Tag Archives: mom

A Mother’s support is key during mental illness

According to an article over at Scientific Daily, what Mom thinks of her child’s mental illness matters when it comes to that child’s self-esteem. The study, carried out by a sociologist at Northern Illinois University, found that more than any other family member, what a Mother felt and communicated in regard to her child’s mental illness (in this study it was specifically schizophrenia), carried the most weight with said child, especially when these views were negative.

What researchers also found was that the greater exhibited levels of initial symptoms and therefore lower self-esteem in relation to symptoms, the more likely the mother was to reinforce popular yet stigmatizing beliefs about the child in relation to his/her mental illness.

Despite the small size of the study (only 129 mothers of adult schizophrenics were followed over an 18-month period), I find this study interesting from a Postpartum Mood Disorder perspective. All too often, I hear about women struggling with a Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorder who have chosen not to share their diagnosis with their mothers specifically. Or have shared their diagnosis with their mothers only to be told to “snap out of it” or that “it will pass.”

Family is often our first line of support and defense when it comes to any illness. But when it comes to mental illness, for many, family is the last line of defense because we fear stigmatization and exile from those we love the most. This study also reminds me of another study which concluded after fMRI’s of both depressed and non-depressed women that  a Mother’s criticism caused distinct neural reaction in formerly depressed women.

Is all of this related to the intricate female to female  relationship? Do we really care so much about what another woman, especially our own mother, thinks about us that we are willing to allow it to so definitively shape our own self-view? I realize we grow up wishing to please our parents but why is it what our Mother thinks of us that tends to matter most?

As women, should we not always strive to be the best for ourselves, not caring what any other woman thinks of us, not even our own Mother? How do we break out of that mold? How do we grow past attacking each other, past the guilt of having let another woman down? How do we learn to live for ourselves in a society which preaches competition and rewards those who achieve so much on a daily basis?

When the Mom wars begin to affect how the mentally ill view themselves, it’s gone too far. When the Mom wars delay other mothers from healing and finding the support they so desperately need, it’s gone too far.

A mother is where you go when you need a hug. A mother is where you go when your soul needs to be soothed. A mother is peace. A mother is love. A mother is not harmful. A mother is not hateful. A mother is not a source of shame about oneself. A mother is home.

When a mother ceases to be love, solace, compassion, and peace, we have made a wrong turn. Even mothers who are struggling with Postpartum Mood & Anxiety disorders are all of these things—they are simply unable to elicit the reaction within themselves without a bit of help and healing.

When a Mother, who, for no other reason, sees her child as stigmatizing and reinforces low self-esteem in her child simply because of that child’s mental illness? We as a society should be ashamed.

If you’ve struggled with a Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorder, I would love for you to leave a comment about whether or not you shared your diagnosis with your mother—if you did or did not, why? What was the reaction?

Let’s get to Just Talking.

Just Talking Tuesday: The Elephant in the Room

There may be an elephant in your marriage or relationship if you have been diagnosed with a Postpartum Mood Disorder.

Maybe you do not want to talk about it.

Maybe he does not want to talk about it.

You are both scared.

You are scared you might be permanently broken.

He is worried he has lost the woman he married.

Fear is a powerful motivator. Sometimes it leads us in the wrong direction. It can leave us away from those we love and the support we need.

So we grow silent with each other. Short, rude, snide. Judgmental, even.

With each other and quite possibly even with our children.

Silence is nothing more than taking your problems and shoving them in a pressure cooker. Eventually it will explode. Explosions are messy, non-discriminatory, and only serve to create additional trauma for you and those who love you.

Humans are not telepathic. If you need help, ask for it. Accept it. Don’t judge or nag how the person helping is doing the task. Unless the manner in which they are doing the task will harm someone, sit back and enjoy the break.

Your loved ones cannot help you heal unless you share with them what is really going on. There may be reasons for you to keep it to yourself – maybe they would judge instead of help. If their response is negative then revisit the relationship after you have healed. Right now, you need to focus on you.

Don’t keep your feelings to yourself because your husband has been at work all day and deserves to come home to a happy home. You’ve been working all day too. Instead, take 10-15 minutes to check in with each other when he gets home. You get 5 minutes, he gets 5 minutes. If you can take longer, do so. But while the other person is talking, you do nothing but listen. No talking back or interrupting.

Another great suggestion from @notsuperjustmom at Twitter is to hold hands if you feel a fight suddenly coming on. You can’t fight if you’re holding hands.

Have you talked about the elephant in the room? Has it been successful? What strategies have worked for you? Is your elephant still stifling your relationship? What challenges do you face? Share with us. Someone may have a suggestion that might just work for you.

