Cath on experiencing postpartum depression as a mental health professional

I am a Psychotherapist who struggled postpartum. What about Mum’s now?

It happened ten months after my twin girls were born. It was a spring morning in London, pre Covid-19. The daffodils were blooming, watery sun flooded our kitchen and, for the first time, I could taste possibility.

I had made an appointment to see a psychiatrist. As a psychotherapist, I knew how important it was to tend to my own mental health. The appointment represented hope: taking a big, brave step, crossing an important threshold and admitting I needed help. I had been given a gift of two thriving children and yet I felt desperate, low, full of rage, scared, worried, nervous, chest tight, and then shame for what I was feeling. Intrusive thoughts swirled in my head. Loud noises made me jump. Tears came frequently. What was happening?

Some of this was known to my husband and a couple of friends. Mainly it was hidden. I was alone most of the time. When my girls smiled, crawled or climbed, I noticed a fleeting sense of joy inside. Mostly though, my life had become a runaway train with no brake. I dreamed of escape from my dream. I was unsure of this new job. How to BE a mother. How to BE joyful. What to DO.

Related: Postpartum anxiety stole my joy. Here’s how I got it back (and then some)

Small decisions about what to do with my twins on a daily basis seemed huge, inducing panic in me. I questioned myself constantly: Are they eating enough? Have I done something wrong? Why don’t they have any teeth? Why don’t they sleep through the night? Am I too attentive? Do we do enough activities? I thought every other mother knew how to do this. I sometimes couldn’t access my adult state.

Turns out this is a common reaction for new Mum’s.

But it’s hard to share.

I became very interested in newspaper stories about a South African woman who had murdered two of her children. We had similarities: I had also grown up in South Africa, I had also previously suffered depression, I also had suicide in my family, and I lived near her family home. Did this somehow mean I was going to do something terrible to my children?

Was I capable of/vulnerable to being pushed to that place? Would I suffocate my children? Thoughts like these would arrive in my head and I would immediately want to banish them. I once asked a group of friends, “Do you all ever hate your children?” They shot me pitying looks and confirmed No, they didn’t ever hate their children. So, there I was—someone people pay to have listen to them, and I didn’t know where to share my own stuff. I wanted to protect those close to me and worried my children could be taken from me.

Related: True life: I had postpartum rage and depression (and didn’t realize it)

I was stuck. I was a psychotherapist, adept at helping others but struggling to access support. Making the appointment with the psychiatrist was a big step. Everything hinged on this.

So on that April day, the perfectionist, project manager part of me had arranged everything ahead of my morning appointment. When the new babysitter arrived, my girls were eagerly guzzling their porridge. A flutter of relief passed through me. Help was within touching distance.

But then they started to cry. The sounds felt like an assault. Please stop. Please just let me have this one hour to myself. Please be fine so I can be fine. As the crying escalated, lava started to boil up inside of me. As I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to leave, grabbing my bag and coat, I picked up one baby to change her nappy and answered the phone at the same time. It all erupted out of me as I screamed ‘Shut Up’ at her. It kept going. My husband, on the phone, raced home from work.

In the end, I stormed out of the house, leaving my girls crying. I raced to the train station but I was already too late to make it. I pulled over on the side of the road, crying and frustrated, knowing with piercing clarity I needed help NOW. I called my Doctor and made an emergency appointment. Something had to change immediately. My tendency towards a more holistic approach flew out the window. I did not have that kind of time. I needed to be saved. How had it gotten so bad?

Women have incredible endurance. We are socialized from birth to be shadows, in service of others, putting ourselves last. Until that moment where we might actually fall apart and pull everyone down with us. I was there. I am grateful every day that I managed to stop the train.

We are socialized from birth to be shadows, in service of others, putting ourselves last

I started anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication that day. It gave me space and time. The space to believe that things could and would improve and a break from the intrusive thoughts. For the year I was on it, it squeezed my feeling band, reducing the intensity of everything and allowed me to make important decisions to help myself: more childcare, mindful exercise and swimming, working on perfectionism and control and CBT for postpartum depression.

I also needed to acknowledge the difficulty of my situation. To extend compassion to myself. As I calmed, the intrusive thoughts lessened. And I found I could live inside this naturally chaotic mothering life without losing myself.

So what do we do?

We cannot expect mothers who are severely overwhelmed to source their own help or to know what questions to ask. Instead, we need systemic change in how society values mothers, maternity leave, and in how health care-providers are trained to support mothers.

AND in these times we also need something more. We need grassroots, communal holding. This might be the only way women find support right now. This is not on the new Mums. This is a call to action to those of us who KNOW new mothers, who have them as friends, family and neighbours. Please ask how they are REALLY doing.

Related: We need to talk about postpartum rage—and why it happens

Ask if they need help, signpost agencies that help, provide a listening ear, follow up and check that they got help. If you are close to a new mother please observe her carefully, advocate for her and be aware of changes in her mood. In the midst of this unprecedented time we need help from the people immediately around us, people who might not be trained but who, by virtue of their proximity, may be able to help us by using their voices to get us what we need.

We need those in our ‘quarantine bubbles’ to look out for us and flag up that we need professional assistance, even if that is provided over Zoom. Can you do this? Name one, two, new mums you know. Now, please go and call them.

Please look out for the new mothers and the most vulnerable new members of our society, tiny babies. Sometimes it is an issue of life or death.

Please check in with the new Mums you know. Mothers are the bedrock of life. As the old adage goes, “If mama isn’t happy, nobody is happy.” That ripple effect is not be ignored.