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Media Sensationalism, AOL, and Postpartum Mood Disorders

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1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

Oh, hey.

You’re here. Excellent.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

Why am I counting? You’ll find out in a bit. For now, just go with it.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

In the United States, from October 2008 through October 2009, 4,148,000 live babies were born.

The statistical rate of Postpartum Mood Disorder is up to 20% of all new mothers. And by new, I mean just gave birth, not first time mom. Postpartum Mood Disorder is one of those fabulous non-discriminating kinda things which will walk up to anyone and cold cock them for no reason at all. Regardless of how well prepared said person may be. It’s kinda like getting mugged. Repeatedly.

This means that from October 2008 – October 2009, approximately 829,600 new mothers more than likely struggled with a Postpartum Mood Disorder at some level. This means 2 out of every 10 moms struggled with a Postpartum Mood Disorder (hence, the counting).

There is no data which tells us how many of those 829,600 mothers sought help.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

I have been in the trenches with Postpartum Mood Disorders since 2004. You see, I had a very horrible episode of Postpartum OCD after the birth of my first daughter. After her birth, vicious thoughts swirled about in my head. Visions too. Instead of enjoying my brand new baby’s time here, I was swallowed whole with anxiety, shoved into fight mode to protect her from myself, and left thinking the whole world was out to get me because they knew how much I sucked at this whole motherhood thing.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

For the record? I did the right thing. I called my doctor and made an appointment. I had to take my daughter with me because my husband was unable to get off work. So off we went, into the wild blue yonder where this thing called Help lived. We arrived, waltzed through the front door and signed my name with a flourish because dammit, we were there to do the right thing.

Only my doctor was not there to do the right thing.

He was there to judge me. To inform me that all my hormones had slid magically back into their little slots at 4 weeks postpartum and there was nothing wrong with me.

Whaaaa????

Wait a second.

I JUST handed you a scale. On which I answered YES to having thoughts of harming myself AND my child. And YOU, a trained medical professional, are dismissing this? Did I miss something here? I am no professional but.. uh… um…. really?

THEN… oh then… the icing:

“How important is breastfeeding to you?” he asked, quite seriously as he peered at me from behind his large and imposing wooden desk as my daughter screamed her head off to be nursed beside me.

I should have gotten her out of her car seat and started to nurse right then and there. But I didn’t. Shock slacked my jaw and curled my mouth into a grin. This “professional” clearly did not have the capacity to help me. I smiled my way right out of the appointment and drove home with tears sliding down my face. You see, the Internet had told me just what to do – to go seek help. To make an appointment with my doctor. The Internet had said nothing about what to do when you are shot down by your doctor.

So there I was……driving baby, me, and my shattered heart all the way home. Alone. Isolated. Abandoned. Scared as hell.

Never before in my life had I experienced a hell quite like the one in which I now found myself mired. Never before had I, a perfectly normal person prior to giving birth to my daughter, given any thought to harming another person. NEVER. And the day on which I discovered my pregnancy? There was no way I would have ever thought that less than three months after giving birth I would want to go back in time so I would never get pregnant. I wanted to run, hide, make this new me go away.

In what state did all of this take place?

South.Frigging.Carolina.

Just a couple of hours away from Orangeburg and less than 45 minutes away from where Susan Smith, well, you know.

Let me tell you a bit about rural South Carolina.

There is nothing in rural South Carolina. Small towns there are devoid of much of anything. Residents in these towns are intent on keeping outsiders out and insiders in. We barely made any friends while there. The town in which we lived seemed to have some sort of an addiction problem as most wandered around mindlessly. The poverty level? Wow. We were on the high end of the scale for living because we: Rented a HOUSE instead of a trailer and owned TWO cars instead of one or none at all. The house we rented was tiny. But that didn’t matter. We were considered to be upper class in the town despite the fact that we were just squeaking by on my husband’s salary as a restaurant manager.

