antenatal depression Archives -

In Transit

May 18, 2014 by Farewell Stranger ·

Right now I’m sitting in the observation deck at the Minneapolis airport, a peaceful room with only classical music as the backdrop for the view of the runways. I look out at the planes sitting at the gates, seemingly quiet with no hint as to the activity happening inside; those planes are all going somewhere, though I can’t tell where just by looking.

It feels like a metaphor for me and my own journey.

I’ve felt a little lost lately, and it feels odd. I don’t know what to say about it. When I first started putting words to my journey three years ago I could see the path I was on, like a moving sidewalk in front of me. Whether I walked or not I was going somewhere, and I had some idea of where. I just had to wait for that moving sidewalk to spit me out the other side. And then it did and I thought, Oh. I’m here.

“Here” turned out to be a different city. “Here” turned out to be a new job and a new baby and a new appreciation for the time during which the moving sidewalk went a little nuts, forcing me to hold on tightly to the handrail lest I get chewed up en route. And so it was, for a time – at peace, happy, accepting.

After a while, though, things started to feel a little off. I didn’t know why at first, and then I did.

And then I stopped writing because I don’t know what to make of it.

The question I’m wrestling with is, “Really?” I had a baby and got sick and didn’t get help soon enough and now I have to struggle with depression for the rest of my life? Really?!

Inside, I’m railing against this. I’m angry and frustrated and, sometimes, feeling defeated. I did all that work and learned all those lessons and got brave and shared my story to help others and I still have to deal with this shit?

Apparently, yes. Really.

I’m in this airport on a three-hour layover on my way to DC for a conference hosted by a company I know well. I used to fairly regularly fly to the US to speak at conferences hosted by this same company, and as I sit in this quiet room I look around for the me who used to do this, but she’s not here. Just this new me and some classical music.

I’ve often wondered lately if this is it. The last few months with the ups and downs of what I now know is an ongoing depression journey have felt a bit like a layover – interminable and frustrating, watching as everyone else takes off while I’m stuck looking out the window. I’ll depart eventually, but whether I go onwards or backwards I don’t yet know. I’m still in transit.

Filed Under: Hard things · Tagged With: admissions, antenatal depression, going public, travel

Write On

August 21, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

I got another email the other day, this one from a friend-of-a-friend sort of person. She had found my blog thanks to Reader’s Digest naming me one of Canada’s top mom bloggers (and yes, that was unexpected, but what I was especially happy about was that it was my writing about postpartum depression that they highlighted). The email was of the thank-God-I’m-not-alone types from someone who previously dealt with postpartum anxiety and is now struggling with antenatal depression and just really isn’t sure where to turn.

When I got the email I was just closing my computer to take Connor out for some fun with my sister and my dad and he was getting impatient. But I saw the name and the subject line and I paused, hoping I could put the excited child off a moment longer.

I keep every email like this that I receive – the ones that say thank you for sharing and for being so honest. The ones that say can you help me? And the ones that say I just didn’t know and I thought it was just me.

Because I know. I know what that feels like and I know how sometimes it’s impossible not to reach out and say thank you (like I did with Katherine after I found Postpartum Progress). And when I get those emails it affirms that it’s okay to write about these things, which is a reminder I sometimes need, especially lately when I’ve been feeling like I lost my words.

I’ve been feeling a little bit vulnerable. Before the Reader’s Digest thing, but especially so since. I’m so, so honored, especially given some of the other bloggers on the list. But that’s the sort of thing that tends to get spread around. I posted it on my own Facebook page (and I rarely share blog content or related things there) and it got shared by my family and some friends. Which is how the friend-of-a-friend thing tends to happen.

In this case it actually went beyond that. I work with my brother who, evidently, is friends on Facebook with a bunch of other people we work with. Who now know about my blog. Some of them said, “That’s cool! I’ll have to check out your blog,” (and I thought oh god…). Some of them did read it and said only nice things like, “It’s great that you’re so open” and “You’re a great writer.” Which are lovely comments, but there’s always a part of me that wonders if they’re really thinking, wow, you are messed UP.

But you know what? That’s okay. Some days I’m totally messed up, but so are most people in one way or another. And I’d rather be messed up and working on it and, better yet, helping others in the same boat than holding it in for fear of what others think. I did that for too long and it backfired, making me more messed up in the short term and causing this to be more of a long-term problem than it would otherwise have been.

