Tag Archives: depression

#HAWMC: Dear 16 year old self…

Dear 16 year old self:

I’m sitting down to write this letter to you with nearly 20 years of wisdom on you. Wisdom garnered from the life which awaits you. There are a few things I feel you should know:

Stop slamming the bedroom door. Your parents mean it when they say they’ll take it away. It’s going to break in less than 6 months. And a curtain? Doesn’t have the same dramatic effect.

You’re going to say bitch in front of your entire AP Government class your senior year. It’s okay though, because there’s always someone who says it every year. Don’t worry, you stumble through it beautifully. A heads up though might just give you the extra oomph to be even more sarcastic when it happens. PS. ON THE BEACH. Not ON THE BITCH. Just saying.

College will both rock and be one of the biggest challenges of your life. You’ll lose yourself a bit too much in alcohol and partying but you’ll make amazing friends after that phase. You’ll become grandparentless. This will hurt like hell and make you want to go back to the alcohol. Don’t. Let it pour out, allow yourself to feel it, allow it to consume you until you’re through. It’s okay to hurt this much.

Kids – there are three of them in your future. They’re hilarious, witty, beautiful, amazing, and so much more. Don’t ever forget this, especially when things get hard.

Things will get hard, especially after you have daughters. Incredibly hard. But you know what? there are moms out there JUST LIKE YOU. You’re not alone and you will eventually get better.

All of this hard and then some to which I am not speaking in a public forum will make you an amazing woman who knows how to laugh, appreciate the little things, and not take life so damn seriously all the time. The good things are brighter, the happiness is sharper, and the joy is exquisite. Life is all yours – and remember, how people choose to react to you is their gig, not yours.

So go. LIVE. Be happy. Be sad. Get angry. But above all, be free.

 

#HAWMC: Lost in the light

Today I took some time just for me. I drove an hour to a state park and meandered on the trails for over two hours. I ended up at a dam which is where I sat and ate lunch, listening to the rushing water, the birds, and enjoyed the gentle breeze flowing around me.

I watched a crow fly from one side of the lake shore to the other. Boats came and went on the water beneath the dam, some of them stopping to cast a line in the hopes of catching a fish.

As I sat there, soaking up the atmosphere, sunshine, and basking in the relaxing view, I realized that no matter how hard things get, no matter how dark they might seem, the sun always rises the next morning. So shall we.

I lost myself today. Not in the darkness, but in the light. I didn’t want to leave the grassy knoll above the dam. I could have stayed there all day. Losing yourself in the light instead of the darkness is an experience like no other. Your heart soars and tumbles like the strong hawk floating on a thermal high in the sky. You smile as you exhale, closing your eyes as you drink in the peace around you, remembering a time when you could have sat there and not seen or felt a thing.

It’s days like today which make me grateful for the dark. Because without it, days like today wouldn’t mean so much to me.

Postpartum Voice of the Week: Love, marriage, depression, survival

When I first fell into the rabbit hole of Postpartum Mood Disorders nearly 8 years ago, I never imagined it would lead to me sitting in front of a tiny computer attempting to compile the journey of a Syrian woman now living in Austria who has also struggled through her own issues with Postpartum Mood Disorders. At a time when so many in Syria are struggling for survival, it is truly an honour to share the story of a woman who grew up in their world and has fought her own battles to survive. Nadia is still fighting but her determination to win is enviable and because of that, she has already gained a victory. What follows below is a rewrite of a timeline Nadia sent me. With her approval, I am thrilled to be sharing it with you now.

I was born in Damascus, Syria, single child to Syrian parents who were cousins. My father studied Atomic Sciences in Russia but was not allowed to work in his specialization for security reasons. My mother was analphabetic, raised in a small village in the north of Syria where a woman doesn’t have the right to decide anything. She had five sisters. Two of them were married and then divorced after they had children. They suffered from depressions and psychological illness but I am not sure exactly what. I do know her family history involved depression.

My parents divorced after a marriage full of fights. My father beat my mother as a result of losing his temper. My Uncles, my mother’s brothers, threatened her, telling her she was not allowed to ask to see her daughter. They held her responsible for destroying the marriage by getting divorced which brought shame to their family. I was automatically given to my father.

