The Clouds that Came

During my pregnancy with my second son, Zach, there were moments when I wondered how I would adjust to having another baby.  I don't tend to like change and am quite comfortable leaving things as they are.  Although, I wasn't opposed to having another baby, I had not been eager to get pregnant.

Parenting for me has been a journey of mixed blessing.  The Lord has given me much but He has also taken a lot.  From the beginning, before I ever held my first son, I had to let go of two little lives.  Even though God met me in that time of loss and brought a lot of healing, there remained a residual hurt. In many ways, pregnancy brings that pain to the surface forcing me to remember and to feel it all over again.

If I am honest, after I had my first son, there was a part of me that never wanted to get pregnant again.  I had given birth to a beautiful baby boy and that was enough for me.  The emotions that conception and pregnancy produced in me was something I wanted to leave behind.  I was grateful God had given me a baby but deep inside I was afraid of what would happen if I got pregnant again.

Well, I did get pregnant again.  It's hard to explain how you can feel excitement and love toward the new life that is forming inside of you but also feel dread and fear. I wrestled with these and many other emotions during my pregnancy.  As Zach's birth approached, I found myself praying a lot.  I prayed mostly for peace.  I wanted God's peace to cover me.  There was a part of me that knew the emotions I was feeling and the various things going on in my life were brewing up to make the perfect storm.

The first two weeks after Zach was born were blissful in many ways.  My birth experience was amazing and very empowering.  I felt instantly bonded to my new little son and felt very grateful for the gift God had given me.  I was also thankful that the "baby blues" had lasted only a few moments.  I remember thanking God for the short lived tears.

I can't pinpoint what changed but something did at around the four week mark. I found myself feeling overwhelmed even though at this point I was getting more sleep.  I was afraid of being alone with the boys.  I felt insecure of how to care for them.  I was irritable.  I cried because I didn't know what to do.  I felt like I was broken and wounded.

 I reached out to my husband for support.  At first he was unsure of how to help me and felt that I wasn't really depressed but needed to change my perspective and expectations of myself.  To a point he was correct but I was having a hard time doing those things and so I told him that in order for me to get to that place, I would need him to step in and help me.

Mike did everything he could to support me from taking additional blocks of time off of work to be at home, to taking the boys with him when I needed a break.  At first it was working okay but then it started to wear on him.  He started feeling like he couldn't get work done and hold things together at home as well.  I could sense his frustration which made me feel even worse for not being able to pull myself together.

Now just for some perspective.  I was functioning rather well on the surface.  I could get out of bed every day, clean the house, dress the boys, play with them, tend to their needs, and even go out and do stuff with them.  The difference was that inside I felt like running away because I didn't feel capable of handling my life.  When Mike would go to work, I would start feeling anxious. There were days when I didn't think I could face another day. This is how I knew that what I was feeling was not just normal parenting stress.

After a couple of weeks of struggling, I decided to make an appointment with a counselor.  After my first session, I felt a lot better.  It helped to voice my fears and admit how hard my life seemed right now.  She encouraged me to get extra support the next several weeks/months, however long it took for me to feel better.  She affirmed that I wasn't crazy for feeling the way I was feeling. She also told me it was okay to ask for help.

One of my biggest hang ups on asking for more help was that I knew there were other moms who managed motherhood with less support than I, and they were doing just fine.  Why couldn't I just suck it up and do it too?  I felt guilty for wanting help even though I needed it.  I felt even worse going back to my husband and telling him, I needed more.

I sat down with Mike and made a plan.  I told him that this was temporary and that I knew I would get better but I really needed his help to make it happen.  He told me that he would do whatever it took in order to help me get better. This took a huge burden off my shoulders knowing that my husband was willing to listen when I needed to talk and step in for me in my time of weakness.

This is the plan we came up with:

• Exercise 3x's a week for 45 minutes
• Counseling session 1x per week
• Invite a mom friend over on Mike's long day of work so that I didn't feel so alone
• I would talk about my feelings and cry when I needed to
• I would ask my close friends/family to pray for me
• Mike would take an extra day off of work each week until I felt better
• Mike would only be gone two evenings a week in order to help me with the bedtime routine
• I would try to let go of unrealistic expectations that were making me feel like a failure
• If all of the other interventions didn't help me and I was still struggling after a few weeks, I would make an appointment with my OB and get started on some meds.