Let’s get to just talkin’!!!!

Just have faith

While searching for an e-card this morning, I came across one with the three words in this post’s title.

Just have faith.

I paused.

Then I thought about someone saying these three words to a woman in the darkest days of her Postpartum Mood & Anxiety hell.

And then?

I got angry.

Sure, faith is awesomely powerful. It’ll hold you up when you’re struggling, keep you grounded when things are going well. I have no doubt that my own faith carried me through those deep dark days. But if someone had told me to “Just have faith” in the middle of it all, quite frankly, it would have been one of the worst things I could have heard.

But when a person has cancer, diabetes, or a heart attack do we tell them to just have faith? Or to pray harder and everything will be better? Do we tell them to do just that without also encouraging them to see their doctor, take their meds, and go through whatever therapy is set forth whether it be chemo, insulin, diet changes, or lifestyle changes?

Would you do that?

Tell someone with a tumor to “Just have faith” and ignore all that modern medicine has to offer as a chance at survival and remission?

I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t dare.

If you wouldn’t say it to them, don’t you DARE say it to a mother struggling with Postpartum.

Anything else you’d add as something NOT to say to Moms with Postpartum?

YAWP!!!!! (a rant)

(the following was inspired by The Daddy Yo Dude Unfiltered’s piece entitled: Bent, not broken)

In the deepest depth of the darkness, I had days unlike any days I had ever experienced.

Days on which life swirled around me, flowed up, down, backward, east, west, and pulled me in every direction. A thought? What was that? Thoughts were for other people, other humans who could engage in meaningful conversation with each other, meaningful multi-syllabic conversation. Other people who did things besides dishes, diapers, breastfeeding, feeding dogs, cooking, cleaning…. other people who did things like shower, leave the house because they weren’t afraid of everyone else knowing their secrets. Other people who could chop vegetables for their families without a zillion thoughts about how to use that knife for something besides chopping the vegetables.

Life was for other people.

Not for me.

Life requires you to hold it together. To not fall apart. To NEVER fall apart – not even behind closed doors.

We hide those who fall apart. We hide ourselves when we fall apart. Because we are not supposed to do this – we are, above all else, to stay together. “Keep it together man!” or “Just keep swimming” are a couple of recent quotes which come to mind here. (And yes, I realize that I am quoting Monsters, Inc. and Finding Nemo. I’m a parent with three kids six and under. I watch these films often therefore the dialogue is applicably stuck within my few remaining brain cells)

Legs break.

Arms break.

Hearts break.

Sympathy for all. No stigma or shame attached there.

But if your MIND breaks?

Holy effin’ robin eggs, batman.

If your MIND breaks …..

Society at large would have you believe:

It’s YOUR fault.

YOU can snap out of this.

And if you can’t snap out of this? YOU will never get better.

Once you get better, you are never ever allowed to break your MIND again.

(yanno, because YOU broke it to begin with and should now know how NOT to break it again)

Dear Society At Large:

My Mind broke. Twice. Or more. I wasn’t to blame. It happened. I sought help. I didn’t get help. I got worse. My mind broke even more. Shattered, dare I say. Decimated. Dust. I got help then. I wandered aimlessly about the hidden place – the hush hush ward of the hospital. The place where they say “You don’t have to tell anyone you were here.” (The first rule of Psych Ward is that there is NO Psych Ward!) The stigma? It starts THERE. It travels home. It spreads. In every direction, in every crook and corner of society it creeps and crawls. And it is there we, the ones with the broken minds, are expected to stay. We are sent home with this expectation, this order to hide ourselves away, to lie about what really happened to us. In the dark corners. The crooks and the crannies. Where NO ONE CAN SEE OR HEAR OUR BROKEN MINDS AND VOICES.

Guess what?

I’m in the middle of the room.

On a table.

Shouting out my story.

TO ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN.

(Not as sexy as a stripper but I’m there and I’m rockin’ the room)

Because you know what?

I was broken. But I’m not anymore.

I broke the old me. I broke the scared human. I broke her and I left her far behind, crumpled in your dark corner. I gave birth to the new me. I like the new me. She says things outloud. Things that shouldn’t be said and don’t want to be heard by you. But she says them anyway. At the top of her lungs to anyone who will listen.

She is healed. Scarred, but healed. New scars don’t scare her. New scars excite her because it gives her another avenue full of houses to which she can reach out.

I wish you the best of luck, dear society.

The best.

YOU may bend me. But YOU? May never ever break me again.

Love,

ME