In this town, there lived a family everyone knew to avoid. They didn’t have running water so they never bathed which made them reek to high heaven. If you were fortunate enough to be at the local Wal-mart or Bi-Lo when they were, you learned to walk to the other side of the store if you saw them coming.

High School graduates were also hard to come by as well. Many young people had to go to work early to help support the family. They worked at whatever they could find – sometimes driving long distances for good jobs. Even then it was hard to get good work because the jobs in the city were very picky if you lived too far away. Understandable concern but it really does put a crimp on improving your life when you are living in the middle of nowhere and cannot afford a move into the city until you get a better job which of course, you can’t get because you live too far away. It is a very vicious cycle.

Oh, and the Klan had a central PUBLIC meeting location.

And yes, you read that right.

Bottom line here – South Carolina has problems. A lot of problems. Many states do but never before in my life had I witnessed a perfect storm – poverty, ignorance, and a lack of support for its residents.

Since I have left, there has been the development of a Postpartum Coalition there. I’ve been asked to speak at their annual conference in October 2011. I am really looking forward to coming full circle with my experience and helping to educate providers and citizens alike in a state which so desperately needs raised awareness of Postpartum Mood Disorders.

Why did I just walk you through all of that history?

Earlier this week, a mother in South Carolina was arrested for the deaths of her two toddler sons. According to news articles, she was unemployed, frustrated, and had some heated words with her mother the night before the incident. This mother has since confessed to her actions and is now in jail facing court and charges.

For some reason, various members of the media have dragged the idea of this mother having Postpartum Depression into the Speculation surrounding her case. Now, Dr. Arlene Huysman, author of The Postpartum Effect, an excellent book which examines why mothers kill, postulates that Susan Smith and others may struggle with something called Progressive Postpartum Depression.

Here’s how she describes it on page 43 (empasis mine):

“The mother with progressive postpartum depression (PPPD), however, does NOT recover without treatment. She merely experiences a hiatus until her next episode. Subsequent episodes are very often triggered by rejections, separations, and losses, and recur throughout the woman’s life. Usually the next episode is worse than the last. If this pattern goes unchecked, the mother will spiral into a cycle of illness that can destroy her life and her family.

When a mother is in the grip of this disease in its most serious form, she passes beyond reason. In the place of the capable woman is one full of dread, rage, and confusion. She feels unloved and unlovable and loses her ability to distinguish right from wrong. She may hear voices in her head and be listening to them rather than the voices of her family. This is not a symptom of schizophrenia, but rather a reflection of her own obsessive thinking. Death may become a preoccupation. She is in the throes of what feels like an unending despair.”

Yesterday, (Please do not click on the following link if you are still struggling as it may be triggering.) AOL News contributor, David Lohr, published an article about this South Carolina mother at AOL News. In the original version, he included a quote from criminal profiler Pat Brown. Ms. Brown, based out of Washington DC, has been featured in many outlets including CNN, Court TV, and various other sources. Makes perfect sense to get a quote from a criminal profiler for a case involving well, crime.

But David Lohr and AOL news made an egregious error in their publication of the quote by Ms. Brown. AOL news has since removed the quote from the story and appended the story with an editor’s note to this effect. Ms. Brown has gone on the defensive in regards to a very public and viral outburst by many of the women I am proud to blog and tweet with on a daily basis.

The offensive quote:

“Most women who suffer depression after their children are born are suffering from post-how-did-I-get-stuck-with-this-kid, this body, this life? They may be depressed, but it is their situation and their psychopathic personality that brings them to kill their children, and not some chemical malfunction.”

If most women were truly suffering from “post-how-did-I-get-stuck-with-this-kid, this body, this life” then all we would need is a personal trainer or plastic surgeon, a nanny, and a million dollars to effectively change our stars. Oh wait – speaking of stars, don’t celebs have this too? Bryce Dallas Howard had it. Miranda Kerr, Gwyneth Paltrow, Brooke Shields, Marie Osmond, and many others. Granted, they did not kill their children but they still struggled (even severely) with Postpartum Mood Disorders. And they had access to all the help in the world.

