Hindsight, the Truth, and How I Found Healing

I don't know how else to tell this story except to just begin...

It's a story about a woman who woke up every morning overwhelmed and thinking, "%&@!, I have to do this again!

Her brain seemed blanketed in a fog; words she previously had command of were elusive. Putting together an intelligent and cohesive conversation felt exhausting. She found herself in the middle of intersections before glancing up to see the stop sign reflected in her rear view mirror. She'd arrive places with no recollection of the drive there.

She felt profoundly alone. Even when she was with other people, it seemed she was only watching herself, floating above the activity instead of fully engaged. 

The guilt was so crushing her shoulders felt the physical weight of it. Her child was healthy, smart, and happy, but all the woman could do was ask herself why. Why don't I feel enamored with my baby? Why am I not fulfilled by motherhood like all the other women seem to be? Why am I such a selfish, ungrateful, spoiled brat?

She fell into bed exhausted each night and slept well until the wee hours of the morning, when sleep disappeared just as quickly as it had come. In its place only worry, anxiety and the ever present feeling of being trapped. A caged animal. A hamster on a wheel. There seemed to be no way out.

The woman felt inadequate. No matter what she did "right" for herself - eat well, take vitamins, exercise, pray - she couldn't snap out of it.

She was driven to be doing something productive at all times. If she kept busy, she wouldn't have to pay attention to the guilt/anger/worry vying for her attention.

Though she craved a break from being mama, she felt unable to relinquish control of her baby's care to anybody else, even her husband.

Constantly irritated, frustrated, and lacking patience, she was most surprised by the anger that followed her, a rage she'd never experienced before in her life. She fantasized about screaming in public or throwing dinner plates onto her tiled kitchen floor. Watching them smash one by one into hundreds of tiny pieces would certainly bring some relief.

She was petrified that this was her new reality, that the old her was lost forever.

This woman was me, and I was living with postpartum depression.

I knew that I was unhappy, but I never would have labeled it as depression. After all, I got up each day, got dressed, cared for my girl. I had a great appetite. I rarely cried. I kept telling myself to stop being so selfish. My life was not my own anymore. Millions of mothers before me had done it and seemed happy to do so. I needed to get over myself.

A couple of times my sister mentioned that perhaps I needed to talk to somebody. At first I was annoyed and thought, "She so totally doesn't get it. Maybe when she has a child of her own she'll understand." During another phone call, when she suggested counseling again, I remember asking her something like, "What am I gonna say? I'm miserable because I hate being a mom." I was skeptical that a therapist could do anything with that statement.

When Liza was 2 1/2, I finally consented to making that appointment. I didn't have anything to lose, and it would make Gini happy. After talking to me for two hours that first day, Dr. R. diagnosed me with major depression and moderate anxiety. That diagnosis just added to my rage, and until last week, I disagreed with her because I didn't have what I thought were the "classic" symptoms of depression. I wish I had known about Postpartum Progress then. Even more, I wish that my OB had known about it and shared it with me. It would have saved me months of near constant frustration with myself had the unique symptoms of postpartum depression been made clear to me before they became my reality.

Even though I'll never get to relive those years, I can't tell you what a relief it is to know now there was a reason for my misery. I feel so much more positive about motherhood in general, knowing I was sick and not just a spoiled brat who couldn't step out of her selfishness long enough to fall in love with being Liza's mama.

That was the hardest time of my life so far, but there is a long list of things that definitely kept me from losing myself completely. I am extremely grateful for...

sunshine...life-giving, uplifting, near daily desert sunshine. The gift of being able to go outside with Liza every single day and soak it in was not lost on me.

my friend, Misty...who was always willing to receive my texts no matter how mama-crazed they may have been (she's the only one I told about my plate-throwing fantasy). In that honest sharing and because of her acceptance, I didn't feel quite so alone.

prayers...from those I knew and those I didn't (because I have a sneaking suspicion my sister enlisted the help of friends and colleagues), from my parents and in-laws, aunts, uncles and grandmothers. Even though we all don't always agree about God, I believe that Someone is listening and making a difference. I believe in the shadow of angels too.

The Longest Shortest Time...I've written about this blog and podcast before, but it was a light in my darkness. Hillary isn't afraid of telling the truth, and I appreciated that.

writing...I grew weary of hearing myself complain, but there was comfort found when I laid it all down on the blank page.

Momma Zen and Mindfulness for Beginners...two books that introduced me to mindfulness and meditation.

chocolate and wine...even these little pleasures to look forward to during my days helped.

therapy...taking that step was the beginning of my healing. Dr. R. never mentioned depression again after that first appointment, but we worked together for nine months, and I'm positive that talking with her on a weekly basis made a huge difference in my health.

running...using this book I taught myself to be a runner. It was one of the very few times a day I was completely alone and the only time I ever felt free. Learning to run gave me a goal to work toward. It was an accomplishment I never imagined possible for myself, and it was a huge boost to my self-esteem, something I desperately needed then.

naturopathic medicine...Dr. Wolf prescribed homeopathic and herbal supplements that I began taking at the same time I started therapy. My mood was lifted, my anxiety lessened, and I began sleeping through the night again. Sleep is crucial to all of us, but especially to those of us with a tendency toward anxiety and/or depression.

Gini...you know she was the one who encouraged therapy, who prayed for me, and she was also the one who drove to the desert on multiple occasions with her hubby (thanks, Allen!) to love and care for Liza while Lee and I got away for a few days.

Lee...I'm pretty sure he never knew the depth of my unhappiness (until reading this) because I never told him the whole story. He did what he could (which was in direct correlation to what I allowed him to do and to my inability to communicate effectively) with what his work schedule allowed. He also wholeheartedly supported my choices for healing. He never questioned the expense that naturopathic medicine incurred when conventional medicine would have been free through his insurance. He also asked about every therapy session, wanting to talk about what I was working on and how I felt about it. He loves me, and that is and always will be his greatest gift.

I share all of this because it's part of my story, and I believe our stories matter. Reading something like this in 2009 or 2010 would have opened my eyes to my reality (I hope) and saved me from berating myself, trying to fight my way through the heartache instead of seeking help. Also, I believe sharing our truths, when we're ready, is helpful. There's healing power in owning the pieces of you, even the cracked and vulnerable ones.