Postpartum
And just like that I met my girl. My horrible pregnancy was over and now I could finally enjoy being a mom. I couldn’t wait to take care of my baby and dress her up in all the outfits I had brought to the hospital to take all the pictures in. This was going to be the most exciting time of my life, or so I thought. In ways this postpartum journey has been the most exciting time of my life, becoming a mom to the absolute sweetest girl has forever changed my life. I love holding her and never want to put her down. On the flip side of this it is the darkest scariest place I have ever been, and can’t believe it has all happened to me. How could this be my life? This happens to other people, but not to me. Let me tell ya mamas, or any other person reading this- it could be you. That is the sole purpose of me sharing this, I don’t want it to be you. I don’t want anyone out there that might be feeling the way I was to suffer alone, or feel like they can’t tell anyone about what is going on. I’m not in this for sympathy, I am in this to create awareness about something that I had no idea about. Well in a way I had no idea about.
If you read my blog before you know that I ended my pregnancy with an unexpected urgent c-section. I had never had a surgery before but have heard of tons of moms having this procedure. I absolutely knew what it was, but I absolutely had no clue how recovery of this would go. In the recovery room I wasn’t in any pain, I’m sure that had a little something to do with all of the medication they had been giving to me for the past 40 hours, but ya know who remembers that anyway. About 30 minutes after Riv was born I was asked the question “Do you want to try to feed her?” I think I was a little caught off guard by this, I obviously knew I was going to have to feed my baby but holy crap I was tired, and I had no idea what I was doing. I answered yes and they handed her right to me. Honestly I was so tired I know I barley opened my eyes and I just laid her on my boob. To my surprise she latched right on and I just laid there in the happiest moment of my life. No it wasn’t because I was breastfeeding, it was because I finally had the baby I had been waiting so long to meet laying on my chest for the first time and I was so proud she was mine. I was so proud to be a mom. I didn't really have the energy to have any emotion, and when most moms describe seeing their baby for the first time- it’s that love at first sight feeling and tears. I had none of that, it was so surreal to me and I was completely out of it. Regarding the breastfeeding I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. I mean that whole heartedly. I wasn’t going to breastfeed, at that time I thought it was just weird and I didn’t want a baby hanging on my boob all the time. I didn’t think it was for me so I never did any research or looked into it at all. Not even once was I concerned with that topic. I was going to feed my baby, so I decided I was going to let her be the deciding factor of how. If she latched and it worked I would continue with it, if she didn’t and it was too stressful I was going to give that baby formula and life would go on.
Later that evening I was told I had to get up out of bed and start moving around, they removed my catheter and I was forced out of bed. The second I stood up I was in the most excruciating pain I had ever felt, different then labor pain but in a way it was worse. I thought my entire incision was going to rip open and all my insides were going to fall out right on the floor in front of me. Obviously that didn’t happen but I can remember saying, “ I can’t do this.” Very slowly I made it into the bathroom and then back to bed, and I never wanted to have to move again. I wasn’t able to get up and move around or even take care of the baby. I never changed one diaper in the hospital. I just watched as my husband, our families, and the nurses took care of MY baby. This was so hard for me because that’s all I wanted to be doing. I held my baby when it was time to eat and would snuggle her for as long as I could until I knew I was too tired and had to give her to someone else. Any move I made was painful not to mention the nurses coming in and pushing on your stomach all the time to make sure things are going well. Eventually I was able to get up and start walking the halls and kept being reminded the more I get up and moving the better I would feel. I reluctantly took walks around the maternity unit with my husband, taking one tiny step at a time. I was up and moving but I still wasn’t able to hold my baby unless I was in bed. This was totally different than what I thought post baby was going to be like.
I was HUGE, so swollen from all the fluids and medications and surgery. The first time I saw myself in the mirror my eyes were swollen and yellow, my face was 3 times the size of normal, and I looked like I had gotten beaten up. “Holy Shit” was my initial reaction, that’s me?!!
My husband is an absolute rockstar. He did everything for his girls. He kept us both taken care of. Rivie continued to do well with breastfeeding, but wasn’t exactly killing it in the sleeping game. Gosh what a baby she was. This was obviously to be expected. So like anyone with a newborn we had some seriously long nights in the hospital which left Mike and I completely exhausted. And when people tell you that you don’t know what tired is until you have a baby, yeah we get that now. This was a whole new level of do I need sleep or COFFEE NOW.
