Postpartum depression Archives

The Truth About Mental Health

May 17, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Mental health issues are scary, right? If you have one, whatever you do DON’T ADMIT IT.

That’s the common philosophy, anyway. Why do we think that? Because we think that by not acknowledging the issue it will go away and no one will ever know we’re not perfect? Because we don’t want people to see us as weak or somehow less?

That’s what I thought, anyway.

I used to think mental health issues were scary. After dealing with my own and talking to others, I now find them a lot less scary.

I used to think people would see me as weak. After being open about it, I’ve discovered the exact opposite.

Right now I’m on leave from work to deal with an ongoing and very stubborn case of postpartum depression. My son is three. That’s a lot of crap, people. A lot of tears. A lot of yelling. A lot of pretending things were okay when in fact they were less okay than they had ever been.

When I first went on leave, I didn’t know what to say to the people I work with so I copped out with “spending time with family”. When it turned out my leave was going to be longer than the month I had indicated, I decided to fess up.

So I sent a note to my branch (about 10 or so of those people report to me) and to some others I work closely with. It took me several days to work up the nerve. And about 18 drafts in my head. And a few very deep breaths before I finally hit send. It’s one of the scariest things I’ve ever done.

What I expected was responses along the lines of, “Oh, I had no idea. Thanks for sharing. Wishing you well.”

What I got back was so much more than that – nothing but absolute support and sharing of their own personal stories.

Since it’s Mental Health Day I thought I’d share with you excerpts of some of the responses I got. A lot of these say really nice things about me, which I share not to make me sound awesome, but because sometimes these comments only come out this clearly when we tell people something honest and difficult about ourselves.

Here’s what some of them said:

“… I think the part of me that tends towards an emotional sensitivity gravitated towards the sensitivity and authenticity that is part of your nature. I think you’re an incredibly strong and wonderful person and I admire so much not only the way you lead but what you express of yourself, which is enlightened, passionate and straight from the heart. You make it easier for me to feel comfortable being my true self.”

“…What was not a surprise, and rather consistent over space and time, is your courage and ability to communicate and share your thoughts on a tough situation. As always, I’m blown away by your gift, to speak openly about something that is difficult to discuss. So thank you for sharing your story. Although it is tough to hear coming from someone you know (and can’t help them fix overnight), I would prefer to try and understand than to not know ….or worse be told something untrue.”

“I’m giving you a virtual high-five for sharing your story with me. Wow. Your courage is amazing. I’m honoured that you would share.”

“You are very brave and I am honoured that you shared this with me. It is so important to rip the veil off of the entrenched stigmas that keep us believing that we are less than perfect if we can’t just rise above.”

“…thanks so much for taking yourself and your health & your needs seriously and for being kind enough to share a little bit with people who care. You’re a fabulous role model, and I wish you exactly what you need to heal.”

“BRAVO, Robin! It’s a huge thing to come face to face with this issue and to take the time you need to deal, process, feel better, etc. That you would share this with us is also a significant step, and shows that you are serious about your leadership, as well as your efforts to heal.”

“You are a brave and incredible woman, Robin. I had no idea about any of this. That you came forward with your personal news is inspiring and really shows me, and all of us here, about what real leadership and self-preservation mean. And those things are what really matter.”

I know other people’s mental health issues – and willingness to share that information – are different than mine. I’ve seen some people share anonymously. I’ve seen some share selectively. I’ve seen some blow the doors open and just tell people without worrying about what they’ll think.

As for me, at first I didn’t realize PPD is what I was dealing with. And then I told no one, for a long time. And then I told a few people, some of them at work, because I was just not coping and when you’re completely losing it at work on a regular basis people are bound to suspect something’s up. I preferred them to know the truth than to think I couldn’t handle my job.

Then, in January, I started blogging about it. It was a whim, and I had no idea how public that would make it. If you read my first post, you’ll see that my boss found my blog before I had even posted anything. But I kept going. And I told a few more people. And a few more. And I talked about it on the radio. And then, after a long time searching for the right thing to do, I decided to tell my whole team at work.

I still don’t tell everyone I know. I don’t post my blog posts on my personal page on Facebook…yet. But I’m getting there. And you know what? Talking about it has been empowering.

I know not everyone is comfortable sharing stuff like this. But if you’ve been thinking about it, maybe this will reassure you that it might just be okay. If you don’t want to share, that’s okay too.

Either way, your mental health matters and there are so many safe ways to get support. You can start by reading the stories being shared during this Mental Health Blog Party and the resources linked to by the bloggers participating. One thing I know for sure is one of the biggest steps in feeling better is knowing you’re not alone.

