Tag Archives: Postpartum Mood Disorder

Just have faith

Leave a reply

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?

Dr. Shoshana Bennett seeking stories of Recovery for new project

Leave a reply

Dr. Shoshana Bennett is seeking stories of recovery for a new project. You are welcome to submit your story directly to Dr. Shoshana Bennett by email her at drshosh@droshosh.com.

Your submission should be no longer than two typed pages. Dr. Bennett wants these submissions to cover how you felt at the beginning, during recovery, and then focus on how you feel now as well as any positives in your life now. Is your life better than ever or not?

Submissions are due by the end of October. A bit of short notice, I know, but that’s totally my fault.

So – if you can get two typed pages together by next Sunday for Dr. Shosh, I know she would appreciate it greatly!

Is Postpartum Depression a series of mini-episodes or thoughts vs. something major?

Leave a reply

Tonight, before I broke Twitter and received a 503 error message, I received the above question in my Direct Message inbox.

It caught me off guard.

140 characters did not provide nearly enough space in which to respond.

Why she felt she had to DM the question also caught me off guard. Why not just ask in public? It’s not an intensely private question and certainly not one (obviously) I mind answering in public.

A series of mini-episodes or thoughts – hrm.

Let’s see.

My first brush with Postpartum involved OCD, which yes, involves thoughts. Rushing thoughts that liked to run through my head like crazy streakers intent on tackling me to the pavement. I had to either duck or face plant the cement. (FYI, Cement? Tastes like rubber glue. Also makes really dangerous shoes, I hear.)

That OCD fed into depression during pregnancy. THAT was fun. But it didn’t involve those fun face-planting thoughts. Just day after day of darkness with the weight of a blue whale latched to my ankle that I couldn’t shake. Darkness that kept me from eating, playing with my toddler, interacting with my husband, participating in life. Darkness which overtook my life faster than I could outrun it. Darkness that swallowed me whole with a vengeance.

Then my daughter was born with a birth defect. The face-planters returned with a vengeance and brought their friends, P,T, S, and D. Together, they hooked up with Party City and threw one helluva party in my head. I got lost in the fog. Very, very, very lost.

If I could have escaped the darkness, the fog, the insanity, by just changing my next “series” of thoughts, I would have done so in a heartbeat. If that’s the way it really is, then someone should have clued me in a long time ago. Someone should clue in all those suffering moms out there right now. Or give the moms to come a heads up. Hey – if you just DECIDE to be happy with your next thought, guess what? YOU WILL BE!

There’s power in positive thinking. While there may be, it certainly isn’t a quick fix. It takes time to heal from Postpartum Mood Disorders or any mental illness for that matter. Some may never heal as the root of their illness may be biological or something they have to live with for the rest of their lives. There is recovering and there is coping. I coped while I journeyed toward recovery. But I most certainly did not jump from mini-episode to mini-episode or from thought to thought (okay, so maybe the thought thing but underneath the thoughts there was a deeper issue at hand causing those thoughts to emerge from the depths of hell and torment me.)

I believe for some Postpartum Mood Disorders are a major event in life, one which forever alters the course of any life left to live. My own brushes with PMD’s have been a very important part of who I am today. As I journeyed on the road to recovery, (by the way, someone should really repave that road. The bumps? Atrocious!) I held on to life with every fiber of my being. It took everything I had most days NOT to drive my car into on-coming traffic. I did not – (obviously) because I had kids to care for  – kids who love me, trust me, and look forward to spending time with me each and every day.  But to be honest, there were days way back when where my kids? Weren’t really a reason to stick around. To be that far gone is scary. To not care if you see your kids grow up – to not have them as a reason to stick around – wow. (These days I am madly in love with my kids and wouldn’t dare think about leaving them in forever terms on purpose!)

Ultimately though, life IS a series of thoughts. Sometimes these thoughts get stuck in the lows. Some days, they get stuck in the clouds. And sometimes? There’s a traffic jam. And that’s an event. Sure, sometimes a traffic jam clears up on it’s own. But other times? Other times we need professional help to get it all cleared up. We don’t hesitate to accept the help of professionals to clear up the traffic, right? So why would we hesitate to accept the help of professionals when our brain has a traffic jam? Doesn’t make sense, does it?

Bottom line though – it’s your Postpartum Mood Disorder to define as it fits you, your lifestyle, your perception. You may feel that your PMD is a series of mini-episodes or thoughts. It ultimately doesn’t matter how anyone else defines Postpartum Mood Disorders as we all bring our own stories and baggage to the plate.

What are your thoughts? ARE Postpartum Mood Disorders just a series of events or thoughts? Or are they something major? What was it for you?

Enhanced by Zemanta

YAWP!!!!! (a rant)

Leave a reply

(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