Lost and Found
It's been about 5 months since my last post. I'll go ahead and blame it on "pregnancy brain" and sleep deprivation. But I'm back, and I'll do my best to be coherent!
So, I had a baby about three months ago. I'm still working on her birth story, which I'll share hopefully soon, but I wanted to share another experience I've had related to her arrival. About two weeks after our little Princess was born, I began to feel increasingly anxious. Up to that point, I'd had another adult with me almost constantly, so I wasn't sure how to handle being alone with both children. I had a couple "anxiety attacks," similar to the ones I've described in a previous post. Thankfully, they happened in the evening when I had Stephen home to help me.
Soon, however, I began to have them when I was alone with my children. I wanted to run away, to leave and never come back. There were a couple of moments where I seriously believed that I, and everyone else, would be better off if I died. I'd had moments like that in the past, but used to be afraid of the pain. After having two babies without pain medication, I'd learned a thing or two about managing pain and discomfort and no longer feared the pain that would likely accompany suicide. At one point, I sat in the car, staring out the window, thinking calmly about how logical it seemed to kill myself. It seemed the only real way to escape the demands, the exhaustion, the disappointment I was surely inflicting on everyone. People might miss me, but there were others who could care for my family better than I could, and my family certainly deserved someone better.
One day, I texted Stephen while he was at work, telling him I just couldn't do it anymore. I told him how hopeless and angry and trapped I felt. He was worried. He called and told me to call the doctor and get an appointment as soon as possible. I went in the next day and was diagnosed with postpartum depression (PPD). They prescribed some medication and got me an appointment with a therapist so I could talk through some of my issues.
I was embarrassed. I know people say that depression isn't something to be ashamed of, it's a real illness, etc. And I had believed that, even when I experienced depression before. But for some reason, experiencing it as a mother, as an adult who is supposed to be taking care of other people, made me feel like I was failing, and I didn't want everyone to know how "weak" I was. I have never looked down on other mothers for being depressed, but I looked down on myself. When you're in the thick of it, depression just feels like you suck at life. And that's hard.
At any rate, I began taking medication and attending therapy. As someone who does best when she can talk through her problems, I looked forward to therapy. I often enjoyed it. And after a few sessions, I began to see that much of my anxiety, throughout my life, has arisen simply because of "thinking errors." In essence, I'd made up ridiculous things and come to subconsciously and firmly believe them. Things like, "I need to do everything perfectly the first time, or I've failed" or "I need to be good at talking to people before I can go talk to them."
As I realized these things about myself, I began to almost laugh at myself. Really? I can't move forward in life until I'm perfect? I knew, logically, that that was stupid, but I had still managed to come to believe it in a way that was impeding my personal growth. Realizing that I thought that way, and that I didn't need to think that way anymore has been incredibly liberating. Since then, I've been able to screw things up over and over and stay positive. I've been able to forgive myself when I have an awkward moment with other people. I've been able to say, "I am not my mistakes. I will learn from them, but I won't let them hold me back anymore.
I've felt self-conscious, confused, and lost much of my life. But I'm finally finding myself. My depression and anxiety have gone mostly away, thanks to my hormones finally balancing out, and I know now that I wasn't weak or a failure. Postpartum depression is extremely difficult to deal with at times, but I have found that I'm actually grateful to it for the opportunity it gave me to begin to find myself.
And now that I'm finally seeing myself more clearly, I'm finding that there's more to love than I used to believe.
So, I had a baby about three months ago. I'm still working on her birth story, which I'll share hopefully soon, but I wanted to share another experience I've had related to her arrival. About two weeks after our little Princess was born, I began to feel increasingly anxious. Up to that point, I'd had another adult with me almost constantly, so I wasn't sure how to handle being alone with both children. I had a couple "anxiety attacks," similar to the ones I've described in a previous post. Thankfully, they happened in the evening when I had Stephen home to help me.
Soon, however, I began to have them when I was alone with my children. I wanted to run away, to leave and never come back. There were a couple of moments where I seriously believed that I, and everyone else, would be better off if I died. I'd had moments like that in the past, but used to be afraid of the pain. After having two babies without pain medication, I'd learned a thing or two about managing pain and discomfort and no longer feared the pain that would likely accompany suicide. At one point, I sat in the car, staring out the window, thinking calmly about how logical it seemed to kill myself. It seemed the only real way to escape the demands, the exhaustion, the disappointment I was surely inflicting on everyone. People might miss me, but there were others who could care for my family better than I could, and my family certainly deserved someone better.
One day, I texted Stephen while he was at work, telling him I just couldn't do it anymore. I told him how hopeless and angry and trapped I felt. He was worried. He called and told me to call the doctor and get an appointment as soon as possible. I went in the next day and was diagnosed with postpartum depression (PPD). They prescribed some medication and got me an appointment with a therapist so I could talk through some of my issues.
I was embarrassed. I know people say that depression isn't something to be ashamed of, it's a real illness, etc. And I had believed that, even when I experienced depression before. But for some reason, experiencing it as a mother, as an adult who is supposed to be taking care of other people, made me feel like I was failing, and I didn't want everyone to know how "weak" I was. I have never looked down on other mothers for being depressed, but I looked down on myself. When you're in the thick of it, depression just feels like you suck at life. And that's hard.
At any rate, I began taking medication and attending therapy. As someone who does best when she can talk through her problems, I looked forward to therapy. I often enjoyed it. And after a few sessions, I began to see that much of my anxiety, throughout my life, has arisen simply because of "thinking errors." In essence, I'd made up ridiculous things and come to subconsciously and firmly believe them. Things like, "I need to do everything perfectly the first time, or I've failed" or "I need to be good at talking to people before I can go talk to them."
As I realized these things about myself, I began to almost laugh at myself. Really? I can't move forward in life until I'm perfect? I knew, logically, that that was stupid, but I had still managed to come to believe it in a way that was impeding my personal growth. Realizing that I thought that way, and that I didn't need to think that way anymore has been incredibly liberating. Since then, I've been able to screw things up over and over and stay positive. I've been able to forgive myself when I have an awkward moment with other people. I've been able to say, "I am not my mistakes. I will learn from them, but I won't let them hold me back anymore.
I've felt self-conscious, confused, and lost much of my life. But I'm finally finding myself. My depression and anxiety have gone mostly away, thanks to my hormones finally balancing out, and I know now that I wasn't weak or a failure. Postpartum depression is extremely difficult to deal with at times, but I have found that I'm actually grateful to it for the opportunity it gave me to begin to find myself.
And now that I'm finally seeing myself more clearly, I'm finding that there's more to love than I used to believe.
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