Brittany on postpartum anxiety and passive suicidal thoughts

December 30, 2019

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 am just over four years postpartum and when I look back on what happened to me, it seems like a movie or like it happened to someone else. Certainly not me. But it did.

After two years of trying to conceive and fertility treatments, there I was, lying on the hospital bed after 24 hours of labor with our son laying on my chest. My first thoughts were, “What did I just do!?” I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life. The next days and weeks went downhill from there. I felt like my child was someone else’s and I was just babysitting. I told my husband, family and friends right away.

I remember lying in bed feeling paralyzed—like I could not move—like I didn’t want to. I didn’t want my son hurt. I wanted it all to be just a bad dream, like it never happened. My mind was racing. I stopped eating. I stopped talking. Around three weeks postpartum, my primary care doctor found a medicine that worked and I got about four weeks of relief. I felt like super mom those weeks—bonding and soaking up my son.

Then one day I woke up with the anxiety beast crawling up my back and it was like I could not get back to the high I had for those three weeks. I stopped looking in the mirror. I thought the person looking back wasn’t me. I was right back at square one. I was hospitalized for six days and honestly, it saved my life. I did not have active suicidal thoughts, but more passive. I’d cross the street and think how I wish a bus would hit me.

When I got out, we stayed with my in-laws and I slowly crawled out of the hole. I started back at work shortly after and felt more like myself. This whole ordeal was in the span of 12 weeks. As time went on, I felt pieces of myself coming back, and by a year, it was like the fog had lifted.

Now I look at my son and feel a pit in my stomach for how I felt. I don’t know what happened to me. But I have a big mouth and I wasn’t going down easily. I talked about it to everyone any anyone who would listen. What I found was more moms felt like me than didn’t. It empowered me. I had a doctor, husband, family and friends who helped me and believed me.

I think about how most don’t even have a fraction of that and survive this beast. Those women are my heroes.