Depressiva: For the 20%

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Coco Chanel. Valentino. Dior. Givenchy. Gaultier. Armani. Versace. Saint Laurent.

All top current or past fashion houses. Associated with luxury.

Ferrari. Porsche. Mercedes. BMW. Lexus. McLaren. Bentley. Audi.

All luxury automobile companies. Associated with luxury.

Godiva. Lindt. Cadbury. Jacques Torres.

Chocolatiers. Associated with luxury and indulgence.

Depression.

Mood Disorder. NOT associated with luxury.

So often we wish and covet the finer things in life. Good chocolate. Fine cars. Nice clothes. Materialistic, yes, but we are by default, human, and have materialistic cravings. It happens.

I remember the last time I thought about wanting a decadent truffle. Or a nice dress. Or even thought about my dream car.

What I don’t remember, however, is the last time I wished for depression. The last time I thought to myself, hey, you know what? Depression sounds really good today. I think, along with a hot bubble bath and a cup of the world’s finest hot cocoa, I’ll slip a little Depression into my day. It’s just too damn bright and sunny today. Today needs a touch of Depression. Where do I get that? What does it look like? Is it a pair of glasses I slip on to grey down the bright sunny day? An iPod with Ben Stein’s monotone voice repeating over and over how much today sucks? Or is it food that looks delicious but tastes like nothing? Oooh.. I know.. it’s a bouncy house… grey… with an entrance which closes behind you and doesn’t re-open until you manage to find the right secret compartment containing a magic map to show you the way out. YES! It’s a grey bouncy house!

Depression is not a luxury.

It’s not a sumptuous bubble bath into which one sinks at the end of the day.

It’s not a delectable hand crafted dark chocolate truffle.

It’s not a magnificent engine encased in fine steel able to handle curves as if they don’t exist.

It’s just as real though.

It’s just as tangible.

It’s there for up to 20% of new moms.

It’s there for millions of Americans.

They didn’t go to a showroom to purchase it.

They didn’t click on a link to choose it.

They didn’t put it on a gift list.

It wasn’t swag.

Like an unwelcome guest, it showed up at the front door, pushed inside, and stayed put for much longer than necessary. It fed on shreds of happiness, sanity, and gobbled up hope. Like a squatter, it showed no signs of leaving.

If that’s your idea of luxury, if you truly think that falling into the deep dark pit of depression is luxury?

You need more help than I ever did.

A love letter of sorts

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Dear #PPDChat Mamas,

I know yesterday was all sorts of hard for some of you.

That it was particularly hard for one of you in particular.

Just as last time, we rallied around you. We loved you. We tried to protect you and keep you safe. We did what friends do when they see a friend struggling. They reach out to anything they can in order to keep the car from crashing. To keep the crisis from escalating. We were not alone in our reaction. You are loved. By so many. You matter. To us. To others. To your children. To life. You.MATTER.

I am sorry if we upset you. But you see, it was out of love. It was out of caring. It was with good intention. I realize these are just words. That they may not change how you feel about what so many of us did together yesterday to SAVE YOUR LIFE.

To those of you who did what you could to save a life, do not place blame on yourself for the outcome. For the reaction. You did the best you could with what you had at the time. You rose above what most would ever do when faced with someone who so clearly stated suicidal intent. You bravely ran toward the crisis screaming STOP, gathering an army along the way.

The reaction? The outcome? Is not yours to own. It is hers and hers alone. You can still love her. You can still care for her. But she must process what happened to her in her own way even if that means walking away from us, walking away from Twitter. She needs to own that, not you. I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m not saying anyone is right or anyone is better. I’m just saying that all of us are only responsible for the behaviours of ourselves, not of others. As long as you know in your heart you did the best you could with what you had at the time and it was with good intention, rest easy. You’re not responsible for the outcome. It’s hard to let go. It’s hard to let someone else own their behaviour when you feel you had a hand in causing it. But right now? Let go. Breathe. Know we have done every thing we possibly can to help. And now? It’s time to breathe. It’s time to let ownership lie where it may.

We’ll still be here should she ever decide to come back. With arms full of love, hearts open and willing, and minds free of judgment. I hope she does come back. In the meantime though, I wish her all the best. I wish her healing, peace of mind, and a stop to the downward spiral she feels stuck in at the moment. I know it’s dark there, we all do. Don’t ever forget you are loved. And don’t EVER forget that YOU.MATTER.

We love you. No matter what.

Love,

Me

Once upon a time

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Once upon a time I was just a girl with a dream. A little girl who shoved stuffed animals under her Mickey Mouse shirt as she toddled across the living room. Then I’d pretend to have my baby, love it, and eventually abandon it in a corner for a different toy.

Then I grew up.

Had a real baby.

Learned really quickly there’s no abandoning a real baby in the corner. Even when I wanted to because every new scream or shriek caused debilitating anxiety or a new flood of intrusive thoughts.

No, real babies, unlike the stuffed animal variety, demand and require attention. They need to eat, they need to have their diapers changed, they require love and interaction. It’s hard stuff for a mom without a Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorder. Even harder for a mom struggling to keep the mental illness wolves at bay. By the time baby is ready to finally settle down for the night (even if it’s 2am in the morning), our brains are so fried from all the self-talk we’ve done throughout the day just to convince ourselves “Yes, I CAN make it for just 60 more seconds,” all we can do is sit there and stare at the wall. Like Zombies. Sure, moms without PPD are Zombiefied every once in awhile too. Motherhood is HARD.

I look back at the depths of my hell and wonder what I could have done differently. I examine it, searching for the one thing I did wrong – the one thing I should have done differently. What if I had asked for help here or what if I had educated myself as intensely before my first two pregnancies? Built in more social support? What if…

Here’s the kicker… even if I identify the ONE thing I could change? Would it matter? Who would I be today? Would I still be the Mama Bear I am today for families with Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders? If I changed just one thing to clear my PMAD experience, would I be doing more damage than good?

Hindsight sucks when we look upon it with a longing to change things. Hindsight can be a beautiful thing if, instead of looking upon our past with a longing to change it, we look upon it with a desire to understand why we are where we are and how we’re going to get to our next place in life. Our past is full of building blocks regardless of how dark and negative. When we learn how to slide them all into place like a Rubik’s Cube, we solve the puzzle of our life and empower ourselves to move forward with an unparallelled strength.

Don’t look back in regret. Look back with a desire to understand and then launch yourself into your future. You’ll be amazed at how far you can go.