Post Partum Depression Happens to Other Moms

There is a terrible stigma attached to post partum depression. Sad pathetic mothers who cry endlessly, mope around the house in their bathrobes, ignore their crying babies, or have terrible thoughts about hurting their babies similar to Andrea Yates.

I was none of those things, but I did battle post partum depression.

I just didn’t realize it at first.

A friend of mine tried to warn me about post partum depression while I was pregnant. She suffered from PPD but she had described her symptoms as being extremely anxious and worrisome. She insisted I look for the signs and call her anytime I needed to talk. I didn’t have any of the symptoms she had warned me about, so I chalked it up to the infamous “baby blues,” and I didn’t confide in her.  Afterall, no one wants to hear a new young mommy whine about motherhood, right?

I figured the “baby blues” entailed moping around the house in a pair of spit up covered yoga pants, having not showered in 3 days, and having little interest in anything besides my baby. Unfortunately it took almost 4 months for me to realize this was how partum depression manifested for me.  I loved my baby, my world revolved around her, but that was where my world seemed to stop.  As much as they tried to, my friends didn’t understand my new life, my husband went back to work just 48 hours after I gave birth, and I had my National Physician Assistant board exam looming over my head like a dark cloud ready to rain on my six week maternity leave. I was at home, alone, with an adorable baby, but I felt as though the rest of the world moved on while I sat perfectly still. Who wouldn’t feel down?

The biggest clue was my personality. I’ll admit, when I’m frustrated, I have a tendency to become sarcastic and snippety, but I would rarely lose my tempercompletely.  A few months after Lily was born I found myself yelling for no reason. It was as if I had come down with a terrible case of word vomit and I was powerless to control it. I would spew hurtful and unnecessary criticism at my husband and found myself desperate to throw something. Embarrassingly enough, I would fantasize about divorce. On the nights when he worked late, I would convince myself that I didn’t need him and I could easily raise my daughter alone. But the thought would soon fade and whatever annoyance I had earlier in the day would dissipate as quickly as it had arose.

During those months I kept telling myself that it couldn’t be post partum depression because I had plenty of good days. Days when I felt completely normal. I still loved my friends, I liked spending time with my family, I didn’t cry nonstop, and I hadn’t lost interest in my favorite activities (I just didn’t have the time to devote to them anymore).

Besides, post partum depression happened to other moms, not me.

I don’t know what made me think that I was immune to post partum depression those first few months of motherhood, but it wasn’t until one of my tirades against Marty that it finally hit me. Like a ton of bricks. I honestly can’t remember what we had been fighting about, but it was likely something silly like he matched her stripe pants with her polka dot shirt (a fashion statement that would inevitably scar her for life) or he fed her carrots for dinner when she already had carrots for lunch (a meal time decision that would ultimately lead to a vitamin deficiency due to her lack of green veggies that day).  Mid-tirade I glanced at my husband who looked so hurt, so helpless, and so frustrated.  It hit me.

WHAM!
I am the problem.

POW!
It shouldn’t be like this

KABAM!
You need to do something about this, now.

One week later I was pouring my heart out to my OB/GYN, babbling about moving across the state, buying our first home, having a newborn, looking for a new job, and studying for my board exam. It didn’t take long into my appointment for her to gently suggest an antidepressant. I’ll be honest, I was very reluctant to take them. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with the stigma that came with taking medications to improve my mood.  That night I went home and discussed the appointment with Marty who also (some-what) gently urged me to take the medication.

Two weeks later I noticed an improvement. A drastic improvement. (I joked that suddenly Marty wasn’t so annoying and my baby was much easier and happier). Four weeks after taking the medication I felt even better. I remember Marty smiling at me one day when he came home from work and saying,

“You’re back. You’re you again.”

I took the medication for the next few months. I was myself again.

But, as many people do, I thought I was doing fine and could continue to do well without the aid of medication. I (wrongfully) stopped taking the medication.  I was “normal” for the first week, but then came what forever will be known as ‘The God-Awful Car Ride Home from Illinois 2009.”  Over six hours of arguing, yelling, blame throwing and discussing “can we really make this marriage work?”  As hard as it is to admit, I was the one that was doing most of the yelling and divorce talking. 

One look at my husband’s face when we finally arrived home and put our sleeping munchkin to bed and I knew, I am not better…yet.  I apologized profusely and explained that I had stopped the antidepressant and Marty was surprisingly supportive and understanding, but I could still see that some damage had been done. I had outwardly admitted to him that I had considered ending our marriage and that would be a wound that would take a long time to heal, no matter what the reason.

Needless to say I restarted the medication and continued taking it for the next five months.  After discussing it with my doctor, we stopped the medication after being on it for a total of 9 months.  Thankfully, I was okay without the medication. I had battled post partum depression and I won… for now.

When I found out I was pregnant with my second child a part of me was nervous that I was going to suffer from post partum depression again and if I did, what kind of toll would that take on my marriage?  Not taking any risks, just two weeks after having Charlotte, I restarted the antidepressant. And I am happy to report that I have not had any symptoms of post partum depression after my second pregnancy.  Granted, the baby blues were in full swing for a few weeks, but it was nothing compared to the depression I felt before.
I felt…
Content.
Capable.
Loving and Loved
Relaxed.

I was me again.

Finally.