After the birth of my first child, "Bug", I was elated. Even though he was a major surprise, I LOVED him with my whole being. He was the stars in the sky, the smell of freshness in the air. I couldn't imagine ever feeling anything but love for him.
I had heard of, and been warned about Post Partum Depression (PPD), and 'baby blues', but never experienced it with him. I thought it was an excuse, women being selfish and weak. To me, it didn't exist...Until the summer of 2010.
My husband got laid-off from his job in September 2009. A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. The pregnancy was long and stressful. But on June 27th, 2010, my sweet princess was born; lovingly and gently in the water. Things were going well until July 3rd, just 6 days after her birth. We found ourselves in Children's Mercy Hospital with a very sick baby (but that's another story). After a miraculous healing, we went home. Scott was working 2 jobs and 50-60+ hours a week. We had no money, and our marriage was being tested to it's limits. I started feeling a hopelessness, and darkness slowly gripping me. Killing me softly.
My emotions deteriorated day by day. Even after Scott was blessed with a good, stable, full-time job, I was losing myself. It was sad and scary. But, I was too ashamed, to afraid to ask for help. Months passed, and I got worse. Once, a patient, loving mother; I was becoming angry, short-tempered and resentful. I would be fine one minute, and the next I would lose it. I would scream and yell at my beautiful children. I would throw things. Say horrible things. I could see the sadness in their eyes, and I would immediately feel remorse. This wasn't me. This isn't who I am. But I couldn't control it.
I remember, one weekend I got crazy and left the kids with Scott, so I could take a bath. I could feel the depression, the anxiety gripping me, distorting my view, stealing my life. Over, the next hour or so I fought a battle of taking my own life. I would hold my breath under the water as long as possible, "Come on, one deep inhale, and you can end the pain. Your family deserves better than you are giving them." I don't know how I found the strength to win that fight.
It kept getting worse. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to take care of the kids, the house, myself. I told my daughter I didn't like her, that I couldn't stand her. My fuse got shorter and shorter. I hated myself. I loved my husband, and my two beautiful and amazing children. But I couldn't stop. It wasn't me. I knew I needed help, but I didn't think anyone would understand, care, or not judge me. I felt alone and helpless.
I was the person I dreaded being. I was that mom that I used to hear about and just shake my head in disbelief.
One day, November 1, 2011, something happened. I lost control. It scared me. I grabbed my kids and cradled them closely, sobbing. I was at the bottom, I HAD to do something, NOW. I couldn't talk because of my sobs, so I e-mailed the one person I knew to, but also, the person I was most afraid of disappointing; my Mom. She is my closest friend, and I share everything with her. But I was terrified to tell her this. Here is what I said:
"
I don't know what to do, and I need to do something. I can't seem to say in person how I really feel, but here it is.
I go to bed every night, loathing the morning. I don't want it to get here. The days are so long and lonely. When I wake up, even after a decent night's sleep, all I want to do is nothing. I feel empty and tired all the time. I don't want to take care of myself, I don't want to be a mom, I don't want to cook, clean, do laundry, make beds, nothing. Why? Because who cares? The kids just whine and disobey. I have no patience for anyone or anything. Just the slightest thing makes me lose it; Wes disobeying, Emma crying, they won't take naps, Scott working outside. I am constantly on the verge of crying, and feel like I am headed for a psychotic break-down. Sometimes I am harder on the kids than I should be. I know I shouldn't, and I hate it, but it's like I am not in control. I don't feel in control. I feel anxious, scared, like the next little thing will set me off. I feel sad, useless and inadequate. I'm so scared. I hate who I am. I don't know what to do."
This was the day I stopped feeling ashamed, and started getting help. This is the day I started living again.
Each day is a battle. I still struggle with feeling down on occasion. But never to the extent I used to feel. I know what I need to do to take care of myself. I love my children, I enjoy being a wife and a mother. I enjoy each and every day. I long to be with my family. Our home environment is peaceful and loving. My children want to be with me again. I am the mom I always hoped I'd be. Not perfect, but trying each day to better myself.
Here is what I did to start healing myself:
Started using a good Progesterone Cream everyday.
Started taking a good multi-vitamin with Omega-3's everyday.
Started taking care of myself, showering, doing hair, make-up, and dressing up.
My wonderful MIL watches the kids for a few hours on Wednesdays, to give me time to myself.
I am eating better and exercising.
I started praying, and we started attending church again.
I am kind to myself.
I always talk to someone when I feel down. Always.
This process won't work for everyone, but it works for me. Like I said, I have to make an effort each day. But it is getting easier. I feel joy more often than I feel anxiety. I have had the unending support and understanding of my husband, my mother, and my children.
So, the moral of this is...NEVER be afraid to ask for help. Talk to someone, a friend, a family member, a neighbor, me. Don't be ashamed, don't be afraid. Be strong, be courageous. For you, for your family. It is easier to fix a small fresh wound. No matter how low you feel, how hopeless your situation seems, remember that there are people around you who love you. YOU ARE A GOOD MOM, and I love you.
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