I so badly wanted to take amazing hospital photos of Rivers so Mike got her dressed and I somehow made it out of bed with my camera. I didn’t feel well, I was still in so much pain but I was determined to get at least 2, it was miserable. All the pictures were coming out blurry because I was shaking, the camera was heavy (yeah imagine that) and I couldn’t move the way I needed to to get the right shots. Frustrated I gave up and was going to make due with what I had. I was so disappointed because this had been something I was looking so forward to. I do have a couple pictures so I am thankful for them. And thankful Mike helped me and was patient with my frustrated attitude.
Our hospital stay was soon over and it was time to take our baby home. We were so excited to get Rivers home and for Henry and her to finally meet. Before we left the hospital as most of you know you get all these discharge papers and the nurse talks to you about some things, and one of those is PPD (postpartum depression) The nurse told my mom and Mike to keep an eye on me and make sure that I was doing okay. Some of the warning signs she described to them were:
Her not wanting to get out of bed
Not taking care of the baby
Not taking care of herself
Crying all the time
Just seeming sad
We all listened carefully and she ended with" “This can get very serious and is scary stuff.”
We packed everything up and off we went to the car. I don’t know how I even made it into the car, moving was still miserable but somehow I did it, all on my own.
Our first night home was filled with so many emotions. I cried because Henry had to sleep in his kennel and I couldn’t let him get close to me due to my incision and by now I’m sure all of you know he is 140 lbs of love and excitement. I got mad because everyone was laughing and I couldn’t because it hurt too badly, so I cried. Then it was time for bed, I was terrified. What if I fall asleep and don’t hear the baby, what if she throws up and I don’t hear her? In the hospital Mike was asleep so Rivie was in the bassinet next to me, she started to throw up and I couldn’t get to her and she was chocking a little, I panicked and started screaming Mikes name and thankfully he woke up and the nurse coincidently was coming in right at that time. She was fine, but I was traumatized. Thankfully my mom stayed with us the first week, and we have a tiny house with no guest room, so both of us slept on the couch with the baby next to us. Breastfeeding continued to go well and she was sleeping great for a newborn baby. The first week with Riv flew by, and my mom was going to go home and get some rest over the weekend. It was our first night alone with the baby and Mike and I had everything under control. We got her all ready for bed, feed her, swaddled her and for the first time in over a week I was back in my bed ready to relax and sleep.
Rivie was asleep in her basket next to me and just as I closed my eyes I heard the weirdest sound and immediately shot up and over to her (I have no idea how I moved so fast when I was still so sore). And there it was my worst nightmare.
There is no other way to describe my reaction other than PANIC, all out panic. What the hell was this, and why was it happening. Mike tried to tell me it was just baby spit up and I told him I was sure it wasn’t. This wasn’t normal we needed to take her to the hospital. That was not like any other baby spit up I’d ever seen. She seemed fine, wasn’t crying, obviously smiling and happy, but once again I could barley breath. Nothing can happen to her, what if something is seriously wrong? Was that blood? I was a wreck. Then she started screaming while we were waiting for the dr to call us back and of course this was around 12 am. Mike told me I needed to feed her but I didn’t want to, I couldn’t. What if I fed her and this happened again and we were asleep. My anxiety was so bad. Morning soon came and she was perfectly fine and this never happened again, but I couldn’t get past the “what if”. I hated feeding her through the night because I was too scared to put her back in her basket, and she would never burp. Instead of going back to sleep I would sit up holding her pretty much until her next feeding. I was getting absolutely no sleep and I was always worried. I dreaded bedtime.
Our moms kept our house a float, because Mike wasn’t able to take anytime off work. By week 3 it was just me and Riv. I still wasn’t able to do stairs, drive, and I could still barley carry her around, but I was her mom and have always wanted to stay home with my baby. I could do this, things were fine. Rivers is truly a wonderful baby, she doesn’t cry unless something is wrong, or she’s extremely tired so I had nothing to worry about. We spent our week alone on the couch together taking naps and nursing. I remember sitting there one afternoon and thinking “what if I hit her?” I became extremely hot and scared. I would never do that, would I? And why would I think that, she isn’t even doing anything but sitting there. I tried to forget about that and just move on.
