Jeanette on getting help for postpartum depression, anxiety and intrusive thoughts

December 7, 2020

Content warning: Discussion of postpartum depression, birth trauma, domestic abuse or other tough topics ahead. If you or someone you know is struggling with a postpartum mental health challenge, including postpartum depression or anxiety, call 1-833-9-HELP4MOMS (tel:18009435746)—The National Maternal Mental Health Hotline This free, confidential service provides access to trained counselors and resources 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in English, Spanish, and more than 60 other languages. They can offer support and information related to before, during, and after pregnancy.

I deserved it. At least that’s what I believed. I had what people refer to as a “unicorn pregnancy.” I never threw up once, never got acne or swelling, and I truly struggle to remember a time when I felt more beautiful or body positive.

Follow that with a textbook labor and delivery, and I truly had it made. The first 24 hours of my daughter’s life I spent in a blissful blur. The goals my nurses wrote on my whiteboard were just “bond and rest” and I was more than happy to oblige.

I spent hours doing skin-to-skin and practicing breastfeeding, and whenever a nurse came to check on us they assured me we were doing everything perfectly. I had it way too easy. Then in one instant, everything changed.

The hospital’s lactation consultant ended up squeezing me between two other appointments, and while she wasn’t outright rude, she was clearly rushed and spent the first half hour telling me everything I was doing wrong and that my baby clearly was not getting anything from me.

The rest of our appointment was spent learning to use a pump because in her opinion, nursing just wasn’t going to happen. The instant she left the room I was inconsolable. How could I not know that I was doing it so wrong? What else was I screwing up already?

Once we got home I was an anxious mess. I obsessed over everything else I still needed to learn and everything that could possibly go wrong. I started getting uncontrollable body tremors every time my daughter woke up from a nap because it meant she needed to be taken care of. I was convinced that I would never learn how to do anything right and nothing was ever going to get better. I would routinely collapse into my husband’s arms crying, either because I was sure my baby was going to die as a result of my incompetence or that he was going to leave me for being such a burden on him.

My cycle of anxious thoughts put me in a deep depression and I fell into a state of not caring about anyone or anything, not even myself. I was completely devoid of all positive emotions. All I wanted to do was sleep. My personal hygiene tanked, and my mom had to spoon-feed me to make sure I nourished myself. My husband did the majority of the childcare and while it killed me to see the exhaustion and worry in his eyes, I just didn’t care enough to help.

I would go hours or even days at a time barely interacting with the baby because I had no interest. I resented anyone who seemed more excited about her than me, which was basically everyone in my life. I started wishing that I had never even gotten pregnant in the first place and believed I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

I was so angry with my daughter simply for existing and started to have intrusive thoughts about “accidentally” dropping or hurting her. I knew deep down I wasn’t capable of acting on those thoughts but at the time, I thought the only thing stopping me was that I didn’t want to go to jail. I was horrified by my own thoughts and felt tremendous shame for even thinking those things.

I thought it would be easier if I just quietly died, but I knew I didn’t have the resolve to actually do anything to harm myself. Until one point when I went so far as to type “911” into my phone and then stared at the screen debating whether to dial because I was no longer fully convinced that my fear of death outweighed my desire to escape.

By then I felt lonelier than ever and chose to write a post on my personal Facebook page confessing to my struggles. I was shocked when so many of my friends came out of the woodwork to tell me their own stories. These were women I looked up to as moms who loved everything about motherhood and clearly had it together in a way I never would.

They told me how brave I was for putting myself out there, and that they wished they had done the same. This affirmed a couple things for me: I was experiencing something more common than anyone lets on, and I wasn’t imagining things and needed to get help. Fast.

I immediately reached out to my OBGYN, who quickly recognized that I was not just having the baby blues. She referred me to a therapist, encouraged me to join a postpartum support group, and put me on a low dose of sertraline. At first I couldn’t help feeling like this was some indication that I had failed. But I was willing to try anything, and it was the best decision I could have made.

As the meds kicked in, my depression started to shift from total numbness to crippling despair. At the drop of a hat, almost anything could set me off into a weeping episode. I hated myself for ruining the first weeks of my daughter’s life and would clutch her tightly as she cried and tell her over and over through my own tears how sorry I was for not being the mother she deserved.

After a month my dose was increased and then, the day before my daughter turned 7 weeks old, something happened. It was like a switch got flipped. I was able to take her with me to run an errand and it was the first time I had left home with no one else to help me. It was a huge step that made me feel almost normal for the first time since we brought her home. Suddenly when I looked at her I actually smiled–and felt a little more like her mother with each new day.

My daughter is now 9 months old and I believe that going through what I went through allows me to appreciate my time with her even more. I love everything about her and while my life was fulfilling before, I can’t possibly imagine an existence without her in it.

Sometimes a sound or a smell will briefly take me back to those dark days and I view it as a reminder of how far I’ve come and how fragile a thing mental health can really be.

The bottom line is, I know how lucky I am. I know that I had a great pregnancy experience, and while I would never wish my postpartum experience on anyone, at the very least I was lucky to have an amazing support system and access to healthcare that allowed me to start my recovery right away.

For anyone else out there who is struggling, my advice to you is that there is no benefit to suffering in silence. I’m terrified to think of where I’d be today if I didn’t get help when I did. Talk to anyone who will listen and know that there is nothing wrong with you. It’s not your fault. It will get better.