[Update: the post referenced here seems to have disappeared. Search me (but you won’t find it).]
I’ve got a post up on What To Expect’s Word of Mom blog.
We all know toddlers like to be naked, but I sure wish I had known to expect him to announce to the world (okay, Old Navy) when I was naked (or wasn’t, as the case may be).
You can read my post here [link removed]. (And please tell me I’m not the only one.)
My guest poster today is someone many of us know and love. I don’t know when I first met The Empress – she was always just there. And that’s my experience of her now – she’s there, popping into posts when you need some love, offering to help someone, and keeping her PPD radar going so no suffering mother has to do it alone. She’s just always there.
I met Alexandra in San Diego while at BlogHer ’11 and she was every bit as lovely as I had expected. I invited her to guest post here because I knew she’d have something authentic and beautiful to say, and she didn’t disappoint.
***
I have been excited about guest posting at Robin’s site, and I’m so grateful she’s invited me. Thank you, Robin.
I am a PPD survivor. I have, and will always have, the PPD Survivor button up on my site.
My PPD story is a very big part of who I am, but it’s not entirely who I am, as it once was.
My life, when it was in the throes of PPD, was one I never imagined I’d find my way out of. I hoped, I prayed, but never believed I’d be lucky enough to climb out of the dark tunnel that had become my days.
Therapy worked, for the lucky ones. Medication worked, for the lucky ones. But for someone for whom PPD had come to consume every second of every day and every night — like it had for me – I knew I would not be a survivor.
I was barely hanging on by my fingernails.
Even to talk about what my life was like then makes my eyes brim with tears.
If I had to describe what living with PPD feels like to someone who has no experience in this kind of surreal environment, I’d tell them this: picture a churning, dark ocean with ten foot high crashing waves, battering with tremendous force at whatever they slapped. Then see yourself bobbing, right in the center of this storm, alone, arms flailing, growing weaker and losing hope of survival by the minute, with your head barely above the water, despite your struggle to stay afloat.
You just want to stop fighting, and let yourself sink down. To the sweet, quiet bottom. To surrender. You think how peaceful it would feel to just slowly stop trying to keep your head above the water.
But you can’t give in to this thought. You have the responsibility of your baby, who only wants you.
I have pictures of my newborn from this time, but none of me. The haunted face I saw on myself, of this first time mother, was something I couldn’t look at, so I threw out the pictures. Others didn’t see what I saw in those photos: fear, panic, anxiety, depression. Defeat. Disappointment.
I couldn’t sleep. I’d lay awake, thinking about how I needed to sleep.
I couldn’t eat. I’d sit at the table, pushing my food from one corner of the plate to the other — my anxiety not allowing me to swallow.
I couldn’t speak. My unhappiness had such a grip on me that I couldn’t put three words together. How was I supposed to conduct chit chat at the moms’ groups?
I couldn’t smile.
Of all the things PPD did to me, this one, THIS ONE, makes me want to kick its ass.
PPD wouldn’t let me smile for my baby.
I knew I had to see my doctor, who, after our appointment, agreed that something was wrong and started me on a prescription. She also referred me for talk therapy.
These things may have taken the edge off, reduced the crisis.
But I know the real reason for my survival: the kindness of a stranger.
I decided to call the hospital where I delivered to ask if they had any PPD support groups.
I wanted to jump through the phone and kiss the nurse when she answered “yes.” “Yes,” she said, and then continued with the beautiful words, “they meet right here, every Wednesday morning at 9 a.m.”
I would be with people I wouldn’t have to pretend with. I would be with people who understood. All I had to do was hang on until Wednesday, but Wednesday was too far away. I needed something now. I confided to the nurse that my days were made up of minute-to-minute survival. She gave me the phone number of the nurse who facilitated the PPD group.
Her name was Marty, short for Martha, and I called her. I remember her giggly laughter on the phone. I had said something that made her laugh. I surprised myself by smiling. I told her I couldn’t make it until Wednesday.
She said she’d be over in 40 minutes.
She made the drive to my home, sat on the sofa with me and listened, even though there were no words to listen to, only sobs.
She listened until my husband came home from work, with her arm around me, and then she talked with him, about me.
Marty promised me she’d come over every day until my first PPD meeting in two days.
And she was true to her word.
Marty saved my life. She gave me hope, she gave me time, she gave me herself.
Marty is why I will never take the PPD Survivor button on my site down, even though my story is 17 years old.
Because there may be someone, someday, who clicks over, desperately looking for hope.
And I want them to see that we can kick PPD in the ass.
With the help I needed and the kindness of a woman, I survived. I survived something so mentally brutal that I at one time thought it would never end.
It can end. Never give up trying to find a way for it to end.
And if you are a PPD survivor? Please extend your hand to those still trying to climb their way out of the dark tunnel.
I related so much to her description of PPD, and know exactly how it would be that one person coming and sitting with you might make all the difference. Just so you’re not alone.
Because, of course, none of us ever is. Right, Alexandra? Thank you so very much for being here today.
The fabulous blogger known as Mama Track was one of the people I was especially looking forward to meeting at BlogHer ’11, and she didn’t disappoint. Natalie is friendly and sweet and funny (and she rocks a pregnant belly). I’m totally thrilled to be guest posting at her site today.
I love her writing too – I know to expect something funny or poignant and she never disappoints – but, as with so many of my blogging friends, I love who she is beyond that. She’s totally genuine and always kind. And she’s one of a group of moms who have not experienced PPD but who have supported me, 100%, in my blogging journey. No, more than that. They’ve supported me all around – in blogging and in life. And I’m more grateful to her for that than she will ever know.
So please come and visit me there, and poke around a bit to read some of her writing, because it really is amazing. For example:
Waiting (Revisited) is a great post about how the decision to become a stay-at-home mom isn’t easy for everyone.