It was time for my 3 week appointment and my OB asked how I was doing, I told her I was tired I wasn’t sleeping and then I started to cry. And I couldn’t stop crying, I just wanted to feel better, I wanted to be able to move, I wanted to stop bleeding, I wanted to take my baby places and not be afraid to drive with her. I wanted to vacuum and do laundry and just wash the blankets on my couch. She cleared me to do steps, drive, and pretty much everything else. She told me this was probably just the “baby blues” and then I kept crying. She then told me she was going to give me a low dose of medication, and I should start taking it that day. I asked her to bring my husband in the room and explain all of this to him. I was so scared he was going to be mad and not understand. I just kept crying because I could tell instantly he was mad. His response to all of this just kept being, “What did I miss?” The drive home from the dr office was emotional. I told him I couldn’t be alone with the baby, what if I hurt her. I couldn’t do it I didn’t want to be left alone. The thought of it terrified me.
I think he was mad at himself thinking he was doing everything he could for me and missed something and this was his fault, but it wasn’t. I cried and said I didn’t want to be on medicine, I didn’t want to have to take medicine to be happy or feel better, I was scared. It all seemed like a tornado, what was happening? We got home and never picked up the medication, we decided together that since I was only 3 weeks post baby that I just needed some more time to heal and get back to myself. The weekend came quickly but went quicker. It was Sunday night and the thought that everyone had to go back to work and I was going to be left with the baby made me so overwhelmed I literally couldn’t move. Thankfully his mom took off for the whole week and came every single day to be with me. I didn’t need people here to take care of the baby, I needed people around me to just be here. I felt better when I wasn’t alone.
After the third week I was once again alone with Rivie. I thought okay I can do this I feel better. I’ve totally got this. And I did. I wasn't stressed out by her at all, but I was worried about something happening to her. Breastfeeding was going so well, I never worried if she was getting enough, it never hurt, she wouldn’t eat for hours, it was an 8 minute thing and we were done. I never wanted to put her down, I let her nap on me and would hold her most of the day, she spent very little time not attached to my hip. Her crying never bothered me no matter how long it would last.
Something was just off with me. I was doing everything but just wasn’t myself. I didn’t want to go anywhere because I was so afraid she was going to get sick, and if we did go somewhere I wouldn’t let anyone hold her, including my immediate family. I constantly had to be checking on her and my husband would make fun of me for it. Every little noise she would make made my heart drop, was she okay?!
I think I new something wasn’t right, and I kept questioning myself if I should be taking the medicine. Was I depressed? I can’t tell you how many times I google searched postpartum depression. If my phone could freeze from it, it probably would have. I would go down the search and read all the articles and read the symptoms over and over and go through them like a check list.
Depressed mood or severe mood swings - Nope didn’t have this, wanted to get up every morning and take care of my baby, clean the house and get back to feeling well.
Excessive crying- I never cried, about anything.
Difficulty bonding with your baby- I never wanted to be away from my baby and I wanted to be the only one feeding her, breastfeeding was something I enjoyed because it was just us.
Withdrawing from family or friends-I never wanted to be alone, or for them to leave me, I was the complete opposite of this.
Inability to sleep- well yeah I had a newborn
Intense irritability and anger- I would have to go with a no, but I’m human so occasionally I’d have a moment
Fear that your not a good mother- I knew I was a good mom, my baby was completely taken care of and she was where I wanted to put all my energy and attention (just ask my husband)
Feelings of worthlessness, shame, guilt, or inadequacy- yes, but only shame & guilt. (you’ll see why soon)
Severe anxiety and panic attacks- okay yes
Thoughts of hurting yourself or your baby- yes.
I know what you’re thinking, number 10?! YES?! Thoughts of hurting yourself or your baby?!! What in the hell, what is wrong with her. Yeah, you aren’t alone. I was thinking the same thing.
Buckle up because I’m about to take you on the wild ride I went on with PPD.