Postpartum Mood Disorders do not just strike poor down on their luck moms.

Postpartum Mood Disorders are NOT the only possible explanation for filicide.

Postpartum Mood Disorders may not be definitively caused by a hormonal or “chemical malfunction” but study after study shows there are differing rates of various hormones of women struggling with PMD’s. Researchers have not yet defined what this means yet but I suspect that with sustained research we will get closer to answers each and every day.

The ignorance of Ms. Pat Brown in making such a sweeping statement in regards to an entire population of struggling moms is highly irresponsible. With her reach and popularity as a commentator for several national shows including the Today Show, the CBS Early Show, Larry King, Inside Edition, Nancy Grace, Issues with Jane Velez-Mitchell, Joy Behar, and America’s Most Wanted as well as featured on the Court TV show I, Detective, it frightens me to hear her make such a grandiose and untrue statement. The possibility that a hurting mother somewhere may have read her statement and then dismissed her own issues scares the hell out of me.

We, mothers who have struggled with Postpartum Mood Disorders, have issue enough with gathering strength to make that first call for help. We become convinced we are bad mothers. That we have failed and will never get better. We talk ourselves down even further the rabbit hole into which we tripped after we gave birth to children we love more than life itself.

Moms with Postpartum Depression are NOT:

Bad Mothers

Mourning the loss of our previous supermodel body

Tragically sad because now we have a little person stuck with us

Moms with Postpartum Depression ARE:

Madly in love with their children

Good moms who want to heal

Desperate to find reliable help

I can’t even begin to fathom the damage this statement has made. I have had more mothers tell me they are a bad mom because they are sad. It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be happy. I don’t love my son, daughter, husband, etc. What is wrong with me? The confusion, angst, sorrow, frustration, guilt, all adds to their journey with a Postpartum Mood Disorder. Then if they are unable to find the help they need (like me), they are left to their own devices for recovery. Unfortunately, some of us never find the right help and are not surrounded by empowering people who can lift them up and guide them toward recovery.

If you are struggling with a Postpartum Mood Disorder or hurting, sad, upset, and thinking of harming yourself or others, PLEASE reach out for help. If it’s after the birth of a child, you can call Postpartum Support International at 1-800-944-4PPD. Volunteers check the messages on a daily basis (I’m one of them and these ladies are DEDICATED. We will get you in touch with someone in your area who can help you). If you need urgent help, please go to the nearest ER. If you’re feeling suicidal, you can call 1-800-273-TALK anytime of the day, even at 2am on a Sunday.

I remember that sense of isolation. The need to reach out and talk with someone who has been there and done that was overpowering. The desperation I felt in my incapacity to locate professional help. I tried for four days before I broke down to call my doctor. I hung up as soon as the automation came on the line. Have you ever tried to admit to someone that things are NOT okay when you are supposed to be at your happiest, especially according to Johnson & Johnson? It is one of the hardest things in the world to do. Hands down.

Fittingly, Jennifer Lopez’s Let’s Get Loud just came on Pandora as I’m wrapping this up.

I thank everyone out there who got LOUD yesterday to let AOL, Pat Brown, and David Lohr know how wrong they were.

AOL, you need to apologize. The quote should never have been published to begin with.

Pat? I challenge you to read Dr. Huysman’s book, The Postpartum Effect if you have not already. It’s available at Amazon. Hell, I might just mail you a copy. Anyone else want to flood her office with copies? It’s about $15 or so. If that wouldn’t get her attention…..

And David Lohr, the next time you need a quote about something related to Postpartum Depression? Try Postpartum Support International. I believe they know a thing or two about Postpartum Mood Disorders.

Just Talkin’ Tuesday: How do you Mother yourself?