Want more on her “mama track”? This post – in which she stands tall and proud of her accomplishments – says so much about the amazing person she is.
Looking for funny? Out of the Mouths of Babes is funny.
I love The Sisterhood of Moms. See? She gets it.
Her husband is pretty funny too.
Comments are off here. See you there!
It might be September but as far as I’m concerned it’s still summer. Do your kids start school in August? I find that odd, I’ve got to admit. I’m sharing my Canadian perspective on back-to-school timelines and squeezing the last drops out of summer over at World Moms Blog today. Come and visit!
Comments here are off – please come talk to me over there!
I am absolutely, joyfully, dancing-ly happy to have Yael here today sharing this amazing post. She added this as a page on her blog, PPD to Joy, not long ago and I just ate it up. I’m excited to share it here today because I think you’ll be able to relate.
This post is about postpartum depression, and about motherhood. But it’s also about relationships and hard days and things that suck. So it doesn’t matter if you’re not a mom or haven’t suffered through PPD – I still think this will speak to you. My suggestion: find a quiet spot, wherever and however you can, and read this. Really read it. Allow it to sink into your brain. I bet your breathing will be deeper and your shoulders lower when you finish.
***
Love is a renewable resource, a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The more you love, the more you love.
This can be hard to feel, and even harder to believe.
Love is magic.
It works regardless of whether you can feel it.
Regardless of whether you believe in it or not.
Being kind is underrated.
Being right is overrated.
When in doubt, choose kindness.
Especially to yourself.
(Go slow and you’ll get there faster. Baby steps will take you farthest.)
Motherhood is the hardest job on the planet.
Even if you’ve climbed Mt. Everest, you know kids can challenge you more than the tallest peaks.
Miraculously, unbelievably, (thankfully) this is, somehow, all worth it.
But why does this have to be so hard?
My kids are the best kids ever. And so are yours.
The fact that they can drive us crazy is beside the point.
Kids, especially toddlers, are physicists and social scientists.
They test the limits of gravity, safety, and patience.
They yank our chains for a living.
This ain’t easy on the mom.
Yelling at children is unavoidable.
Striving to yell less is important, learning grump-management is helpful, but let’s not kid ourselves, raising our voices at our loved ones is not about to go extinct.
Giving ourselves permission to yell when we are at the end of our rope just might keep yelling from turning into screaming.
Hugs are more important than food.
If we hug our kids more often than we yell at them, all of us will turn out all right.
(Baby steps will take you farthest.)
You are not broken.
You are not damaged.
You are struggling.
Every struggle is an opportunity for growth.
You don’t have to like this to survive this.
You don’t have to like this to learn and grow from this.
This sucks, so of course you don’t like this.
You have a right to be angry. How could you not be?
You have a right to be scared.
When you allow your anger and fear to be heard, they cannot rule you.
Interacting with them gives you power in situations you don’t have power over. Running away from your emotions means you can never rest.
If you fight your anger tooth and nail, it will turn into rage and guilt.
If you fear your fear, it will turn into anxiety and panic.
Fighting your emotions only feeds your demons.
Healing cannot happen in a war zone.
Permission-Based Healing is far more effective.
You are not lazy.
You are exhausted.
So is your partner.
Until you get enough sleep, try to respect your capacity, or lack thereof.
Accepting that being grumpy is unavoidable helps.
It is possible to be grumpy without being mean.
Yes, this is hard.
Trust turns caves into tunnels.
When you can’t find the light at the end of your tunnel, dare to ask someone to light a candle and hold your hand.
Asking for help is hard. Very hard. And scary.
And it is the first step to recovery.
If you only learn one thing from having to deal with this darn mood disorder, let it be how to ask for help effectively.
No, you will not be good at this right away. And that’s OK.
(Baby steps will take you farthest.)
Community is my favorite word.
I wouldn’t be alive without my family and my community.
Every single person has skeletons in their closet.
Well, these things only look like skeletons, because it’s so dark in there.
When we dare to bring them out into the light, we discover that the skeletons are simply our very human, very scared selves.
Inviting our scared selves out to play can be petrifying.
Sharing our scary stories with others creates community while connecting all of us on the deepest level.
In my experience such trust is always rewarded handsomely.
This is how we trust in the healing power of community.
When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and human, we allow others to do the same. And we all get stronger together.
Words build community.
When fighting doesn’t bring peace, writing does.
I believe every one of us is capable of writing for healing.
Not ready to write yet?
Read. Speak. Cry. Sing…
(Baby steps will take you farthest.)
***
See? Is that not one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever read? In one post she manages to address all kinds of things that have lurked in the shadows for me.
One of the links above, to Yael’s Permission-Based Healing page, is another new resource on her site. I’ve talked to a lot of people about accepting whatever threatens to overwhelm you – anxiety, rage, grief, whatever it is – and letting it in. Most say I can’t. I’m scared to. I’m afraid if I do I will sink. I know. I was too. I did too. But this approach is the thing that finally allowed me to get better, and one of the people I have to thank for that is Yael. She knows, because she’s been there too. Have a look at that page and let Yael know what you think. (But be gentle with her, she asks – it’s a subject close to her heart.)
Yael is also the one behind the PPD SpeakEasy support calls. When I first heard about these I told Yael (before I really knew her) that I couldn’t really imagine talking to strangers on the phone about my struggle with PPD. I got over it and joined in (I’ve even hosted) and in an upcoming post I’ll tell you about the last call, because it really was a very cool experience. (And if you have a site where you share PPD resources, consider posting Yael’s badge? Pretty please?)
Thank you, Yael, for all you do for our community. We love you for it.
xo