So I’ll write and whoever wants to can read. And if one of those readers finds something helpful here and sends me an email, so much the better.

Write on.

Linked up with Just.Be.Enough

and Things I Can’t Say

I’ve also got a post on Just.Be.Enough today about some awesome lyrics by a great Canadian band. Come visit!

Filed Under: Better world, Postpartum depression, Writing · Tagged With: antenatal depression, blogging, community, spreading the love, telling the truth, we're not alone

Click

August 19, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

Do you know the first rule of parenthood? Never brag about how well your kid is sleeping. Doing so is guaranteed to invite the wrath of the sleep gods who will throw your arrogance in your face by giving you one of the worst nights of your life.

I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. More than once. (Ahem.) So, no, this post is not about sleep. But it does sort of feel like I’m about to break a similar rule.

A few months ago I was struggling. I don’t even know what this struggle is anymore. Antenatal depression? Regular old depression? A habit? A rut? I was just struggling. I dreaded coming home from work because I knew Connor would get all riled up. He would run around and jump on me and yell and sing and I would want to go into my room and close the door.

I had all my walls up. The ones covered in ugly graffiti that said things like I can’t and I don’t want to. Some days my inner monologue said it’s him and others it’s me.

I think it was me.

I mentioned a few weeks ago that Rich took Connor camping. Twice, actually. I stayed home because I’ve determined after careful research that me + pregnancy + camping = no fun for anyone.

The first weekend I was terrified that being on my own meant I’d stay in bed and not do anything and feel horrible and depressed as a result. (Previous research has shown this to be the likely outcome.) So I made a bunch of plans and was quite productive. I enjoyed my time alone, but by the time the weekend was coming to an end I was dreading their return home because I knew it would be the end of my solitude and a return to the battle of the 4-year-old vs. the introvert.

But quiet weekends also provide an opportunity to think. And in the midst of my puttering and planning some thoughts came in. The same ones I often think, but without the background noise it was easier to hear them.

I’ve talked to a few people about my difficult dynamic with Connor, most notably my mother and my new psychiatrist.

My mom – never really one to hold back – observed that the way I respond to him (shutting down, pushing him away) provokes his reaction (more loud and provocative behavior to get attention) and so on until we’re swirling around in a whirlpool of water that I can’t really see until we actually flush ourselves down the toilet and I realize it’s too late. (My metaphor, not hers.)

My psychiatrist – who I really like – commiserated with me. She tells me her own stories of too much and be quiet and for God’s sake STOP!! On more than one occasion she has said, “Being a mom is really fucking hard.” (Did I mention I really like her?)

So in those quiet moments when these thoughts came in I got to what if I…? and maybe…

And when they got home I did and it was.

Connor pushed my buttons, but instead of screaming inside my head I acknowledged my anger and frustration and then gently set them aside and took a deep breath. Don’t provoke the cycle.

It worked.

Not to say, of course, that I am now motherhood personified, but I think in that process something clicked.

I can see what he needs and not only what I don’t want.

I can catch the ridiculousness of fighting with him over whether we use the bath towel I have in my hand or the one he wants, which is in the linen closet down the hall.

I understand that he wants attention and time to play, and while that’s often really hard for me I’m more often than not finding a way to do it.

But I’m still not letting him squeeze the toothpaste all over the bathroom. (Even with motherhood personified there has to be a line.)

That was several weeks ago and things since have been indescribably different. I have managed, for once, to grab onto the feeling of enjoying motherhood and not have it immediately whisked away. I’m enjoying my time with him. He’s funny – so, so funny – and I get to observe from a much more connected place the person he is becoming.

I sincerely hope that in sharing this I haven’t broken an unspoken rule of motherhood because I like this feeling and I’d like things to stay this way.

Click.

Filed Under: Happy things, Motherhood, Postpartum depression · Tagged With: antenatal depression, gratitude, hope, perspective, weekends

Random Worries of a Pregnant PPD Mom

June 27, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

I’m not fretting too much about this stuff, but it’s taking up space in my brain so I thought I’d put it somewhere else.