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When I was little and something didn’t go my way, nothing cured my sadness faster than a good ol’ fashioned Mommy hug. At nearly 34 years old, I still have days when nothing short of a Mommy hug will make things better. But that Mommy hug is nearly 400 miles away now so I can’t pop on over or run to her in the kitchen to snatch up a hug. So instead I call her. Every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. I’m trying to scale back but it has been hard! Research has shown though, that talking with your mom on the phone is just as good as getting a hug from her in person. Pretty amazing, huh?

Mothers are expected to take care of everyone around them. It’s just what we do. But we forget so very often to Mother the most important person in our lives – ourselves. If we are not caring for ourselves, we are then not able to care for those around us. We are only able to care for those around us as well as we care for ourselves. It is especially important to remember to take care of ourselves when a Postpartum Mood Disorder is slinking about the house. Self-care is a very important aspect of recovery.

While hospitalized, the same nurse who so kindly told me I did not have to tell anyone where I was that weekend also emphasized to me how important taking time for myself was to my recovery. Go for a walk, go for coffee, breathe. Find your space and make it all yours at least once or twice a week to begin with. I started walking the first full day I was home. That lasted for all of a few weeks because I let life get in the way again. But while I was walking, I felt so much better. I loved being alone, listening to the birds, watching the squirrels, side stepping the bird poo, yanno, the back to nature stuff.

I also started making myself loose tea. There’s a ritual there – some cultures are pretty particular about it but really it can be whatever you want it to be. I also got out the good china and crystal even if just chowing down on microwave pizza and a coke. Dressing it up made it special. It made ME feel special.

So … let’s get to just talking. Share some tips with everyone. How do YOU Mother yourself? Are you Mothering yourself? If not, I challenge you to do at least one special thing just for you – and not feel guilty about it – this week. Go for ice cream, coffee, go people watch at the mall, go for a walk or to the bookstore or the library. Pick something that interests you, pick a day and just GO. You’re worth it and your family will thank you for the recharged Mama!

Can Kangaroo Care prevent Postpartum Depression?

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I’m sharing today’s blog post with you as part of Science & Sensibility and Giving Birth with Confidence’s Blogging Carnival. This year’s theme focuses on “Keeping Mothers and babies together after birth.” In keeping with this theme, I want to focus on the influence Kangaroo Care can have on the prevention/relief of Postpartum Depression. If you’re here from the Carnival, welcome. If you’re a regular reader – enjoy! Either way, thrilled to have you here.

When I first became a mother, I had  never heard about Kangaroo Care. My daughter, however, liked to be held next to my chest, resting her head on my bare skin as she slept when she was not nursing. Not officially Kangaroo Care but we made do with what worked. To this day, she still likes to snuggle with me.

Kangaroo Mother Care is when a human mother and her infant snuggle skin to skin with the infant lying prone on mom’s chest. It’s a term coined after the Kangaroo’s close relationship with her little joey who doesn’t come out of mom’s pouch for four months after birth. Instead, joey relies on mom’s warmth, nutrition, and support for his “fourth” trimester. More often than not by those in the birthing realm, the first few months of a human’s life are now called the “fourth” trimester as well. Research has concluded over and over again that Kangaroo Care is invaluable for both human moms and babies as well.

In 2007 a study published in the Oxford Tropical Pediatrics from researchers at the Instituto Materno Infantil in Brazil concluded Kangaroo Mother Care may prove helpful in warding off postpartum depression. Researchers evaluated mothers at the beginning of NICU care and at the end of their Kangaroo Mother Care. NO mother developed depression during their Kangaroo stay. Let me say that again. NO MOTHER developed depression during their Kangaroo stay.

WHO, the World Health Organization, also offers an article regarding Kangaroo Care in the early months of infancy. Their article focuses on the bonding and encouragement of breastfeeding that Kangaroo Care provides. Many of the after-birth procedures and examinations can take place while baby is on Mom’s stomach in the prone position thereby improving chances of maternal and infant bonding.

A new Mother-to-Infant Bonding Scale included in a 2006 study compared the score of the Mother-to-Infant Bonding Scale to Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale. Women who scored lower on the MIB Scale scored higher on the EPDS and vice versa.

