My post-partum depression

Yes. This is the one. The is the post. It is not an easy one to write and probably not an easy one to read either. But here we go …

When I was pregnant, I asked my OBGYN about post-partum depression. I told her that I have had depression before and was worried about having PPD after my baby was born. She told me to not worry. She told me that post-partum depression was more of an issue for women who didn’t have a support system, who didn’t know about it and would not recognize the signs and seek help. She said that the fact that I was thinking about it and asking her about it meant that I would be ok. That even if I had it, I’d have support and help and it would be ok. Phew! What a relief!

What I knew about post-partum depression came from TV and movies. I remember Brooke Shields talking about her experience with post-partum depression on the Oprah show and how she was not able to connect with her baby and didn’t feel love for her baby. The thing that stood out to me about PPD was that moms who had PPD were not able to bond with their babies. I remember Oprah asking her if she ever thought of harming her baby and she said that once when she thought of driving her car into a wall, she was annoyed by the fact that she couldn’t because her baby was in the backseat. So post-partum depression was summed up for me as not loving your baby and possibly wanting to hurt them.

Fast forward to the hospital the first night after my baby was born. I had a C-section with complications afterward. (I’ll talk about that another time.) I also didn’t have anyone to help me and be with me other than my husband. (I’ll write about that too in another post.) It was night time and my husband was fast asleep on the pull out bed. My baby was whimpering, so I painstakingly picked him up from the little crib and brought him to my hospital bed. It was just him and me. No one else. So I started talking to him, in a low voice.

“Baby! Hi baby! What’s wrong? Why are you crying? I love you baby! I love you so much sweetie! My beautiful boy! Mommy loves you so much!…”

This went on for a while and as I was cooing into his ears, I started to feel something. Something was happening in me. I started to feel this connection, this pull, toward him. I could feel my heart opening up to him. I could feel my love for him growing and taking over my heart and my body and my soul. This was the moment I bonded with my baby.

I loved my son so much, it was maddening. Every day that passed, my love for him grew. I thought at the time that no one else loved their child as much as I loved mine, because how could this be possible. There were times when I feared my heart would explode from this love, that I would not be able to go to work, that I would go mad. As time passed, my love for him was the only thing I was sure of.

I was extremely lonely those first few months. I was exhausted, physically from caring for a newborn and later an infant all by myself more than 20 hours a day, and emotionally and mentally from carrying the responsibility of another human-being’s life and safety on my shoulders. My husband went back to work 2 weeks after my baby was born and stayed at work late, coming home after 7 in the afternoon. From about 10pm when he went to sleep to 7pm the next day, I was the one. The one who needed to make sure the baby was ok, that he was not choking or crying or wet or cold or bored. I was the only one. I was not enjoying motherhood at all. I was sad and tired and lonely. It was too much. I cried a lot, all the time.

My husband and I were not doing great at the time. He was at work all day and when he was home, he did not understand the depth of my misery. He was annoyed by my complaining about how hard the day had been and felt attacked and criticized by it. He was tired of me crying. He would be in his phone browsing and I would be crying next to him. My tears had no effect on him. I needed help. I needed support. I needed someone to step up and pull me out of the quicksand I was slowly drowning in. No one did. No one.

I was in a new mom group the first few months after baby was born. I remember how we would share about our “highs and lows” every week. Most of the moms openly talked about their problems. I didn’t. I bet they thought I was doing ok. I never told them how miserable I was, how exhausted I was, how lonely. I smiled and acted “normal”, because I thought if they knew how I felt inside, they would take my baby away from me. Yes! This was my biggest nightmare. That people would consider me unfit and take my baby, my love, my life away from me.

Things got worse and worse. We got worse and worse. I remember one day I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove to Costco alone just to get away. On the way there, I kept thinking if I crashed the car and died, who would even notice. That maybe it was the best option for everyone. My baby was what kept me going. He needed me and I was not going to leave him alone.

It took me 6 months before I came to terms with the fact that I probably had post-partum depression and needed help. I made an appointment for myself and saw a post-natal therapist who referred me to a post-natal psychiatrist. I went to these visits alone. I filled the prescription myself. I started taking anti-depressant. I helped myself. No one else did. No one.

I keep thinking about that time a lot. I keep blaming myself for not seeking help earlier, for suffering for 6 months, for not speaking up for myself. But I also have compassion for my-then-self. I loved my son and had bonded with him right away, so I didn’t think it was post-partum depression. How could I have loved my baby so much if I had PPD? No. No way! It must be the loneliness, the exhaustion, the sleepless nights, relationship problems. Looking back, all of those were true, but there was something much bigger at play. Something deeper that was not letting me see the light at the end of the tunnel. A darkness that made it impossible to see the light of day. All of those other things may have played a role, may have triggered it, may have contributed, but they were not it. Depression was wreaking havoc and I was blind to it. My husband was not even looking. No one else was around.

Stop telling moms what post-partum depression looks like. Theirs may not look like that. Stop telling moms that women with post-partum depression cannot bond with their babies. It may not be true for them. Reassure moms that their babies won’t be taken away. Tell them what happens if they have post-partum depression. Teach them about their treatment options before they have the baby. Show them that it would be ok. That they were ok. Tell them how common it is. Don’t paint it so bleak and loveless. Shed some light on this. Moms are suffering. Help them.

I started to feel better once I went on anti-depressants. I also started my new job. My confidence started to grow and my sense of self started to return. But for years afterward, I would panic at the sound of an infant crying. I couldn’t stand it. My whole body would tense and I’d be transported back to those days. I realize now that I had suffered trauma in a way. Not war trauma. Not sexual assault trauma. But trauma nonetheless. And that this reaction to crying babies was PTSD. That trauma is why I never had another baby, even though I always wanted 2 kids. I was afraid of going back to that dark space. I was afraid of making myself vulnerable to that trauma again. I was afraid of the loneliness and helplessness. I couldn’t go back.

6 years later, I am still dealing with it. Events and places trigger painful memories. Memories bring up sadness and anger. My husband doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants me to get over it. I feel like this is unresolved. That the wound has not healed properly. That is why I am writing. It helps.

Thanks for reading.

The Anxious Introvert