Hindsight: A Postpartum Depression Story

You know those moments that you think back on and wish they had gone a certain way? It’s not necessarily regret, but a sort of frustration and understanding that, with the knowledge you now have, being on the “other side” of it, it could have gone so differently. It’s the moments that were within your control (and/or the control of the people around you) that you yearn for, to do it over again. 

The birth of my first son is that moment for me.  Well, not the actual birth but the hours, days, weeks, and months that followed (and, perhaps, the months leading up to it).  

This story has a happy ending.  Other than coming two weeks early with the cord around his neck there were no complications. Benny is a healthy and happy almost 8 year old. But the moments immediately after his birth were lonely. I barely remember holding him. What I do remember is being in bed in the dimly lit hospital room, half reclined and half naked in the bed, with numb legs and a numb mind, just waiting.  Waiting for the doctors to finish repairing me. Waiting or the feeling to come back to my lower half. Waiting for the chance to nurse my son. Waiting for the transfer to my post partum room.  Waiting for… something else? With no baby in my arms. For hours. I didn’t ask questions. I thought it was how it was supposed to be.  It’s still unclear why I only had mere seconds to hold my newborn son after his birth. (It was only after having two more children and experiencing the moments after birth that I became conscious of what could have been with Benny.)

I remember trying to nurse with a room full of visitors after finally being reunited with Benny: tears rolling down my face as I unsuccessfully attempted to fulfill the most basic human need for my son; my husband propping up a pillow to block the view of us in the bed instead of asking the visitors to leave; nurses squeezing and pulling and making comments about my body. And I realize now that in that moment I had failed myself.

In the weeks after we left the hospital, I continued to experience failure:  the failure to breastfeed (because I had assumed it would just happen and so I wasn’t prepared); the failure to speak up for what I wanted (for me and my son, for our new little family, for boundaries that needed to be set); the failure of my support system (admittedly to no fault of their own, they were just as unprepared as I was); the failure to ask for help because I didn’t know I needed it.   

And in all this failure, I sunk into my darkness of postpartum depression. 

But my darkness wasn’t filled with sadness and crying.  It wasn’t filled with disconnectedness and a lack of love for my son.  It was filled with anxiety. It was filled with anger and distrust and paranoia.  I felt like a failure as a mother because I couldn’t nurse my son, so I compensated with being in control of every second of his being.  I felt like everyone was trying to take my baby from me, so I very rarely allowed visitors.  Because I rarely wanted to leave the house, tension rose between my husband and me and furthered my isolating thoughts.  And so everyone was against me; it was just Benny and me against the world. 

Some women say that they knew something wasn’t “right” which prompted them to seek help.  Women experiencing postpartum depression in a second or subsequent birth after a “normal” experience may possibly have the awareness to recognize that. But this was my first time, and I didn’t. I thought I was being rational. I didn’t know it was supposed to be different.  I didn’t think I needed help.  I went to my post partum check up and answered the questions: “do you feel ‘sad’ or unable to connect with your newborn?” – NO. And no one stepped in and said, “this may not be normal, let’s go together and talk to someone”. And so our tiny family suffered in our dawning moments.  And I suffered silently in my darkness. 

My judgment was so clouded that I was not aware that I needed help, but I am not placing blame entirely on the people that surrounded me.  Most people look for textbook signs of depression when identifying postpartum depression. But it’s not just sadness, continuous crying, and disconnectedness.  It’s anger and paranoia.  It’s being emotionally irrational, being controlling and feeling out of control at the same time. We don’t necessarily look for anger or irritably or paranoid thoughts. And so I had to claw and climb my way out of this hole by myself.  And it was so painful. And it took a long, long time.

If you are pregnant, or planning to be, I urge you to find out what healthy postpartum behavior and emotions look like.

Open a dialogue between you, your partner and support system, and your doctor and/or therapist in the months leading up so that if you cannot see past your darkness, and you don’t know to reach out, your partner can stand up for you and with you. 

Generally speaking, there aren’t a whole lot of things I mourn for and I am thankful for that, but to say that I’m not still forlorn for what was, and lost in longing for what could have been, would be a lie. Because I am.  Some days I am filled with sorrow for the moments of missed opportunity. But at the same time I am grateful for those moments and for my subsequent clarity.  I am also grateful for a wonderful and supportive partner in my husband.  Because of our experience we prepared ourselves for the next two times I gave birth. And those times were absolutely perfect. 

My story has a happy ending; all’s well that ends well. But it could’ve been better.  So my call-to-action for you – #mywishformoms AND their support teams: take the classes, learn as much as you can about postpartum depression; be prepared for anything and have a plan with your partner. That person may be the one that has to pull you out.