One of the perks of Kangaroo Care is the increased production of Oxytocin initiated through skin-to-skin contact with an infant. Oxytocin is known as the “cuddle” or “love hormone and may help new mothers ward off severe episodes of Postpartum Depression. This is an extremely compelling reason to encourage hospitals to encourage the practices of rooming in and immediate after birth examinations while baby is on Mom’s tummy or chest. The first few hours of life are extremely important to successful bonding and nursing. If mother and child are separated, the risk of failure for bonding and successful breastfeeding may decrease.

There’s also another personal story proving the very value of Kangaroo Mother Care. Carolyn Isbister, a mom out of Edinburgh, saved her infant’s life with a Kangaroo Cuddle. Her little one had been given up on by doctors. Carolyn cuddled with her infant to say goodbye. She and her husband watched as their daughter’s breathing and heart beats regulated. They watched as she went from grey to pink. Carolyn’s little girl is now healthy and home, thanks to Kangaroo Mother Care.

One of the calmest moments I had in the midst of my own downward spiral was as I sat with Charlotte snuggled up on my chest. We were in the middle of the NICU, beeps and boops all around us. The fragility of life hung heavy in the air. Her many wires, tubes, and other non-baby items draped across me as well. But all that mattered was her soft warm head resting peacefully under my chin, her breath caressing my chest. I wrapped my arms as tightly as I dared around her tiny body and closed my eyes. This was a moment in which I wanted to get lost. I wasn’t experiencing many of those at the time. Time stopped as we stepped out of the NICU and into our own little world for a bit. Even as I type this I can still smell her fresh baby scent and feel the weight of her little body curled up on my chest. It is a moment I will always cherish and never forget. My eye in the midst of a hurricane from hell.

I also felt soothed when I held our first daughter skin-to-skin even though I did not know the  technical term for our action at the time. Our son was a natural snuggler as well. With him, I did not experience Postpartum Depression. Our skin to skin contact was not much higher than with the other two but it was much higher than my skin to skin contact with Charlotte. After I had Charlotte I was hospitalized for severe PPD & PP OCD, a very scary time in my life.

If you’re a new mom struggling with bonding with your new infant, please try Kangaroo Mother Care. It’s free, it’s easy (mostly naked baby, mostly topless parent) and it does wonders.

Looking back, I wish I had insisted my children stay with me instead of letting them be sent away. Our second daughter’s absence was a medical necessity but with the other two it was not. Keeping your infant with you, on your skin, and allowing your relationship to develop naturally may just be the ticket you need to help ward off a severe case of Postpartum Depression. Some women may do Kangaroo Care and develop Postpartum Depression despite their dedication to skin to skin contact. If this happens, please know you are not alone. Be sure to ask for a thyroid and anemia levels test when talking with your doctor or midwife. And be sure to reach out for help from a mental health professional if you need it. There’s no shame in going to therapy. None.

Even if you are not feeling up to it now, one day, you will mother with confidence, you may even birth with confidence again. But know there are mothers who have been where you are right now and are willing to hold their hands back for you to cling on to – with confidence they will carry you out of the deep dark place you are now trapped within.

Want to read more about the Lamaze International View on Keeping Mother & Baby together? You’re in luck. You can do so right here.

Graham Crackers & Peanut Butter served with a side of crazy: Part I

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I had planned to post my full story here today. But as I typed, it got long. Really long. I’m at five full typed pages with a few more to go.

(You’ll have to wait until I’m hospitalized for the title to make sense. Just go with it for now!)

In Part I, we’ll work our way from waking up the morning of my hospitalization to later that afternoon when I finally called the doctor’s office.

Tomorrow will offer some background on what led up to the day of hospitalization.

This series is the most brutally honest I’ve ever been with anyone about my experience. Including myself. It feels good. It feels oh so good to get it all out in the open.

As I walked with my family this morning, I thought about this post. And for some reason the movie The Goonies popped into my head. You know the scene when they realize they’re in the wishing well?