I’m not really sure exactly when it started, but it was there and it was real. Maybe it was present at my 3 week apportionment, the dr was probably right. That’s what I was thinking although I was feeling better and I still wasn’t sad and I definitely didn’t think I was depressed ( I’ve never experienced it so I have no clue what it feels like). You know what I felt? Completely crazy, and like I wasn’t inside of my own body anymore. I had completely lost myself, but not because I had a baby, she made me feel whole. She made our family whole.
I found myself stuck inside my mind, and with my intrusive thoughts. And I was alone with them, and whatever it was that was causing them. I couldn’t tell anyone. There was no way I was going to let this secret out of the box. I thought I was going to hurt my baby, and everywhere was a new way I could. I became obsessed with the thought that I had thought and they weren’t always the same and I had no idea why they wouldn’t stop. No one around me could see how badly I was struggling or how dark of a place I was in, and not because they didn’t care or they weren’t paying attention- it was because I wasn’t showing any outward signs. Sure I was tired and I looked it, but other than that I don’t think anyone had any idea where I was in my life, including myself.
My life become so effected by these thoughts that I literally couldn’t do anything. All I was sharing was the fun stuff, the matching outfits and the bows, us making cookies and getting love from Henry. Behind the pictures was a mom that couldn’t do the dishes because there were sharp knives in there. I couldn’t be close to them, was I going to pick one of them up and hurt the baby with it? So what did I do, avoided the kitchen so nothing would happen.I’m sure my husband would come home and think, “what has she done all day.” I didn’t want to be thinking this way and the more I tried to push it out the more the thoughts came. I couldn’t take my baby for a walk and no one understood why, but it was because I was so afraid I was going to let the stroller go down the hill into the road. I couldn’t take out the trash because what if I put the baby in the trash can and came back inside and didn’t even know or remember that I did it. Then my husband would come home and ask where then baby was and I wouldn’t know. I couldn't give her a bath because what is she drowned or worse, I drowned her. What if she threw up at night and I couldn’t save her. It was awful. I didn’t want to be that woman on the news that hurt her baby that everyone looks at like a total monster, but that’s how I felt. I felt like a total monster, a terrible person, someone that was evil, or even worse a murderer. The thoughts just wouldn’t go away and I was so scared all the time. So scared to go to sleep because would I wake up in the middle of the night and do something to my baby while the rest of the world slept? I didn’t want anything to happen to her I didn’t want to cause her any harm. WHY THE FUCK WILL THIS NOT STOP, WHY WONT THIS GO AWAY, WHY HAVE I TURNED INTO THIS PERSON. Deep down inside I knew there was still a little piece of me somewhere but I couldn’t find her. And I was fighting against myself everyday. I was terrified that each new day that came would be the day I hurt my baby, or myself. I had suicidal thoughts, but I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to go to jail, I’d never survive there, I didn’t want my husband to leave me, I didn’t want my baby taken away from me. I knew all the consequences to these actions and I didn’t want any of this to happen, especially losing my baby. I couldn’t tell anyone though. There was no way in the world I was every going to voice what was going on in my head. I knew it was wrong, I knew I didn’t want to think or feel this way. I told myself I would get better, that nothing was going to happen to me or Rivie, once my body got back to where it was before pregnancy I would be fine. The anxiety I had everyday was real, the fear that I felt was so crippling that I could barely change her diaper because I was scared I was going to snap. If she started crying was I going to lose it? But why would I, she never upset me before, I’ve never lost it before. I felt like a ticking time bomb, and being around her made me have an overwhelming terrible feeling, but I still didn’t want to be away from her. It was all so confusing to me, and that’s when I knew I had lost myself. This has been going on for months. I didn’t have control of my life. I was sitting on the couch one day and the thought to hit her came into my mind, again. BUT WHY?!! She wasn’t crying she wasn’t doing anything but sitting with me. I thought maybe if I just hit her I’ll stop thinking about it. If I hit her would this make all of it go away? ( I never did, I never wanted to & I never would)
These pictures are from the one and only walk we have been on.
