As we begin a new year and reflect on the last, I realize how much of my time was spent battling my mind these first eight months of motherhood. It kind of surprises me that women don't talk more about postpartum depression, anxiety or emotional battles. We all hear about the "baby blues," but in reality it's far more than just the blues.
I have chosen to tell my story here so that maybe it will help someone else. I also think it will be an overdue explanation to many loved ones in my life who wonder why I sometimes do (or don't do) the things I do. I hope that as I continue to fight this battle that having the awareness and support of those around me will continue to encourage me.
When I was about ten or so, I was diagnosed with OCD - obsessive compulsive disorder. It was bad. I was not sleeping at night. I would wake up and check the doors, the appliances, my parents breathing. Then, I went through a phase where I was compulsively confessing every thought that came through my mind aloud to my mother - day and night. I couldn't help it. I felt so trapped.
For those with OCD, you know how horrifying it can feel. Locked in your own brain, unable to get out. For those who don't fully understand OCD, it's basically when compulsions and obsessions reach a point where they are debilitating in your life. It varies in its severity. And for me, it comes and goes in my life. It rears its ugly head usually when there's a big life change I'm facing.
So, when I went to high school, college, had a tumultuous relationship, graduated from college, went through a rough break up, got married - all of these times my OCD would flare up. Along with the flare ups, I was often times diagnosed with depression. Being locked inside my own messy mind would bring me down. Oh so down.
All of this to say, I don't know why on earth it didn't cross my mind to speak to my OB about this. It made perfect sense that I was a prime candidate for postpartum depression. Even without the likelihood of postpartum issues, the big life change of having a kid was certain to send me into a tailspin.
And it was instant. The anxiety came over me like a big dark cloud. I was on the lookout for postpartum depression, but I never felt depressed. I never felt sad or harbored any negative feelings towards Asher (other than wishing he'd sleep!). But I did feel panic. I couldn't sleep. I wanted to protect my child from all the germs swarming around me. You know that feeling where you feel like your heart may come out of your chest because you are so nervous about something? That's how I felt day in and day out. I was on edge. I cried a lot. I yelled a lot. I made my husband miserable. I am sure Asher could feel my tension.
I kept telling myself that it was just a new mom thing. You worried about your baby. You made people wash their hands. You lost sleep and a little bit of your mind with it. I didn't feel depressed, so I still didn't think it was postpartum depression.
I remember flipping out on Rusty one night for sleeping with a tissue in his hand (his allergies were acting up) because what if it landed in Asher's bed and he choked on it? I remember calling my mom and sister countless times to be talked off the ledge. I remember being obsessed with SIDS. I remember arguing with Rusty and my mom about the proper way to blanket Asher. I remember crying. A lot. I would lie awake at night contemplating his swaddle, his grunting, his sleeping habits, the future. There are so many ridiculous examples to list. I'm sure if you'd ask Rusty he could give you a list off the top of his head. And some of this probably sounds normal to other mommies out there, and I think some of it is. But for me, it was all consuming.
It was never ending panic. I was not enjoying this baby like I should. After months of this misery, I decided to reach out to a psychiatrist. I've been on melds in the past and knew how helpful they could be with my OCD and depression. I thought, maybe this is more than just mommy worry.
My suspicions were validated. I was battling postpartum anxiety. It was a real thing. And I could be helped. So, I began taking Zoloft, and I was able to keep nursing while on it. My dosage was upped a couple of times until I reached a point where I truly could feel an improvement.
So now, about four months in, I feel better. Do I feel great? No. Do I still battle my worries and my mind? Every day. Do I still drive Rusty crazy? I'm sure. Those close to me know that it's a serious matter. They understand that when I start to spiral into panic mode that I cannot help it. They know that taking my baby to a big family reunion and having people passing him around literally makes me panic. They know that when I ask you to wash your hands, I mean really wash them for 20 seconds or else it's not really cleaning off the germs. They know when we are out and about, I want to wipe down our dinner table and pass around my hand sanitizer. They know that every day is a challenge for me.
This year I want to move forward trying even harder to beat this crap. I don't want worries to replace happy thoughts with Asher. And I'm getting better. But I've got a ways to go, still.
If you or someone you know is having similar issues, please know that postpartum stress and depression and anxiety is very real.
Being a mommy is so hard. It's all consuming. It's exhausting. It's 24/7. Having any sort of extra stress on your heart or mind can push you over the edge. It's so understandable. Women need extra support and they need to know it's OK to admit that something doesn't feel quite right. There's help out there.
All of this rambling to say, I love my kid. I love my husband. I love my family and friends. And I love that I'm feeling better. And I'm so thankful for each of those things.
Kira is the mom of eight-month-old Asher and writes regularly for Go Ask Mom. Read the full post on her bog Grits, Grins and Gripes. She'd love to hear from others who have gone through the same thing.