16 May When I Wasn’t Okay. My Story of Post-Partum Anxiety

I’ve been pregnant six times in a dozen years. In that same period, we’ve endured five deployments, two miscarriages, and six moves. And through it all, I swore I was okay. I thought I had to be, I thought I had no other option.

After a particularly bad day in which I got so angry at my chickens I threw my shovel into the woods and laid down in the grass for ten minutes to calm down, I knew, I really knew this was bad. At my youngest child’s four month check-up, I told the pediatrician that I might be having some issues. That I wasn’t okay. It was the first time I said it to a health professional after pouring my heart out to my friends. It was terrifying, and such a relief. 

She connected me to a counselor right away and had an appointment set up for me before I walked out the door of the clinic.

POSTPARTUM ANXIETY

The consensus was Postpartum Anxiety. I had multiple symptoms on both lists. Probably exacerbated by the events leading up to and directly after delivery and the culmination of my years-long struggle with fear. And if we are being perfectly honest, in hindsight, I believe I had it with my third child and attributed my emotions to the Husband being deployed.

(It’s important to note this here: “Many people have a feeling like the ones mentioned (in link) every now and then, for a day or two. We all have bad days. Postpartum anxiety and depression are not just bad days. Women with PPD or postpartum anxiety have symptoms like these most of the time, for a period of at least 2 weeks or longer, and these symptoms make it feel very hard to live your life each day.” If this sounds familiar to you, reach out! Follow the link for a comprehensive list of symptoms.)

It was difficult to accept this as a diagnosis. In our family, we power through. We deal with it. We just do. And I’m a Christian, so just have more faith, right? (Answer: WRONG, by the way). And because none of my symptoms included the big red flags – wanting to harm myself or others, a lack of bonding, or uncontrollable crying, I just brushed them off. To admit something is wrong, and that while I am functioning, it is not well – to rest in not being okay – is far more emotional and challenging than I was prepared for.

For a while, I thought it wasn’t okay to be broken – now I know that put-together-after-broken never looks the way we thought it would. Sometimes it’s a little better, and sometimes a lot worse, and usually a bit of both at any given moment.

And at first, I thought I could beat this. I got new kicks and I started going to the gym. I ordered the anti-anxiety workbook recommended by my counselor. And made another appointment with her. I started an over the counter supplement known to help with anxiety, and recommended by the pharmacist. I hired a maid. I made an mood-lifting blend with essential oils that I wore (and still do) like perfume.

I tried exercise, and oils, and self care. For a month. Then life happened, and loss happened, and inside of six weeks I had completely stopped taking care of myself and used up what little I had to take care of the ones around me. And not in a healthy way. News flash. That’s not good for you. I crashed and burned in October and ended up on a therapist’s couch again. It wasn’t enough.

ON MEDICATION

I started anti-depressants in March 2017. A year after my diagnosis. 6 weeks after I started, I stood in my kitchen and cried from relief.  I didn’t know I could feel this way while still in the trenches of motherhood.  That I could feel like breathing, feel organized, and even accomplished. That I could tackle new routines and diets and a fresh-birthed freelance career without drowning. That I could stay calm in the face of multiple screaming children, calm and tender with my loves at their worst moments

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And you need to know sometimes there isn’t enough exercise, oils, or prayer to fix the broken. Maybe you need to know that’s not how it works anyway, this whole business of prayer. It’s not a one for one, an if-then, or a bargain with God.

Sometimes answers come in forms you weren’t expecting, and sometimes the answer is a devastating no. (And mercifully, somedays we hear the yeses too).  But always, in both joy and sorrow, I am all gratitude for a steadfast and merciful God. We weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice.

You don’t get better by being a better Christian, a better mother, a better wife. You don’t get better by powering through and compartmentalizing what little emotions you have left. You CAN start the process of getting better by asking for help. I reached out to my community first, then the professionals. If this resonates with you, dear mommas, you warriors who fight for your children – fight for yourself. See a doctor, a counselor, someone. Get help. And know that even if you have waited, there is still help to be had.

(If you have/have had thoughts of harming yourself or your baby, please don’t wait. Please get help NOW).

All my love,

M.