Who the fuck was I. I was fucked up, I was not a good mom. I got to the point where in my mind I needed to give my baby to someone else because she wasn’t safe with me. I wasn’t safe with me. But how in the hell am I going to say this without someone or everyone thinking I am totally off my rocker and crazy, or take me seriously. None of these things were ever anything I was, or showed signs of being. Would anyone believe me and know how serious this really was, I didn’t know how anyone would react and that scared me too. So that wasn’t an option. I couldn’t tell anyone and I wasn’t going to. And then I found that little piece of me that was still in there. The logical one, the good mom, the one that would do anything for her family and most importantly for her baby. I knew I had to say something. I had to do something, someone needed to know.
My brother had come over for dinner on Friday January 11, 2020 and I really needed that visit. I remember sitting at the table with Rivie in my lap and asking my husband to take the baby, and he was doing something on his phone. He didn’t take her that very second and I snapped “Take the fucking baby NOW!” This wasn’t me and this isn’t who I wanted to be. That night I knew it was time to get help, for my baby and for me. I didn’t trust myself and all of this was becoming too much for me, I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend I was okay, because I wasn’t. I was so scared and tried to avoid saying anything, but I started shaking controllably and the panic was overwhelming. I finally told my husband I couldn’t do “this” anymore. I had no idea what “this” was and I know he didn’t either. I just said “ I can’t do this anymore I can’t take care of the baby anymore, I don’t think i’m enjoying this like I should be.” I still wasn’t being honest about what was happening inside of me, but I didn’t want to say it. I texted my mom and told her I needed her to come spend the night because I wasn’t myself and I didn’t feel good, I was scared. Once again I still wasn’t saying anything. When she got here I told them I couldn’t be alone, I didn’t want to be alone with my baby, I couldn’t. Not even for one second did I want to be left by myself or with her. I knew if I had people around me they wouldn’t let me do anything because they were in the right state of mind, and there was no way I could be. The more people around the safer I felt.
The next day Mike had to work and my mom had a bingo to go to. I didn’t know what to do I was panicked but kept just saying I can’t be alone. My mom called my uncle and told him I needed to come over with the baby but I didn’t want to be left alone. No one knew how serious I was or how terrible of a place I was in. I wasn't crying I wasn’t screaming, I was calm. How could anyone know that I was crumbling. My mom wanted me to drop her off at bingo and drive the baby to my uncles. I agreed reluctantly because I didn’t want to interrupt anyones plans or have them worry. The closer we got to bingo the more I couldn’t move. I was crippled and finally said, “I can’t do this, I can’t drive the baby.” My mom never questioned me. It was then and there that I revealed my deepest darkest secret. It was out in the world, I felt a little free. I told my mom everything, that I had suicidal thoughts and I was completely terrified of seriously hurting Rivie. This is when the guilt came, the horror of holy shit what did I just do, how could I really feel this way. Did I ever like my baby, or did I just think I did? I needed help, I just didn’t know how or that I could ask for it. I called my OB when we got to my uncles house and they told me to start taking the medicine that was still sitting at the pharmacy. That night I started taking it, and I couldn’t even sleep in the room with my baby. I made it through Sunday, and Monday morning I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt like I weighed 1,000 lbs and couldn’t move. I got up and started crying and couldn't stop. I knew this was it, I was throwing in the towel. I needed real help- I wanted to go to the hospital. I sat on the floor in Rivies room with tears streaming down my face, I couldn’t move but I had to get her packed. I knew I wasn’t going to be seeing her for probably a couple days. I didn’t want to leave her but I wanted her to be safe, and I wanted to be safe from myself
After dropping her off to my aunt, I called Mike and told him I was on my way to the hospital. On the way there I told my mom that I had the most relieving feeling, Rivie was safe because she wasn’t with me. I wasn’t worried about her because she was better off with someone else. I didn’t trust myself, I couldn’t. I knew I would never do anything to her, but would I? I didn’t think I could ever think such FUCKED UP things, and then I did, so was I capable of doing them. Oh my god, I was a real monster, and the woman from the news I so desperately didn’t want to be. That’s all I could see myself as.
We arrived at the ER and I was put into a special room because I wasn’t “safe" to have around others and I needed to be watched, even with my mom there. I was given a pair of purple scrubs and they took everything from me including my phone. I was officially a psych patient.
