Parenting in the Dark

PPD.  Postpartum Depression. It’s often treated like a dirty word. It seems that there are a million stigmas attached; stigmas that make it feel impossible and terrifying to discuss this topic. So that’s why I’m doing it I suppose, because someone has to fight the stigmas and somehow make it safe for others to discuss it as well. I’m bringing up the topic because I need you to do it as well. It’s not a dirty little shameful secret. It’s a painful reality full of shame and loneliness, that I believe could be immensely helped simply by a sense of community. Did you know that approximately 950,000 women in the U.S. suffer from PPD every year? What bothers me the most is that this statistic only accounts for self-reported cases. I can't imagine how many more women are waiting out the darkness alone and in silence.

My first attempt at writing this basically came out as a horror story that offered nothing but fear-mongering. It made me personally more afraid of what I was facing and less willing to accept and address it. The second attempt was anything but sincere, and completely un-relatable. It was full of “helpful” ideas on how to fight this battle—ideas that I wasn’t at all implementing in my own life. It was a pathetic attempt to motivate myself out of the darkness and come across stronger than I currently am. It’s funny that now is the time that I would suddenly feel the urge to try again. Now as I sit here in a brand new home, surrounded by piles of unpacked boxes and clutter, with dinner boiling over on the stove, and a million other things I should be focusing on. Now, because I just came inside from a lovely visit with a new neighbor and all I can do is wonder if she would still like me and want to talk to me if she knew anything of the inner turmoil living inside of me and my currently frequent and irrational outbursts. Never has my social anxiety been higher, my sense of worth lower, and my perception of failure stronger. This is PPD. It is recognizably similar to the other depression I have faced, but it is also not. It is depression on steroids.

I wonder what people who haven’t faced depression imagine it to be. I suspect they might envision it as sitting in the corner of a room while listening to sad music and sobbing in the fetal position. And it is that, but also it’s not and it’s more.

Really, I can only tell you what it’s been for me. It is overwhelming sadness and physical pain. In other moments, it is fits of rage and destructive impatience. It is fear of being found out and a desperate need to appear normal and functional. It is feeling completely and totally out of control of your entire mind and body. It’s an impossibly crippling lack of motivation to do anything beyond exist, while knowing that another life (or more) is depending on you completely. It is allowing your toddler to spend hours watching Netflix because you know he'll be content and you will have no reason to blow up at him during that time. It is wanting to stay in bed for days at a time. It is walking down the street and inwardly hoping that the next car could hit you and save everyone you love from the damage you are continually causing to them now. It is wishing that your husband had chosen someone else that actually deserved him. It is fighting off urges to smother a crying baby. It is locking yourself in a room to protect others from your overflowing emotions. It is seeing your toddler’s spirit break as you once again tell him that you just don’t have the energy to play his game. It is doing and saying all the things you swore you would NEVER do and say as a mother. It is apologizing a million times but still making the same mistake over and over. It is trying to remember why you ever wanted to be a mother in the first place. It is never-ending guilt and shame that you disguise with ferocious defensiveness and rationalization. It is knowing that you’re being irrational and feeling completely helpless to return to reason. It is crying only in the shower because you know that your tears won't disturb anyone there. It is verbal attacks followed immediately with embarrassment and regret. It is loving your child(ren) deeply with everything you have, but not being able to actually feel in love with them. It is the pain of knowing that neither of your children is secure and confident in your love for them. It is all-consuming darkness. It is questioning your faith and being so filled with shame that you can’t even bring yourself to pray. It is having one good day and feeling like you’ve finally escaped, then being crushed by the realization that the darkness has returned stronger the next morning. It is seriously considering checking yourself into a mental health unit, almost entirely because you want 3 full nights of uninterrupted sleep. It is physical. It is emotional. It is mental. It is a legitimate medical illness which you struggle so badly to accept that you never ask for help. It is all of these things and so many more that just can’t be said out loud or even to a screen. It is never the same one minute to the next and it seems that it will never end.

But this is only my experience.

I tell you these things not to scare anyone who hasn’t faced it away from pursuing motherhood, but simply to say to those who have faced it, or currently are, that you’re not alone. And you’re not defective, worthless, pathetic, unworthy, unlovable, hopeless or any of the other things that the darkness in your mind has been compellingly you to believe. More importantly, I tell you this to say that there is HOPE. I know this, not because I have previous experience with PPD specifically, but because I’ve faced depression in many other forms and I know that it can be lifted. There are shafts of light in the darkness, and there is daylight at the end of a long dark tunnel. In my experience, the trick to getting through darkness is to fight through the crippling fear and just keep moving—reaching out for any help you can get along the way. 

I wouldn't trade my perfect, beautiful children for anything. They are my reason for living and continually wanting to be better. I wish I had been more prepared for the onslaught of PPD after baby number two, but I foolishly thought I was exempt because of the blissful postpartum period I experienced with my first child. I knew better, but I still ignored all the signs and pretended for far too long that I didn't need help. It's hard now to imagine ever having another child and putting my family through this living hell again, but only time will tell. My hope is that you will never experience any of this. I wouldn't wish the experience on my worst enemy. However, my greatest piece of advice for anyone who does find themselves in the despair of postpartum depression would be to ask for help at the first indication that something is off. No one should have to suffer alone, especially not in silence and shame.