Filed Under: Better world, Postpartum depression · Tagged With: community, depression, gratitude, hope, telling the truth, we're not alone

Rock Bottom is a Pile of Crap

May 15, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Who came up with the concept of “rock bottom” anyway? And why does everyone want to suggest that someone might be there and that this is a good thing because there’s only one way to go. As in UP.

Up? Really?

Wanting to down a bottle of sedatives, something serious and quite out of character – regardless of whether you expect it will kill you or just knock you out for a while – would seem like rock bottom, no?

No. Apparently that’s not rock bottom.

Then you start to think that you really can’t do this – that as much as you love your child and would choose to stay married to your husband, you can’t do this. Can’t be here. Can’t be a mom and it really was a mistake.

That seemed like rock bottom, but the rocks were loose and they slipped again.

When someone offers to take your son so you can both have a break, you’d think that would be a good thing, right? The break is good, up until the hour or so before he’s due to come home, anyway. Then the major anxiety attack hits and those rocks at the bottom feel a little bigger, a little closer.

I’m off work, and need to be. Work isn’t the problem, and yet when I drove past my office the other night after everyone would have gone home, I had a major panic attack. Explain that, please.

Maybe rock bottom is being off work, which I need to be, but feeling like I can’t be at home either. Maybe it’s feeling like I don’t know who I am and don’t know where I’m supposed to be and seeing no clear path toward the answer for either.

I’ve collected rocks all my life – it’s a genetic thing – but right now what I’ve got is a pile of crap. I sincerely hope the current state of things is rock bottom, because I’m a little sick of bouncing.

This rant was brought to you by an over-active toddler and a state of limbo, the suspected cause of which is medication that’s not doing its job. Back to regularly-scheduled (slightly less buzz-killing) posting tomorrow.

Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: anxiety, rants

Confessions of a Depressed Canine

May 14, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Depression isn’t contagious in humans, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ve given it to my dog.

Poor Finley – he hasn’t been the same since we brought Connor home. We did the introduction thing and the blanket-smelling thing when we came home from the hospital and for a while he seemed okay. Curious, and perhaps a little suspicious, but okay.

Then Connor started to get mobile, and apparently this was NOT OKAY. Finley watched with surprise, and then concern, and then he started to get a little too close as though he was perfectly prepared to put the chubby little crawling thing in his place. So we carefully intervened on Connor’s behalf to make sure his chub stayed intact, but as Connor has grown it’s Finley who needs us to run interference.

This is generally related to Connor’s tendency to be active and physical and, well, two. We’ve taught him that he needs to be gentle, and usually he is. But occasionally Finley gets a completely undeserved swat, which we treat with zero tolerance so it’s getting better.

But at the first sign of any sort of discipline – even a calm command for a time-out – Finley’s tail starts to droop. If Connor is crying, for whatever reason, Finley lurks nearby, tail between his legs, head dropped, everything in his pose revealing his concern. If we get into a true cut-it-out, I’m-serious, quit-being-so-two! situation with Connor, Finley runs for cover.

Maybe it was that first year when things were so rough – Connor was fussy, didn’t sleep, cried a lot. I didn’t cope, didn’t sleep, cried a lot. Maybe Finley has Post Traumatic Connor Disorder as well.

At times we’ve found him cowering on the stairs or under a desk or chair. Sometimes his poor little fuzzy body shakes. When Connor’s in the house, Finley is always on high alert. I feel guilty for not being able to protect him from this.

Or maybe I shouldn’t feel that guilt – shouldn’t worry that there was too much tension when Connor was a baby and my reaction to it has traumatized my dog for life. Maybe it’s just the combination of a dog who likes his routine and a child who is determined to keep things interesting.

But I feel for my furry baby, and when he looks at me with those sad puppy-dog eyes I know just how he feels.

In his happy place.

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Filed Under: Postpartum depression · Tagged With: depression, mom's instinct

Wants vs. Needs

May 10, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

I was late for the appointment because I couldn’t find the right building. Turns out I had driven by hundreds of time before – with a movie rental place and liquor store on the ground level, it just wasn’t the sort of place I expected to find a counsellor’s office.

I went inside, where the interior was equally nondescript. Upstairs, I knocked tentatively on her office door. She invited me to sit while she finished some paperwork, which gave me a chance to look around.

Dowdy is the word that came to mind. I don’t remember anything on the walls, though there must have been something. She seemed the type who might decorate with paintings of kittens. The window looked out over the parking lot, and the busy road beyond hummed with traffic. I’d driven by so many times and yet never knew what went on up here. What heartbreaks and secrets and struggles were poured out on the top floor of this white building with a technical-sounding name that always seemed to me as though it had no personality.