I was an absolute mess, I knew this is where I needed to be but I was scared. Scared of all of this, I knew it was the right thing and the best thing I could have ever done for myself or my baby but it didn’t make it any easier. Mentally I was exhausted and completely drained of anything but hopelessness and shame. I guess I was depressed but I still didn’t think that’s what was going on. I had never heard anything about this type of shit going on (why would I, no sane person wants to tell this to people). I just kept crying and looking for reassurance in anyone that was there to help. I know I must have asked 100 times, “ Am I going to be okay? Am I ever going to feel better?” Everyones answer was the same, “yes.” I couldn’t even believe them because I felt like there was no way, this was just who I was and what my life was now. I was devastated, how did this happen, and it is all my fault. I was evaluated and just as I thought, I needed further treatment. I was waiting for a bed to open somewhere.
The next evening around 7pm the stretcher came for me and I was being transferred to Sheppard Pratt. I couldn't help but think once again, what have I done. I knew all these things were the steps I had to take to get better but why did it all have to be so horrifying. It was a dark rainy night and I was wheeled in on the stretcher, registered, and rolled to the unit I would be staying on. Every door locked behind me and I knew I wasn’t leaving any time soon. I got off the stretcher and felt like the world was spinning around me, like I was in a movie that you pray is never part of your life. And for me, this was at that very moment my real life. I wanted to leave, I thought there was no way I could stay there. They asked me tons of questions and I didn’t even know how to answer half of them. Are you suicidal? My answer, “Yes, but no, I don’t want to be but I’ve had thoughts. So I guess..yes?” This was a ride on an emotional roller coaster that I thought was never going to run out of speed.
And there I found myself sitting on my bed in the psych ward at age 29 pumping for my 12 week old baby who was at home with just her dad. So fresh from having a baby that the one nurse that has never had a baby asked what the brown line on my stomach was from, since they have to do a full body check to make sure you don’t have any bodily harm.
This is where I spent a week of my life, getting to know a lot of wonderful people. And realizing that we all have a story, we are all human, and we are all just trying to survive the best way we know how. Some were there by choice, some weren’t but we were all there together for the same reason, we wanted to get better. We wanted to be better, we wanted to have control of our lives. I sat and colored with them, did word puzzles, ate our meals, made bracelets and watched tv together before bed. I was hearing their stories and they were listening to mine. All without passing any judgment. We all understood each other. It was like we were a family, and wanted each other to improve. Everyone was so happy to see people go home, but sad that we knew our journey with them was over.
My husband came to visit me every night from 7-8, yes only one hour a day in the evening. Several of my families members also came to visit multiple times. (My mom, my dad, my brother, my sisters, my aunt and uncle, my cousin and my other aunt). Each time was more emotional then the next for me and them. We had supervised visitation in the cafeteria. I didn’t feel like I belonged with them, I just wanted to go back to my unit. As the week went on I got more and more comfortable there and my husband asked me if I actually liked it there because I would be laughing telling him all about what was going on in our unit that day. He said I wasn’t there to make friends, and he was right but I was making friends. I did like it there, I knew it was where I needed to be and it was helping me to get better. The one day when I was on the phone with my mom she was with Rivie and she started to cry. I got the most overwhelming feeling again like I did when I was with her. I knew it wasn't ready to come home, and I didn't want to go home feeling that way. Another phone call with my husband and Riv started to cry again, it didn’t have any effect on me, and thats when I knew I was making huge improvements. Before I went home I had to have a supervised visit with Mike and Rivie and my mom came. I couldn’t believe she was my baby, she looked so different then I remembered. She was so big. Before going into the hospital I had never been away from her but one time, for an hour.
By the time I was discharged I was so ready to go home, very anxious about it and afraid I was going to feel the same way I did before. I learned something in therapy though, they said, don’t wait until your ready to do something, you just have to do it. And that’s exactly what I did, I went home and I picked up my baby and I told myself it was all going to be okay. And it has been. I continued to go to a group setting for 2 weeks at Sheppard Pratt and completed their outpatient program. I am on three medicines and will continue to see a therapist and psychiatrist until I am ready to stop.
Our first night back together.
