Wonder. Delight. Joy. Someone asked me to contribute to something involving those concepts and of course I said yes.
It’s a inspirational and free ebook for moms (or anyone, I’d argue), and as part of its release into the world I’ve contributed something at Raising Loveliness (and the slice of image above is part of it). I’d love for you to come and read.
More wonder. More delight. More joy. All good things. Come and get some.
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day, so it seems appropriate to share this with you today: Yesterday I did an interview for a news outlet about why it’s important to talk about postpartum depression in the context of maternal suicide. You can see that interview and the rest of their reporting on the Global News website.
The interview was prompted by a Canadian Medical Association Journal article about why it’s time to put maternal suicide under the microscope, which, in turn, was prompted by the case of Winnipeg mother Lisa Gibson who, it appears, killed her two small children and then herself and was said to have been suffering from postpartum depression. There are a few things I want to say about this issue and my interview with Global News.
I’ll start with this: Women like Lisa Gibson who kill their children are not monsters. That’s a bold statement, but I really believe that to be true. In fact, let’s make it a bolder statement:
Some of you are already in fits of rage, but hear me out. I don’t want to change your mind about this, because it’s such an emotional topic and I totally get that, but I do want to be able to have a conversation about it. I’ll share my thoughts and I welcome yours in the comments.
First, women who do this are not suffering from your typical depression. Generally they are suffering from postpartum psychosis, which is as scary as it sounds. Some very brave women have shared their stories of postpartum psychosis and the completely unreal, not-based-in-real-life things they believed. Women like Jenni, who shared that she saw:
“…a figure, a dwarfish figure – a dark, person-shaped creature that scurried toward the bassinet, saw me, and darted away.”
Jenni thought it was this figure—instead of colic—that was responsible for her newborn’s crying.
And then there’s Heather, whose story I’ve shared before. Heather described finding herself naked on the side of a DC highway:
“When helicopters flew overhead, I was convinced the world was going to end and that presidential nominees Barack Obama and John McCain were headed to DC to join forces and save the world. I thought of a few ways I could help save the world: My husband and I could kill each other. Or we could kill our children. Or my parents…”
So: Women like Heather do not have murderous motives. Often they truly believe killing their children is necessary for reasons that don’t make any sense in the real world. For others it’s less like a plot from a dramatic Hollywood blockbuster and more that they believe their children would be better without them as a mother. Don’t try to make sense of it. It’s psychosis. And until we make it okay to say, “I’m not okay,” and to make it better, easier, not-terrifying for mothers to ask for help, this is going to keep happening.
And that’s why I did the interview. The news clip, of course, includes mere seconds of what was a much longer conversation and if you’re familiar with my story then you haven’t missed much. But the clip also focused on medication – partly because it’s a visual associated with the topic and partly, I suspect, because it’s sort of shocking. (Serious? Clearly associated with mental illness, in any case.) And while medication is one of the things I credit with helping me finally recover, it’s not the only option and it’s not what works for everyone.
The point I wanted to make, essentially, was this: Ask for help. You’re not alone. Postpartum depression is shockingly common and you’re not the only one and it doesn’t make you a bad mother. There are options, and whether you’re hiding in the bathroom crying or formulating a plan to take your own life, you can get help. There is another way.
Please, ask for help.
It’s going to be okay.
SUICIDE AND CRISIS RESOURCES
If you (or someone you know) is thinking about hurting yourself or your children, get help.
Canada: Crisis centres in Canada: http://www.suicideprevention.ca/in-crisis-now/find-a-crisis-centre-now/
US – National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
International: http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html
And remember, you don’t have to be suicidal to call a hotline. If you need to talk to someone, call. You can also go to the nearest emergency room to ask for help.
Ethan has a remote control toy that talks. “Today’s shape is circle!” it says when he pushes a button, and then quickly launches into a counting song as his baby fingers push two buttons together. Sometimes it spouts out a weather forecast as if he were watching TV: “Sunshine today, cloudy tomorrow!”
The voice for that one is female, squeaky. Overly cheerful, as though clouds tomorrow—the forecast is always the same—were a welcome thing. Although I suppose there’s something to be said for having a heads up that clouds are on the way.
3:41 p.m.
My depression has materialized in almost every form possible – anger, anxiety, flat nothingness, extreme sadness that requires a large and close-by stash of Kleenex. Until recently, that sadness was a slow decline, a slipping, a falling in, something I could feel coming. My forecast would show the clouds moving in; it was a reliable source that would allow for some preparation. I would reach out to bat the depression away, then watch it soar like a badminton birdie that flies farther and smoother than its awkward form would suggest.