Mouth gets pissy and says, “This wish was mine! And it didn’t come true. So I’m taking it back. I’m taking them all back.” Then he disappears under the water as he hunts for his other wishes.

Every mother wishes for a good postpartum experience. Many of us get that wish. Some of us don’t.

This is me. Taking back the power that Postpartum Depression had over me. Taking it ALL back. But I’m keeping my head above the water.

Four years ago this weekend, I visited a mental hospital. Involuntarily. This is how I landed there:

As I stumbled out of our bedroom, I remember looking out the living room window. Blue sky, sunshine, green forest stared back at me. Birds chirped, the dogs glanced at me, I heard our two-year old awake and prayed our almost three-month old was still asleep.

One question repeated over and over in my head.

“What would happen if I let go?” Just let go, they whispered. “You deserve to let go. Let go. Reality is a joke. Just.LET.GO. Let go. Let go. Let.go. let go….let go…..” the soft whispers echoed in my head all day long.

I fed our two-year old breakfast as I pumped. Set up our infant daughter’s tube feeding. Took our two-year old to her room to play. Laid down on her couch. Closed my eyes. Slept through her lifting my arms, dropping them down, begging me to wake up and play.

I did not want to play. I could not play. If I was unconscious, I couldn’t hurt her. If I was unconscious, the voices would shut up. If I was unconscious, visions of smothering them both with pillows would go away. If I was unconscious – no wait, if I was not here……maybe…. maybe…..but how… just.. if I wasn’t here, I couldn’t hurt them.

I dozed as she played. I heard her as she begged me to play with her. Yet there I lay, paralyzed, my mind miles and miles away, locked in a deep dark closet somewhere, refusing to come out just like obstinate toddler.

Our infant daughter’s Kangaroo pump alarm sounded. After a few minutes, I finally stumbled into her room to turn it off and disconnect her. Back to the kitchen to make lunch for our two-year old. I think it was a PB&J.

Let go. Jump. Take a deep breath and fall. The hardest part is just letting go. Let go, they whispered. Over and over and over and over and over……

I clearly saw myself with a pillow, hands tightly gripping either side. If I just made them go away, the voices would go away. The pillow would solve everything. I could just make them go away. Then I’d let go and everything would be okay. Everything would be okay. Everything. Would. Be. Okay. It’d be okay.

I put our two year old down for a nap and started another tube feeding for our infant daughter. I hadn’t pumped since 10:45 a.m. It was pushing 1:00 p.m. I didn’t want to pump. Why should I?

She’s asleep now, they both are. It’d be so easy. So easy.

My thin strand of reality shredding, I turned to the voices. They started to push me toward the brink of the canyon. I didn’t have much fight left inside. Home alone, it would be so easy. The monsters were gaining ground. Their battering ram tediously close to knocking down the last door I had shored up against them, I went to our bedroom and closed the door, disgusted with myself.

Our bed saved my children.

I lay down, curled up in the middle with the phone. I clutched it as a stranded sailor clutches a life ring. Tightly, refusing to give it up even as I rocked back and forth, staring past the squirrels scrambling up and down 200-year-old oak tree swaying softly outside our bedroom window.

As the tears began to slide down my face, my breath shallow and my chest felt tight, I dialed my husband at work.

“You have to come home.” I choked the words out.

“Why?”

“You have to come home.”

“I can’t just leave work for no reason. Why?”

“I’m not doing well. You have to come home. I need you to call the doctor for me.”

“I can’t leave work. Why can’t you call the doctor?”

I gasped for air. The one person I felt safe in reaching out to was shooting me down. I needed help. I needed… I needed…

“Because I just can’t. I can’t… I…. “ burst into tears.

“Call them and let me know what they say, okay?” his voice was slightly softer.

“But I… “ argh. I hung up on him. I had tried to call the doctor’s office for the past four days, dammit. Yet somehow today had to be the day I made it happen. The day I had no strength left in any corner of my mind. Yeh.

I dialed the doctor’s office. And hung up.