The counsellor fit right in with the unremarkable environment. She appeared to be in her late 50s, with nothing to suggest she might be younger. Small, but not petite. Frumpy clothes. And her name – the “doctor” title and male first name, which I’d never heard for a woman – made her seem more academic than therapist.

As we talked, my impression that we wouldn’t click was reinforced, but she was clearly a very caring person. She didn’t specialize in – nor, apparently, know much about – postpartum depression, and I allowed that to be a disadvantage for her.

We talked about the usual things – taking time for myself, strategies for when I’m struggling, assumptions we’ve made about what our “working mom” and “stay-at-home dad” roles must be. “Trigger” was not a word I knew then, but it wasn’t something I expect she’d have uttered. Her commentary was all stuff I’d heard before, so I mostly dismissed it. Either I wasn’t open to it or it didn’t address my most pressing issue. Absolutely losing my cool when dealing with my child, with no sense in the moment of how to regain it, seemed to be buried unacknowledged under the typical advice about motherhood. But, for me, it was so much more complicated than that.

“He screams for milk,” I’d explained, “and if we give it to him late in the afternoon he won’t eat dinner. It’s become a battle I don’t see an end to, and I’m not coping.”

“I’m not getting enough time to myself,” I’d complained, imagining the desperation physically dripping from my lips. “Sometimes I just need five minutes so I don’t feel like I’m going to lose my mind, but my husband has been home with him all day and I feel like I have to be on when I walk through the door.”

And then, as we neared the end and I prepared for the inevitable awkward wrap-up, she said something.

“Wants and needs are different things.”

He’s two, she noted, so sometimes he just wants milk. But sometimes, especially at hard times of the day, he needs milk.

The same was true for my “needs”. Sometimes I want more time to myself – more time than is realistic for any mother regardless of her situation. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to go home. Sometimes I end up at work late and am secretly glad it will reduce the minutes I have to endure until bedtime.

I’m not always going to get that time. Sometimes I want it, and other things come first. But sometimes I need it. At the time of that session – months ago now – I needed it when I walked through the door at the end of the day. I had a toddler running at me, screaming with excitement, and a dog jumping and barking. Both greetings I appreciate for their non-verbal I-love-and-missed-you message, but absolutely overwhelming.

So I took her observation to heart and allowed myself to need that five minutes. I told my precious son he was not allowed to come upstairs with me while I got changed, and my husband helped distract him if necessary. Sometimes after changing out of work clothes I sat on the bed and took deep breaths. Sometimes it was 10 minutes instead of five, but when I came back downstairs I was ready. Ready to play, ready to tumble, ready to do whatever was required of me when I put that mama hat back on.

Wants vs. needs. I’m learning to understand the difference.

Filed Under: Motherhood, Postpartum depression · Tagged With: perspective

To Celebrate or Not to Celebrate: Reflecting

May 8, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Last week I asked my husband if we could skip Mother’s Day for me this year as I’m not feeling like a very successful mother at the moment. He told me that wasn’t allowed. Another friend pointed out it’s also about them having an opportunity to tell me they love and appreciate me.

Fine.

I understand that, but I still woke up today wishing I could stay in bed. I’m not sure I can read the cards today, but I will want them when this time has passed. So maybe I won’t read them today but I will accept them with love and read them when I’m ready.

I always understood Mother’s Day was hard for some people – those who have lost their mothers, those who have lost children, those for whom, for whatever reason, Mother’s Day is not what greeting card companies would have you believe. I just never expected it to be hard for me this year.

I had lots of things I wanted to say about motherhood today, but this page has remained blank for days. I can’t explain why I want to fast forward through this day – I believe mothers deserve to be celebrated and I know I’m caring for my child in my own way right now, even if it’s not the way I will one day be able to. For many reasons, some of which I don’t understand, the whole day just makes me teary.

So this morning I looked through some of our photos from Connor’s first year, and a few from beyond. These photos say a lot about who my child is, and in them I began to see who I am as his mother in a new way.

Typical photo of a baby right after birth? Yes. Typical Connor? YES. At the time I didn’t know how typical (thank goodness).

We became a family, and in that family my role is mama:

I had no idea how fleeting this would be – both his ability to sleep and this feeling that I was his mother and nothing else in the whole world mattered:

Throughout his babyhood, when he did this…

…I did this, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world:

But as I fell under the shadow of postpartum depression, I experienced some moments that right now live in me only as a tiny light that reflects my son’s amazing spirit; my memory of them is mostly through pictures:

This phase I do remember, and it lights me up. The fun and stimulation of that Jumperoo was a Wonder of the World to him and his unbridled joy was one to me: