Postnatal Depression
This word I can’t seem to escape from lately, it’s in the news, on the TV, on my social media, and everywhere I turn. This is my breakthrough story. A chapter in my life that I can now say is over. Don’t get me wrong I have odd wobbles. But nothing in comparison. As you may have noticed it’s When I was growing up depression wasn’t so out there as it is today. Depression wasn’t for people like me – the happy family life with siblings, married parents, and never went without. But it got me, it snuck up and took it’s hold of me. I had Postnatal Depression. And I tried to hide from it.
When did I realize something was wrong?
I can’t remember what triggered it. I just didn’t feel like me anymore. Spent 6 nights in the hospital at 33 weeks pregnant due to my waters breaking; I was fully on my own with other expectant mums either vomiting, giving birth, or generally being dramatic. Maybe it was because I didn’t get to hold my daughter long enough after birth before she was taken from me and rushed off to the Special Care Baby Unit. No book or leaflet advice comes close to preparing you for a premature birth. She was tiny, sick and I couldn’t hear what the doctors and nurses were saying. Or maybe it was when she finally came home and my partner went back to work. I knew how to take care of her – the support from SCBU staff was better than any parenting book I’ve read but now I was completely on my own.
What does it feel like?
Everyone’s experience is different. For me, it felt like I was on a never-ending rollercoaster. I had really good days and days were leaving the house just seemed impossible had anxiety over everything; did I switch the lights off, the gas hob, shut the fridge (it’s always shut anyway!?), the windows, even the front door?
I questioned my ability to be a good mum, deep down I knew I was, but these niggling thoughts kept me doubting myself. My relationship with my partner was suffering too. I was hiding behind a mask of myself when out in public.
I used to take my daughter for late afternoon beach walks, I told myself and others it was to settle her which was half the truth. My head was telling me I needed to escape. Escape what? I still can’t answer this. What I wanted was my time, but in reality, I was so worked up that I couldn’t relax.
When did I finally admit that I had a problem?
It all came to a head on Christmas Eve 2015. Our family dog was unwell leading up to Christmas, we had an appointment booked. My anxiety to clean wherever he went was getting extreme – I didn’t want anyone else to get ill. That day my partner went up in the early hours to find our dog had passed away in our bathroom. I then found myself in pilot mode, searching out hours numbers for vets, making tea, and getting my partner’s best friend to come over. That afternoon I was a mess. I needed to escape from the house. The reality of what had happened was too much to bear. I was in a dark place, everything made me cry or angry. In the middle of studying for my next exam the first week of January. I felt like I had fully lost control, my mind was in a fog.
When did I seek help?
Enough was enough. On the afternoon of my exam I had pre-booked a doctor’s appointment, I very nearly talked myself out of it. Waiting to be seen I was still trying to avoid why I was here. I saw a doctor who I was familiar with. I burst into tears before I could shut the door. My first words were “I think I have depression”.
We talked about why I thought that. I told him everything that happened over Christmas and before. I told him how not every day was bad, but I just feel like I’m losing control, that I’m not the model mum everyone else seems to be. How being a new mum didn’t start how I imagined. He listened, truly listened to me and my ramblings. He made me feel normal, that I wasn’t being silly and most importantly he said he was glad I was here even if it took me 18 months to walk through the door. I had decided to stop traveling down this path, to shut the door, and to find myself again. My peaceful place and you are not alone!