I dialed again. Hung up.

I dialed again. Hung up.

Dialed. Ring. Ring…..ring… automation. Press 0.

Hang up. Dammit.

And now my husband was calling me back as I tried again. Ring…ring. Automation.

PRESS 0, dammit, said the only sane part of me. Press it! Say something when they answer. SAY something.

“Hello, this is Dr. X’s office. How can we help you?”

“I… I… I need help. My name is Lauren Hale and I’m not okay. I need help.”

It felt good and so horribly wrong all at the same time.

(Click here to read Part II.)

Just Talkin’ Tuesday 05.18.10: How did you first share your Postpartum Mood Disorder story?

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Today is a mash-up of posts.

It’s the APA’s Mental Health Blog Party day and my weekly installment of Just Talkin’ Tuesday. (If you’re interested in reading other entries for today’s Blog Party, the APA is rounding them up here.)

Today, the APA is asking all mental health (and not) bloggers to raise our voices in order to shatter the stigma which surrounds mental illness and disorders. In that spirit, I had to give quite a bit of thought to the topic for today’s Just Talkin’ Tuesday post. It had to be a topic we had not covered recently as well as one that fit the blog party spirit. And wouldn’t ya know it, inspiration strikes right as I am seriously craving some time with my bed. This topic has been meandering about upstairs for a few days but decided to wait until the last second to make a mad dash for the door, er, keyboard. So here I sit, at 1215am EST, words pouring onto my blog. I make no promises as to the length of this ramble. Proceed at your own caution and time restraints.

It started with a simple phrase uttered to me while at psych ward on a suicidal/harm to others hold during my second postpartum experience.

“You don’t have to tell anyone where you were this weekend.”

Why?

Why would I want to keep this experience a secret? What reason would I have for not wanting to share my struggle?

My mother raised me to keep the communication lines open no matter how deep the trauma. And my father taught me to always, ALWAYS think before I spoke. So you see, I strive to keep a balance between the two. Sometimes this means holding my tongue or my thoughts for a bit longer than I should and missing out on opportunities to speak up. But then I figure maybe it is for the best I didn’t say anything in the first place.

"Raffles Resort Beach"by fpugirl @flick

More than anything though, I believe strongly in both values. And these values are what caused me to question why on earth the nurse told me I didn’t have to tell anyone about my visit to the psychiatric wing. And what pray tell, would I have told them? That I had won a trip to the Carribean? Been waited on hand and foot? Slept the weekend away on pillows flatter than ironed Martha Stewart Linens? C’mon, people!

From the very beginning of my downfall, I was vocal about my experience. I asked questions. I sought answers. I wanted to talk to other mothers. I needed, desperately, to know that I was not alone in this new pitch black rough and tumble sea.

There was something I clung to as a lifesaver in the midst of my temporary insanity. And I don’t think I have ever properly thanked him for saying it to me right when I needed to hear these words the most.

“You are reacting no differently than anyone else in your shoes would be. Don’t let them tell you any different!”

My father spoke those words to me during a phone call from the hospital. I clung to that phone like a lifeline. My father’s words echo through my mind every so often but back then, when I needed to hear them most, they were a shiny buoy of hope in my dark dark sea. I never let go. Thank you Dad, thank you for knowing just what to say right when I needed to hear it. I am sorry if I have not thanked you before now but THANK YOU. From the very depth of my very healed heart.

If I could be on the phone, by golly, I was on the phone. Talking. Sharing. Being HONEST about where I was and how I had gotten there. And every last person on the other end accepted me, loved me, did not judge me. I know how fortunate I am to have that kind of support. Believe me, I am above and beyond grateful for the support which exists in my world. There are others who exist and fight with no support, no place to turn, alone in their dark sea upon which they are now sailing. Sailing with no compass, no supplies, lost.