Shortly after my parent’s divorce, my father married an Austrian woman who worked for the Austrian Embassy in Damascus. She couldn’t get pregnant due to cancer which caused doctors to remove her uterus. I visited my mum in the summer holidays only for short visits. My mother fell into a deep depression.

Three years later, I moved from Syria with my step-mother and father to Libya where my step-mother worked for the Austrian Embassy in Tripoli. I lost contact with my mother. My father’s temper flared. He beat me and his relationship with my step-mother began to fail. Within the next few years, my father was badly burned in a fire accident at home when our washing machine exploded. After three months in the hospital, he passed away.

After my father’s death, I was given the choice to stay with my step-mother or go back to Syria to my mother. I stayed with my step-mother because I was afraid if I returned to Syria the family may force me to marry or nobody would want to care for me. I moved to Austria with my step-mother because I knew it was the only way to help my mother. As I approached puberty, my step-mother and I did not get along very well. I was sent to a boarding school and she left Austria to work for the embassy in Turkey.

A short year later, I found myself longing for Arabic food, company, tradition, and language. I opened the phone book and searched for an Arabic restaurant. I went to eat there with a friend of mine. I met my husband at this restaurant. He was and still is my great love.

Two years later, after working very hard through summer holiday, my husband and I traveled to Syria to fulfill our dream of getting married. Our families both attended and our wedding was amazing. We returned to Austria, managing to get a one room flat. For five months, we didn’t have a bed to sleep on due to tight finances. But our love was more than enough to live on and we were sure things would improve.

In 2002, the same year we were married, I became pregnant. My pregnancy interrupted my schooling but I wasn’t concerned because here in Austria, when you give birth, the government pays you a monthly income for two years so finances were not a concern.

Our first son was born in 2003 when I was 19 years old. He cried without ceasing after birth. I was so sad as well. I did not know at the time of Postpartum Depression. It disappeared by itself although I still struggled with sadness and sometimes crying as my husband worked as a waiter all night long and I was alone with the baby quite often.

Three years later, we had a daughter, desired very much by my husband and myself. I struggled psychologically during pregnancy and was again crying and sad after giving birth but less than after my son. Again, I was still unaware of Postpartum Depression and thought this crying and sadness after giving birth was normal for me. I got Austrian citizenship and this allowed my husband to have working papers. He began working two jobs as a waiter and I was again alone at home for long periods of time.

In 2008, doctors discovered through blood tests my thyroid was hyperactive. They told me this might have caused my sadness during and after pregnancy. My thyroid was removed a year later and I began to take hormones. My mother had also had issues with thyroid and hers was removed as well. I knew I did not want to become pregnant again even though my husband always wanted to have four kids. I wanted to do something for me such as a job or return to school.

With both kids in school, I began taking courses in ICDL and secretary classes. I got a great offer for a job at the Embassy with a good salary. My boss and colleagues showed a lot of appreciation for me and for the first time, I had a feeling of success. My life felt so nice.

In November of the same year as finally starting my job, I found out that despite my copper IUD, abnormal thyroid results, and no desire to be pregnant, I was pregnant. My husband was very happy and offered to leave his job when I gave birth to stay with the baby so I could stay at my job. I was still sad because I knew I would experience yet another difficult psychological situation. But abortion was not an option.

This pregnancy however, proved to be one filled with additional difficulties.

In January of 2011, discovered my mother had Leukemia. In February, I went for one week to Syria to visit her. In March of 2011, my mother died in Syria. I was unable to go due to work, pregnancy, and the political situation in Syria.

My third child was born in August of 2011. He spent a month at the hospital due to jaundice. The doctors searched and searched for a reason. We were told at one time he didn’t have bile to get rid of the bilirubin. Then they suggested perhaps I was infected with Hepatitis in Syria when I visited my mother and the infection transferred to him. After the doctors confronted me with these suspicions, they discovered our son was a carrier of a disease called Alpha 1 Antitrypsin deficiency. He will not be able to drink alcohol or smoke when he is an adult as a result. Apha 1 Antitrypsin deficiency is genetic and perhaps my husband or I are carriers as well. We have both smoked for 10 years at this point.

Once my youngest son was home for two weeks, my older son’s eyelid began to twitch. The doctors again jumped to conclusions and stated it might be a facial paralysis. I became terrified and anxious about my son. He was treated with magnet resonance but all tests pointed to simple sinusitis. He was given antibiotics and healed just fine.