This week I went to see my therapist for the second time. When I got there she said she couldn’t wait to tell me what she had found. She said after I left she was doing a lot of research and looking into more on PPD, what she found was everything I had been experiencing and sounded way more like what I was describing to her. As she was reading the article she found I felt like I could have written it myself. Those were the symptoms I had, those were the things I was experiencing, don’t get me wrong I think I definitely had PPD as well because I couldn’t figure out was wrong with me.
Have you ever heard of postpartum OCD. And no not the kind where you have to wash your hands all the time. The symptoms of this are:
Obsessions, also called intrusive thoughts, which are persistent, repetitive thoughts or mental images related to the baby. These thoughts are very upsetting and not something the woman has ever experienced before.
Compulsions, where the mom may do certain things over and over again to reduce her fears and obsessions. This may include things like needing to clean constantly, check things many times, count or reorder things.
A sense of horror about the obsessions
Fear of being left alone with the infant
Hypervigilance in protecting the infant
Moms with postpartum OCD know that their thoughts are bizarre and are very unlikely to ever act on them
Information from:
https://www.postpartum.net/learn-more/pregnancy-or-postpartum-obsessive-symptoms/
I couldn’t believe how well this described everything I was experiencing. I said out loud, YES, YES to everything. It was that ah ha moment, and then I was mad. How could no one have brought this up before, how was this the first time I was hearing anything about this. Why don’t the doctors talk to their patients about this? Why don’t they tell new moms if they experience any of THESE symptoms to come to them, that it’s not uncommon but they need to talk to someone about it. There is a way to help us.
I get it, no one wants to talk about this or how shitty of a person they think they are. I also get not wanting anyone to know what is going on inside of your mind, I get the fear, IT’S REAL, like really really real. You know what is also real, PPD and PPOCD. Do I feel guilty for the way I was feeling and still have a really hard time with this, yes, but I am doing better. I want other moms to be doing well too. I understand not all moms experience this and some go home after baby and things are easy for them or they have a wonderful experience. I’m not trying to take away from those mom moments, I just want other people that might have been feeling, or are currently feeling the way I was to know that you too will be able to come out of that dark hole you might feel like you are living in. You don’t have to suffer alone. You’re not a bad mom, or a bad person. This is common but it’s not our normal, so getting help is the best thing you can do for yourself and your family. Remember that medicine I didn’t want to take? Right now I couldn’t be more thankful for it, why wouldn’t I take it if makes me feel better.
Sitting at the table in Sheppard Pratt, I told my mom, aunt and husband that I was going to be sharing my story when I was ready, and when I got access to the internet again (LOL). Mike looked at me like I had 10 heads. I’m sure he was wondering why in the hell I would want anyone to know this about me, or maybe he didn’t want anyone to know his wife was on medicine and having mental issues. And that’s the problem with this world, no one wants to talk about the real stuff and the struggles we all have. Why wouldn’t I share? If I don’t who will, am I going to be the same way everyone else is? I know sharing this people might think I am a bad mom, or a bad person, or need to be back in the psych ward. I’m okay with that. I’m not proud of this, I’m not bragging about it, some days I am still ashamed and feel extremely guilty. I have decided though that I am okay with not being okay. From now on I am going to embrace the good days with all the bows and matching outfits, and know that the bad days will only make me and my family stronger. I’m not going to let this control my life anymore. This isn’t an easy topic for me to talk about, but it’s my reality, it’s my life. This is all stuff that has happened to me. I decided right from the moment I made the choice to get help that I was going to be open about this with anyone that needs or wants to hear it. Being a mom is hard work, it is life changing, but it also changes our bodies, and our way of thinking. Life isn’t about just us anymore- we are responsible for another humans life, and well being. I want to do something about the awareness of how serious, real and scary PPD, PPA, and PPOCD can truly be. I’d like to be an outlet for people that might be struggling, no I’m no therapist but I get it. I understand where you might be and I understand how you are feeling and no one should have to go through that alone.
I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not a afraid of what people think of me or what they might say. I know who I am and I am okay with that. My life is not perfect, but I work hard every single day at being a good human and being kind.
From one unperfected mom, to whoever might still be reading. You got this mama, and I’ve got you.
Until next time,
xoxo