There are mothers out there who struggle in the darkness for a very long time. So long, in fact, that Dr. Arlene Huysman coined a term, Progressive Postpartum Depression, an undiagnosed Postpartum Depression which gets darker and darker as time marches forward, dragging the darkness along for the ride. So long that there’s an entire Scientific American article dedicated to the topic and a ton of research on the impact of untreated Maternal Depression if you should care to go looking for it via Google or med journals. Why do they stay quiet? Why do they not seek help? It does not make sense. If your throat is sore, you see the doctor. Heart attack, ER. So why not this? Is it not the same? It should be treated as such.

But it is not.

Many believe you should be able to snap out of a depression. That Happiness is a choice. That somehow, we are choosing to be sad, insane, or conjure up these intrusive thoughts to get out of being a mother. That it’s all a conspiracy. But it’s not. Oh, it is SO not a conspiracy. There’s no dark back room to which we all retreat in the middle of the night and agree on what symptoms to exhibit the next day to escape the humdrum of domesticity. We don’t choose straws to see who gets to be the happy housewife and who gets to curl up in a ball muttering to herself. There are no auditions for this. IT.JUST.HAPPENS. And guess what? We don’t like going through it anymore than you enjoy watching us go through it.

A Postpartum Mood Disorder is sheer hell. First, there’s the myriad of symptoms from anxiety, to depression, to not eating to not sleeping to obsessing, to thinking horrific thoughts about what might happen to baby, what we might do to baby, etc, so on and so forth. And then there’s the guilt. OH the guilt. The guilt of not wanting to have anything to do with our baby. The guilt over not gushing over baby or not snapping back as quickly as celebrities or not coping like the suave women in the Johnson & Johnson commercials. The suave women who invade our homes every day as we sit in front of the TV with a screaming infant as our hair becomes ratty and our bathrobes and slippers wear thin because we haven’t changed our clothes in over a week. And then, there’s the judgment. We are supposed to be happy. Anything less than happiness is unacceptable in most families. Suck it up. Get over it. Yeah, motherhood is hard but I just did it. I didn’t get sad. I didn’t curl up in a ball. I don’t remember.

We are all different.

We are ALL beautiful.

And there is a quiet power in each and every one of our stories. An important power. One we must protect and share so that others will listen, learn, and understand.

"Stormy Sea" by Xeubix @flickr

When I was in the thick of my Postpartum sea with waves crashing all around me, I dreaded sharing my story. I hated having to explain to yet another person what had brought me to my knees. I hated answering questions.  At some point, that changed. At some point, it became liberating to tell others how I had managed to escape and heal. The mode of transportation whether it be natural, pharmaceutical, physical, spiritual – does not matter. All that matters is that you find what works for you, for your personal philosophy and situation. And damn anyone who dares to judge your choices. YOU are in charge of you – don’t ever forget that. It is your path to wellness and not that of anyone else. Take command of your decisions and let no man judge you for them.

When I first shared my postpartum story with power behind my words, it was with Wendy Davis of Postpartum Support International as I applied to be a Coordinator here in the state of Georgia. At the time, there was only one other Coordinator. There are now four of us, a statewide support network, and two support groups in operation according to the PSI Georgia webpage. That’s a lot of growth in just three years. Since then, I’ve operated my own support group (which has stopped meeting due to lack of local interest and support), began blogging to reframe a third pregnancy, and also become the Community Leader for two iVillage message boards dedicated to helping both Postpartum and Pregnant women who are depressed or struggling with mental illness. I’ve also recently started a #PPDChat at Twitter. Turnout there is still small but it has been powerful. I believe in quality vs. quantity when it comes to peer support. Every time I share a piece of my story, I empower another woman, another family. I continue to empower myself through my sharing. I am always healing, a work in progress.

There are power in your words. Share them but share them wisely and carefully.

How did you finally share your Postpartum Story? What made you decide to share your story? Was it with a loved one? With a colleague? A complete stranger? In person? Online? Or have you held it in for years, filled with shame because there was no one to tell who wouldn’t judge you?

Let’s finally get to just talking – and beat the crap out of PMD stigma while we’re at it, ladies and gents!