Earlier this year that changed. I started having what I call “mini crashes” – fine one day, not fine the next. The sunshine would, suddenly and with no warning, be replaced by clouds, and I’d stand there wondering where they came from and why my inner meteorologist had failed me.
8:42 p.m.
I had one too many rainy days and had to do something about it. Thankfully, I’ve got it mostly under control now, but I still watch the clouds much more than I did before.
That’s the reality I’m left with, I guess. It’s been five years and the depression—or the possibility of it—isn’t going away. It’s in me. It is me.
It’s taken me a long time to accept that and be willing to deal with it and all its implications.
It’s okay, I guess. It’s manageable. Mostly, as they say, it is what it is. I’m better now, but if I need to I can batten down the hatches, ride out the storm, and wait for the sunshine to filter through again.
It always does.
9:13 p.m.
[These pictures were all taken on the same day several weeks ago. The clouds where I live are beautiful – shocking and entrancing and sometimes downright menacing. I take pictures of the skies a lot, but the way the clouds developed on that day happened to be particularly eye-catching.]
Connor had kindergarten orientation yesterday, just half an hour with three other kids. Parents stayed, they did a scavenger hunt to learn about their classroom, and his teacher gave the parents a gift – a Kleenex (to dry our tears) and a tea bag (to have a calm cup of tea after dropping them off for their first day), along with a lovely note about entrusting our kids to her for the year.
Connor loved it. He was excited about school and he really likes his teacher.
Today was the first official day – the day he got dropped off and changed his shoes and then hung his own backpack and sweater on his hook. The day he went to sit at his desk, in a group with three other kids, and got to see what school will be like for the coming year.
This morning he went in happily but came out a little overwhelmed. I can imagine; I don’t think I was especially keen on throwing myself into a classroom with a bunch of other five-year-olds either. (I was shy but cute.)
But he will be fine. He’ll be great, actually. And us? We probably won’t need the Kleenex (though certainly have an appreciation for a calming cup of tea).
Kindergarten has begun.
A few weeks ago, on impulse, I signed up to volunteer for our city mayor’s re-election campaign.
I am not a political person. I swear loyalty to no particular political party. I dry-heave in my Shreddies hearing political rhetoric (and when, three or so jobs ago, I had to write some of it, I felt as though I had sold a piece of my soul). I have worked for two levels of government (federal and provincial) and I can almost certainly say never again. I always vote, though, except when I’m not allowed to.
Not long after we moved to Calgary there was a provincial election in Alberta. We weren’t eligible to vote at that point and, having just left a provincial government job in another province that exposed me to some choice bureaucracy, I was sort of glad, and chose to pay little attention.
We continued to settle in a new city and I started to hear more and more about Calgary’s mayor. Not a typical politician, Naheed Nenshi is logical and smart and frank and funny. He’s great on Twitter and he responds to completely ridiculous questions with completely awesome answers. And he did a great job during the floods.
Even so, my choice to get involved in his re-election campaign was not especially well thought out. Tonight, as I rushed around trying to finish dinner and get a baby to sleep and make myself look somewhat presentable after a very, very hot day so I could go to a volunteer orientation session, I had a moment of wondering if I was crazy. I’m going back to work in a month. Do I really need to do volunteer for a political campaign?
It turns out I do. But it’s not because he needs the help.
At the beginning of the orientation session, Mayor Nenshi talked a little bit about why he thinks this election matters. He is pretty much uncontested at this point, so why campaign at all? Why not just wait for election day and do a happy dance then? Because you should never take anything for granted, he said. Because the city matters. Because we have an opportunity to create an even better community.
I sat and listened as Nenshi talked about hard work and long history and standing up against intolerance. He talked about pride and passion and a little bit about politics, but what he had to say really wasn’t about politics at all. It was about community.
And that’s why I’m volunteering for this campaign.
Calgary has always felt like home to me, even though the time I’ve lived outside this city far exceeds the time I’ve lived in it. When people ask us if we miss Victoria, Rich wavers a little bit but I’m a solid no. I lived there for most of my life but it’s not where I’m meant to be anymore.
I volunteered because I want to be inspired. I want to be part of something. Tonight I was both.
I also volunteered because I believe it will give me the opportunity to help make this community I’ve come to love, and which I’m so grateful to be living in, even better than it is today. And I there’s really nothing at all political about it.