I’m worried that if I spend 40 weeks totally exhausted (which seems to be the way this is going) I will be already tired when I go into the newborn-tired phase. And that’s not good for someone who’s attempting to avoid once again turning into a raging lunatic.
I’m not even sure I’m going to get to 40 weeks. If all my wishing for this to be over happens to work I won’t. Which isn’t how it works, I know. So maybe I’m just dreading 16 more weeks of feeling like crap.
I’m not sure if I’m up for all the baby stuff again. (I know. Too late, right?)
I’m worried I’m going to have another breech baby.
I’m a little concerned that if I do end up with another scheduled c-section I won’t be as okay with it as I’m trying to prepare myself to be.
I’m afraid I’ll be disappointed in myself and how I handle labour if I do get to experience that this time.
I’m afraid that, no matter what happens, the new-baby stuff will result in me being an absolutely awful mother to Connor.
I’m dreading all the icky postpartum stuff – sore boobs, sore incision, hair loss, night sweats. (Oh wait, I get night sweats now. (Thanks, meds.) So I guess I dread that getting worse. Or never, EVER going away.)
I’m worried that the recently-discovered marginal cord insertion issue I have is more of a concern than my midwife is making it out to be. (This is when the umbilical cord is inserted into the side of the placenta instead of the middle, and it can affect the baby’s growth. Anyone have any experience with that?)
Despite #9, I’m worried that I’m measuring small because my being on medication is making this baby small.

And bonus #11: I’m worried that this many worries is a sign that I get to deal with mucho anxiety this time as well as the potential for rage/depression/general craziness.

Sigh.

Linked up with:

Filed Under: Hard things, Postpartum depression, Pregnancy · Tagged With: admissions, antenatal depression, anxiety, expectations, lists

Things I’m Afraid To Tell You

June 12, 2012 by Farewell Stranger ·

There’s a bit of a movement happening in the blogosphere. Jess from Makeunder My Life wrote a post called Things I’m Afraid To Tell You. Ez of Creature Comforts took the idea and ran with it (including designing the image you see below), and the Huffington Post thought it was such a good idea they published a piece about it.

Now Lisa from joycreation is keeping it alive.

I love this idea, because I think one of the most valuable things bloggers offer is a peek inside someone else’s head. We tell you things we might otherwise never voice, and in doing so make others feel less alone. That’s what some bloggers have done for me and what I hope to do for others.

I know, you’re probably wondering what on Earth I’m afraid to tell you, especially after recent posts about how I’m sad about not having a girl and my recurring slide into depression. But there are things. Probably lots of things. Many more things than you’ll find in this post, not because I don’t want to share them but because I honestly thing some of them are buried so deep even I don’t know they’re there. But I do have some things on my mind lately that I’m afraid to say out loud because they’re hard and they’re not the things I like most about myself. So I’ve joined up with Lisa and some other bloggers who want to share their things as well for this edition of Things I’m Afraid to Tell You.

Here’s my list.

***

I’m not sure if moving was the right decision. I’m not sure it was the wrong decision, but so far we haven’t accomplished what we set out to accomplish, which is avoiding me working all the time and wanting to throw myself in front of a truck.

***

I’m getting more introverted as I get older, and I’m starting to like people less and less. I’m accepting them more, but liking them less. We’ve lived here for 6 months and I really don’t care at this point whether I make new friends. I have no desire to go out and chat and get to know people. I just want to come home and see my family and walk my dog and write.

***

The above-referenced post about depression was really hard to publish. I have posted a ton of really personal stuff on this blog in the last year and a half, but it’s getting harder to admit when I’m not doing okay. I thought I had moved past that and figured out what it all meant. I haven’t.

***

I fear I won’t be any better of a mother the second time around. I read a beautiful post by Angie from The Little Mumma about her four-week-old daughter. It included a piece that caused a bit of a revelation for me:

“People ask me if she is a good baby. I say she is a dream. She doesn’t sleep through the night, she prefers to be held, she upchucks regularly. But still, I’m not lying. To me, she is a dream. A newborn dream. Feeding regularly (feels like constantly!), wanting closeness to Mumma, crying when she needs something. To me, these are normal, newborn things and I try not to buy into the idea of what she should be doing.”

Well there you go. If that isn’t the secret to new motherhood, I don’t know what is. The thing is, my revelation lasted about four seconds and deep down I question whether I have any ability whatsoever to remember that this is what life is about for a newborn and not wish it were different.

Despite all I’ve gone through in the last four years, despite all my learning – both the usual way and the incredibly hard way – I’m not sure I’ve learned this lesson. And I question whether I will stay sane this time, and I wonder if perhaps I’m already doing wrong by this beautiful baby we’ve chosen to bring into the world.

And those are the things I’m afraid to tell you.