was treated less than ideally by my labor and delivery nurse, and from that point on nothing went as I had hoped or expected. I wasn’t able to breastfeed and had to fight with a nurse to give me formula for my hungry infant. Upon checking out and filling out the PPD screening worksheet, another nurse tried to make me change my answers so that I wouldn’t come out as high risk and have to have a follow-up appointment. Spoiler alert, I didn’t change my answers, but no one followed up anyway. Fast forward to going home. My poor brand-new baby screamed 8-10 hours a day, and his doctors didn’t believe anything was wrong. I was not sleeping and had bad tearing that prevented me from getting around very well. When my milk finally did come in around day 5, I felt so ill and was totally unprepared to start my pumping journey, but I tried anyway which added yet another stressor to my plate. The guilt of not pumping enough amidst the constant screaming was so heavy.

First Signs of PPD

They always say hindsight is 20/20. So, looking back I think one of the very first warning signs I should’ve noticed was that I stopped eating. Not that I really had the time or ability to very much, what with not being able to walk down my stairs or put the baby down, but it was a little bit deeper than that. I really only ate if my mom came over and made me a meal or my husband brought food home. I honestly wasn’t even hungry. I had no appetite for weeks and almost immediately lost 30 lbs of baby weight.

Another sign I can think of now is that I spent a lot of time alone. My thoughts and emotions were all over the place, and I spent a lot of time alone in my house totally withdrawing from everyone. My husband and I were fighting a lot, and I felt so bad that I wasn’t the person I used to be for him. I also didn’t feel like I was the mom I expected to be either. I felt like I was totally failing. I started to decline help from family because I felt like I should have been able to do everything myself. While this did force me to gain confidence as a mom, it was also super lonely.

Breaking Point

When we finally figured out that Myles simply had a milk allergy and switched his formula, it was life-changing. He began sleeping through the night, smiling, laughing and showing how much of a happy baby he was at heart. At the same time, I had mounting anxiety about going back to work and really wanted to quit my job. My husband and I did not want Myles in daycare yet, so he started working nights to be with baby during the day while I worked. After 2 weeks of this, COVID hit, and I was sent home to work remotely. While that was at the time the biggest blessing, it also allowed me to withdraw and spiral even further down this dark hole I had entered.

Today, I know that I suffer from OCD, but at this time, I had not been diagnosed or even been to therapy. The panic I felt about COVID was next-level, like every decision was literally life or death for my baby. So, I quarantined, even from my immediate family. If you weren’t in our household, you weren’t seeing us, period. I thought I was doing what was best, but it really took a toll on me. Since I was able to work from home, my husband could sleep more during the day after working all night. This meant that I was again, mostly alone with Myles and my thoughts. Now that Myles had started sleeping through the night, it gave me the time to process everything that had happened and was happening as well as my feelings about it all, and finally I crashed.

I do also think that having crippling anxiety and all the intrusive, obsessive thoughts contributed to my depression. I felt like I just could never be normal again, and I was failing my family. I also had this intense fear that if anyone thought I had postpartum depression, they would take my baby away. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I myself was hurting tremendously. I would sit up at night while Myles slept and think about what his life would be like if I died, because I one day had the realization that I did not want to live like this anymore. I would lay there, unable to sleep literally feeling like my skin was buzzing. Things got very very dark from here, and I started to just wish that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

My Son Saved Me

At this point, Myles saved my life. I don’t know what happened, but it’s like he knew I needed him. He suddenly stopped sleeping through the night. He needed me to hold and snuggle him and was up every couple of hours or more. While it was absolutely exhausting doing it alone every night, it’s almost like he knew I was struggling and was checking on me. This literally saved me, because the thought of him crying all night until his dad came home from work hurt me more than living did. I also knew that no one could handle this like I could; grandma wouldn’t be able to watch him all night, dad wouldn’t be able to function at work and run the household, etc. Myles needed ME. And I thank God that he did, because I decided to keep pushing.

Climbing back up

Eventually, when Myles was around 7 months old, I told my husband how I was feeling and reached out to my OB for help. At that point, I knew I was a good enough mom and I was more confident no one could take my baby away from me. Because of COVID, I couldn’t get into therapy, but my OBGYN prescribed me an antidepressant. It did NOT go well; it was way too high of a dose and made me really sick. So, instead of focusing on that, I focused on physically healing thinking that would make me feel better mentally too. On top of all the feelings I was dealing with, I was having major health issues that just would not go away, no matter how much the doctor told me it was “normal” and to “give it more time.” I threw myself into a postpartum fitness program, I started making appointments with specialists, and I got into physical therapy. While I still felt awful, I had made the realization that I needed to care for myself if I was going to keep caring for my son. That realization was key to my healing.

To say I had a long recovery is an understatement, because I still have physical issues almost 2 years into my son’s life. However, emotionally I am stronger than ever. Coming face to face with such a low time in my life forced me to pick out whatever good I can find and focus on that. It also woke me up to the fact that no one will ever fight for me like I will fight for me. I had to love myself through the worst time to get to the BEST time, and I’m so glad I did. Today, I’m in therapy but happy to say that I’m no longer depressed. I am dealing with my issues past and present, and I am the best mom I can be. I have built a village of people who love and support us and stopped hiding from the hard stuff.

If I could tell myself a year and a half ago anything, it would be that I am the best mother for my child and this life is worth the fight. I AM WORTH THE FIGHT! And if you’re going through it, please know that I know it hurts. It really does. And the only way out is through. It feels unfair, it feels insurmountable. But YOU ARE WORTH THE FIGHT! Please put yourself first, don’t be ashamed to tell someone you need help, and with whatever strength you can summon, commit to becoming your best you. You won’t ever go back to “normal,” but you’ll be better than you’ve ever been, and one day you’ll be able to smile about how far you’ve come. You are needed, you are loved, and you can do this.

#TruthMom