One week later, my husband traveled to Syria for his sister’s wedding. During the week he was gone, my daughter got worms again, went into the hospital, was given medication, and was able to come back home. Two days before my husband returned home, I felt as if I didn’t need to sleep. I couldn’t sit still. Adrenaline took over my body as I worried for no reason at all. I began to think this was because I was alone and tired.

My husband returned home and I did not get better. It got worse. Panic attack after panic attack hit me. No sleep, no food, just coffee and cigarettes. I finally sought help at the hospital and was diagnosed with Postpartum Depression. I have been on medication since November. My panic attacks have disappeared. I am working again and it’s been better since starting Psychotherapy and attending a support group here in Vienna as well. I’ve been in touch with the wonderful Wendy Davis, whom I highly appreciate and love, at Postpartum Support International as well. I have been reading this blog (My Postpartum Voice) and have greatly appreciated your help for other Mums and feel like you wrote what I always needed to be reassured that it goes away. Your words moved something inside of me and I decided to write to you.

Personal statement from Nadia:

I am a 28 year old mother of three kids, I’m proud of myself and my family and what I reached in my life. I’m living with terrible thoughts. They come and go. Once I have cancer in the kidney, once I start thinking my daughter has Leukemia because she looks so white in her face and so on. They thoughts almost disappeared. On a scale from 1-10 they were a 12 but now they are at a 3 but 3 is still making me anxious when they come. They start to convince me my daughter or son don’t look well, maybe they have this sickness, maybe I should do a blood test but I don’t even manage to do a blood test for them because the fear doesn’t want me to do it because the result might be really bad. I know it will get better. I know now what Postpartum Depression is and that I have it and I swear to god should I ever come out of this illness, I am going to start a project in the Arabic world to help any woman who gets involved with this illness.

اكتئاب ما بعد الولادة PostPartum Depression is the Facebook Page Nadia has created to support Arabic families struggling with Postpartum Mood Disorders. Please visit it and add it to your list of resources.

Thankful for the hard

So many people today have tweeted for what they are thankful or grateful. Family. Friends. Good fortune. Memories. Good food. It’s Thanksgiving, a national day of giving thanks for the “good” in our life.

What about giving thanks for the hard? For the struggles? For the darkness? For that which forced us to open up and peer deep within ourselves, to stare down the edge of a fearful chasm and dive in headfirst despite the fear which welled up inside us? For the adversity through which we took a deep breath and admitted it was time to grow regardless of the excruciating pain awaiting our arrival?

This is me. Giving thanks for the hard.

For not knowing how to talk to my first daughter when she was 7 days old and apologizing to her for failing as a mother.

For not wanting to even see knives when she was just a month old because of the THOUGHTS which filled my head as if they were an angry swarm of bees.

For my first OB’s subsequent failure to successfully help me with my Postpartum Depression and OCD.

For being forced to “just get over it.”

For the antenatal depression into which my postpartum depression swelled as I expected our second child.

For our second daughter’s NICU struggle.

For my struggles with pumping and using formula with her, despite the very real physical need for it due to inability to nurse because of her severe cleft palate.

For my psychiatric hospitalization because I dove headfirst into “I can’t hold on anymore” chasm.

For the psychiatric nurses who told me I didn’t have to tell anyone where I had been that weekend.

For realizing all I wanted was another Mom to tell me everything was going to be okay.

For my pregnancy after my fall from grace.

For the help I finally received, even if it was a year after my hospitalization.

Because without all of that hard? I wouldn’t have survived:

My ex-husband’s battle with addiction

My third and final pregnancy

My divorce

Life.

I also wouldn’t be the person I am today – driven to help other mothers and family members. I wouldn’t know the #PPDChat community – the AMAZING, wonderful, strong, and BEAUTIFUL #PPDChat community. I can’t even begin to put into words just how much all of you mean to me. You are the most compassionate, caring, and mind-blowingly strong people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Thankful doesn’t even begin to cover it when I think of the #PPDChat world.

Through the hard, we learn. Adversity is truly the world’s greatest teacher.

I am grateful for all the adversity which has crossed my path. I know there is more to come. I’m not done yet. But I’m ready.

And for that?

I am beyond thankful.

Depressiva: For the 20%

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.