Realizing: My PPD Journey

One of the hardest things I have done in my life was picking up the phone. Dialing the number I was looking at. And saying, “I need to talk to someone about my post-partum depression.”

It took me nine months after Owen was born to even recognize that something was wrong. I just thought the way that I felt – or didn’t feel – was my new reality. That sometimes life doesn’t turn out how you think it will and, as a result, the cloud that was pushing me down, weighing heavy on my heart and my shoulders and my head – a literal pressure that made me gasp for breath sometimes - was what I was left to deal with.

But I couldn’t be depressed. I had a new baby. He was healthy and beautiful and full of energy. I had an amazing husband who was helpful with diapers and dishes and sweet kisses. I was living my dream of being an actress and a mother and a writer. How dare I, even for a moment, feel anything less than bliss?

But what I learned during those dark months, days, moments, is that depression doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if everything is lining up in your life, hitting all the points on your checklists for optimum happiness. And so it doesn’t make sense to those looking from the outside, who have never felt it. And in those dark times, it didn’t make sense to me either. Because I had never dealt with depression before. But it didn’t matter. Suddenly I was being held down under the water by an unseen cosmic hand, unable to breathe and unable to scream. Like the classic nightmare when you open your mouth and nothing comes out. But instead of panic, I just felt a sense of defeat…and acceptance. No one could hear me screaming but it didn’t matter because nothing did. If I suddenly wasn’t here anymore, it wouldn’t even be a blip in the grand scheme of the universe. And I just wanted to quietly disappear.

In November of 2013, both a friend and a family member each became mothers for the first time. And while I’m sure they faced their own struggles, on social media they posted pictures looking happy and posted comments proclaiming their joy at their new roles. Being a mom was the "best thing that had ever happened to them!", they said. And I was pissed. Anger was one of the few emotions I still felt. And I was livid that they were such liars. And then somewhere deep in my psyche, a small voice whispered, “What if they’re not lying? What if they are actually happy? And if they are, why aren’t you?”

And that’s when it hit me. I wasn’t happy. I hadn’t felt happiness in a long time. When was the last time I was happy? I couldn’t remember.

***

Hello again.

So...at the end of 2013, I just stopped blogging. No warning. No explanation. Just nothing more.

Above is an excerpt from the book I've been writing while not writing here.

I started this blog while pregnant, anticipating motherhood. I had never looked forward to anything so excitedly in my life. And then...surprise! Motherhood was incredibly different than anticipated. I continued blogging through that first year of motherhood as a way to distract myself but when I started actually processing all that I had been through, I couldn't post casually anymore. So this blog went dark. I had created an online haven that portrayed motherhood how I had hoped it would be and in some ways it was that way. But I wasn't telling the whole truth. I hinted occasionally that things weren't all peaches and roses but I didn't go into detail. Instead I posted about sales and recipes and DIYs. I posted cute pictures of Owen and smiley pictures of myself. And skimming through, I created a pretty little life. And from the outside looking in, I looked a lot like I felt my friend and cousin looked online: Happy. But the truth is, I was deep in my postpartum depression and when I acknowledged that and sought help, the blogging stopped.

And I wasn't ready to explain why yet.

But now I am.

So here I am.

And here we go.

To be continued...