Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Our baby got better, but mommy did not.

“She doesn’t like to be passed around.” These words sounded muffled to me as I lay in my hospital bed recovering from the very hard birth of my daughter. I was sleep deprived, drugged, and still in shock from the amount of pain I felt during my first childbirth experience. Out of all the words uttered over those first days in the hospital, these words stuck with me, maybe because I sensed something even more overwhelming than childbirth was about to rear its ugly head.

By our daughter's second week of life, my husband and I were blindsided by the realization that our precious, beautiful daughter who we so anxiously wanted to welcome in the world, wanted nothing to do with the world we brought her into. We found out much later that our daughter had colic, but for many more weeks we struggled to understand why our baby wouldn’t stop crying. Each week her crying became louder, lasted longer, and sent us into a very confusing and heartbreaking oblivion. She needed constant movement and holding, our bodies becoming sore and tired from squeezing her tight and not letting go for hours at a time. The exercise ball I bounced on in hopes of inducing labor became a permanent fixture in her nursery as we found the higher we bounced on it, the more her little body relaxed.

From the first day I realized I didn’t have an “easy” baby, I began to have thoughts that I never, ever wanted to have. I wanted my old life back, I didn’t want this crying baby anymore, and I regretted what we had done by getting pregnant. It pains me to think my mind was capable of such thoughts, but that is what postpartum depression does. It hijacks the real you and turns you into someone you never want to be. Hopelessness comes quickly knocking at the door and won’t leave until you answer.

As her colic worsened and peaked around 6 or 7 weeks, I started to fear I was losing my mind. I knew there was something wrong when after hours of soothing her and finally getting her to sleep, I lay in bed wired and wide awake. I feared what tomorrow would hold. Would it be worse, would she ever get easier? The insomnia lasted months and left me so weak mentally and physically that there were days when I felt I didn’t have the strength to hold my own child.

As my anxiety and depression worsened each day, I decided to make an appointment with our pediatrician to get to the bottom of my daughter’s crying. I convinced myself that when my daughter got better, then so could I, and we could move on and live the life I had dreamed about during my pregnancy. When my daughter was 9 weeks old, the doctor confirmed that she did indeed have colic and that there was nothing we could do but wait it out and soothe her as best we could.

I left the doctor that day feeling relief. We knew our baby was healthy, that the crying would eventually end, and that we were doing everything right. I tried to stay positive, but my insomnia had become severe, and my negative thoughts didn’t go away. In the weeks that followed, my daughter became more content and easier to manage as the doctor had promised, but my anxiety and depression were worsening. Our baby got better, but mommy did not.

The day I realized I was sick was a day filled with complete disappointment. It wasn’t my daughter making me feel this way, it was something else. Something much more powerful and relentless. I cried in my mother’s arms telling her over and over, “I didn’t want this to happen to me.” I knew I was at risk for postpartum depression, but I never believed for a minute it would happen to me. I wanted to be a mother and I knew I would be a good one, but everything I wanted in those first months of my daughter’s life were taken from me. The constant pit in my stomach, the loss of appetite, the near panic attacks, the negative thoughts, the completely sleepless nights, the crying...I wasn’t me and I knew that what I was dealing with was outside of my control and I needed professional help.

I’m recovering now and everyday I’m beginning to see small glimmers of hope - in my baby’s smile, her infectious giggle, in the way my husband looks at her like he’s never looked at anything else. My daughter is my everything and she is the reason I will keep fighting. I won’t give up. Soon these dark days will be behind me and I will bask in the sunshine of motherhood like I always knew I could.

If you know someone struggling with postpartum depression or anxiety - reach out and send them here.

9 comments:

  1. Thank you for writing this. It takes a lot to share your story and you are amazing to do this. You reaching out is helping so many women. I know the darkness and loneliness of PPD first hand and I'm here if you need anything

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Leighann, thank you so much. You're right about the darkness and loneliness...it's so hard. I'm glad you found me and I hope you'll keep reading.

      Delete
  2. Sending you so much love, Becky. I'm a local PPD mama as well, and I know the feelings of frustration, sleep deprivation and depression. Keep holding onto those glimmers of hope. You are a warrior mama.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Jenny - it feels good to be a warrior mama. I'm proud. Thank you for sending love, it's what's getting me through. Hoping we can meet sometime. Thanks for reading.

      Delete
  3. Hi Becky -
    Wow, what you have written is so real to me because I lived through it, too. One of the defining moments in my recovery was when I was looking at my son in the bathtub and seeing his cute little round belly, and just crying with joy at the beauty of it, of just that little belly! I, too, feel like I missed out on things with my son (my second child) in the first months of his life. But, it is so wonderful to *feel* after such a numbing experience. I am so glad you are on the way.

    I am also local - pointed here by Alexandra (and I know Jen, the previous commentor). Reach out to us if you need - find me on FB - and we can get together.

    You are making the BRAVE choice to speak out about how you are feeling and what you've been through. Be proud of yourself.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Rebekah Leger is my full name, if you want to friend me.

      Delete
    2. Rebekah - Thank you so much. I have some of those same defining moments and beautiful they are. My daughter would and still does look up at me and gives me this awesome gaze in the bathtub - our eyes lock and I can just feel the love. Thank you for sharing your moment as it reminded me of mine. This is such a supportive community. I'm glad you found me. Alexandra is so wonderful.

      Delete
  4. Share the words, the feelings, get them out and give them life. It's by connecting that we don't drown in the slamming seas of isolation. I remember and will always be changed b/c of it. Here for you, Becky, at the drop of a hat. xo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You have literally been sent from heaven.

      Delete