A couple of weeks ago I quietly changed the badge in my sidebar. If you scroll down you’ll see my warrior mom badge on the right, which used to say, “I’m surviving postpartum depression. You can too.”
No more. Now it says, “I survived.”
I waited a while to make that change, even though I wanted to swap my badge out as soon as I felt remotely normal. But I’ve previously thought I’d kicked PPD to the curb and it turned out that (really) wasn’t the case. Call it prudence, call it superstition – whatever it was, I wasn’t prepared to jinx things by updating that badge too soon.
I’m now ready to declare this battle won. Not that I don’t still have tough times; thanks to my fellow warrior moms I know it’s not that simple. I know sometimes I’ll get smacked down and have to get myself back up again, and that’s okay. The beauty in all this is that I know it now, so I’m prepared for it. And I consider that knowledge a gift. 
I didn’t understand the value of being able to identify my emotions until quite recently. I’ve always been an emotional person but looking back I see my emotions as Pollock-esque splatters of paint thrown on the canvas of life, an expression of something perhaps not everyone understood.
Now I’m creating my art – my life – in a different way. The outcome is less a splatter and more a rainbow, with different lines of the arc of my life representing different pursuits that come together in a much more brilliant – and recognizable – whole. (Make no mistake, though. I will never be the sort of person who colours inside the lines.)
I know there will be some dark and cloudy days but now I can identify them and, as with a weather forecast, know they will be temporary.
The one bit of darkness that stubbornly refuses to disappear is what I call black holes. My experience with postpartum depression has left me with gaps in my memory. As previously noted, when my husband said, “I was in an abusive relationship for a year” I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Even still, I have absolutely no recollection of how I treated him during that time.
C’est la vie. I can – will have to – deal with it. He has. We have, together. It is what it is and remembering wouldn’t change it.
What I do find disconcerting is these black holes popping up in my day-to-day. In the Before, I was organized and could keep everything in my head – my appointments, my to-do list, my grocery list. Now I have a calendar AND a task list AND reminders set for everything I’m supposed to do. If I don’t create those reminders – and, sadly, sometimes I forget to do that too – I don’t remember. Even with a list I go to the grocery store and often come home without toilet paper.
And don’t even get me started on my sense of direction. I never had much of one to start with, and now I’m easily getting lost twice a week. In my own city. Thank goodness I’m able to laugh at myself.
All I can say is I sincerely hope these black holes are temporary. If not, I suppose I can always become an emotionally unstable painter and hope some people will consider me a genius.
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Speaking of postpartum depression and remembering things (or not remembering them, as the case may be), I’ve got a guest post up at The Koala Bear Writer today. I met Bonnie at a local writers’ workshop and she kindly asked me to share some information about PPD on her site. I’m happy to be over there today sharing what I think people should know about PPD (based on my experience, anyway). I’d love it if you’d come and visit, and while you’re there please say hi!