A little over five weeks passed from the beginning of this ordeal until I felt that I had a breakthrough.  I was praying one night and I cried out to God in my distress.  I claimed the deliverance that was mine as a child of His.  I pleaded that he would heal my heart and mind.  I asked Him to return joy to my life.  I went to bed crying that night hoping that God would come to my rescue.

The next morning I got up and I felt different. Mike left early to church because he was preaching. I got the boys ready by myself.  I didn't feel afraid or overwhelmed.  I went through church with both of them and continued to feel fine.  The anxiety was gone.  The dread of living was gone. I was at peace.

The following day, I told Mike he should go play basketball (he usually goes Sunday mornings but had missed several weeks because I was such a mess).  He looked at me a bit surprised.  I told him I felt fine and that he should go.  The rest of the day continued with the same peace I had experienced the day before.  Every day since then has been the same.  Sure, the stresses of parenting are still there but my outlook is different.  I'm no longer afraid to be alone.  I don't feel incapable of caring for my boys anymore.  I look forward to a new day.

I know God answered my prayer that night.  But I also know that all the other things that we put in place also made a difference.  God's ways are dynamic and seldom work in isolation of others.  We need others to make it during the good and bad times.  It's tempting to let go of the supports I have in place now that I'm feeling better. I have come to realize however, that I need them in place to continue to feel better, at least for awhile.

Mike is stepping back just a little but he's still helping out with the boys.  I think every mom needs their husband's support.  It definitely makes for a happier mommy!   I will continue going to counseling and working through some of my hang-ups with perfectionism, fear, and loss. I am going to give myself permission to talk about my feelings rather than hide from them or stuff them down.  I will reach out to other moms for support and friendship.  I will continue to pray and praise the God who is more than able to care for my every need.

I felt it was important for me to write about my experience because there is such a stigma surrounding depression and motherhood.  It's not a topic that is readily discussed at mommy groups or at family gatherings. I felt uncomfortable bringing it up even to those closest to me.  It took me weeks to actually say, "I have postpartum depression." Admitting it made me feel weak. I also think there is a bit of ambivalence in many mothers in knowing if what they are experiencing is indeed PPD or just a bad day or two.  When I went online to look at the symptoms for PPD, I didn't feel that I was experiencing a lot of what I was reading.

Most days, I found pleasure in doing the things I normally enjoyed. I laughed often. I never lost interest in caring for my boys. I was attentive and aware of their needs. I had energy to clean my house. I even had a desire to go to the gym and workout.  If I had only looked at my exterior actions, I could have easily dismissed the feelings I was having inside. But in all honesty, my efforts to have a clean house were a cover up for the feelings of inadequacy that were plaguing me. My desire to go to the gym was my way of coping with the waves of tears and sadness that came when I least expected them.  Like I mentioned earlier, the sure tell sign for me that I was experiencing PPD was the intensely negative emotions I was experiencing that wouldn't go away.

There are different tools you can use to determine if you have PPD.  The most common is the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale.  The one I really liked was just two questions long.  1) Over the past 2 weeks, have you felt down, depressed, or hopeless? and 2) Over the past 2 weeks , have you felt little interest or pleasure in doing things?  A positive response to either question indicates a positive screen and should be followed up by an expanded history to confirm the diagnosis of depression.

There are certain risk factors that typically are present in women that develop PPD.  Some of them applied to me but most did not.  Here's a list of the things I believe contributed to PPD in me:

• My intense desire to do things right (perfectionism)
• My tendency to measure my worth by the success of what I do (baby Zach was not doing things by the book (imagine that! :) and it was making me feel like a failure and very insecure). 
• History of infertility
• Two previous miscarriages
• Lack of a strong support system 

So there you have it, my PPD story.  I know there are women that struggle much longer than I did and my heart truly goes out to them because dealing with depression and raising children is the hardest thing in the world.  I hope that my story will help other women take courage during their time of struggle and reach out for help.  I know that I couldn't have gone through this time alone.  I believe if I would have, I would still be struggling today.

For now the clouds appear to have lifted.  I am so grateful for that. I pray they don't come back, but if they do, I know I am not alone.