Category Archives: Perinatal Mood Disorders

Postpartum Voice of the Week: @jamesandjax Reflecting on PPD

There comes a time in the postpartum experience when you are well enough to look back. It’s challenging to look back. To see the scary so intimately intertwined with the happy. To see a piece of tiny snuggly clothing and then be triggered with anxiety, scary thoughts, flashes of depression – is a frightening thing. Yet, all who have struggled with postpartum struggle with this very issue at one time or another. It’s what drives us to think about whether or not we should have another baby. It’s what casts shadows over our children’s first birthday, second birthday, etc. This.IS.HARD.

This week’s Postpartum Voice of the Week takes this precise issue and writes about it beautifully. The post is short, simple, and to the point. She takes you from happily nursing her child and drinking in his scent to screaming on the phone with her mother about how hard motherhood is – I can’t do this! Yet, through all of that, she still loved her son. During PPD and even more today.

Without further ado, I encourage you to read her story in her words. You’ll be glad you did.

Every little thing

Leave a reply

I am beyond thrilled to introduce to you the very first regular contributor to My Postpartum Voice. Miranda and I met via Twitter and #PPDChat. She blogs regularly over at Not Super Just Mom in addition to hanging out on Twitter, teaching, being a Mom and a wife. I hope y’all will enjoy reading Miranda’s voice as much as I have. Welcome aboard, Miranda!

I spent the first year of my diagnosis alone and hurting, partly because I was too stubborn to reach out and partly because I didn’t know there were so many people to whom I could reach out. My only two sources of support were my mom and my husband, and neither had much experience in dealing with postpartum. (By “much experience” I mean “none experience.”)

And then I found Twitter. And Twitter brought me people like Lauren. And Lauren has given me the opportunity to help her help you.

Wow.

So here I am, nearly two years out. And the cool thing about this is that PPD/A isn’t a war I’ve lost. If anything, I’d say I’ve pretty well conquered my main demon—anxiety. I have WAY more good days than bad lately. I find myself rolling through toddler tantrums like a seasoned professional, despite the fact that he’s not two yet and the fun hasn’t really even begun (or so I hear).

But the relative goodness of my life right now doesn’t mean that I’m scott-free and that I never have to worry about anxiety. There are setbacks. I still fight battles. And those battles still frustrate me. And if I’m not careful, that frustration leads to nastiness and anger and guilt and ::insert your negative emotions here::.

As I write this, we’re on our first full day of a long-weekend getaway with friends. No internet. No cell phones. No noise. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Relaxing. Or at least it should be.

We are WAY outside our normal routine, y’all. Way.

And that’s when things get hairy for me.

Joshua fought me on his nap yesterday. We spent the morning traveling, practically throwing Joshua in the car the minute he woke up. We arrived and he explored our cabin and then it was time for a nap. Dan and his friend were gone to the grocery store to get supplies. My friend was upstairs tending to her toddler. And Joshua and I were downstairs in our bedroom with me quickly spiraling into a case of Mama Fail because he wouldn’t settle down and take a nap, despite the fact that we both knew he needed to sleep.

He cried. I put a pillow over my head. He cried harder. I felt my throat clench up. I got up and patted his butt in the pack-n-play. He settled. My throat unclenched. I turned to go back to the bed. He cried again. My spine stiffened and my mind started racing. SLEEP SLEEP SLEEP! Wash. Rinse. Repeat. For nearly 45 minutes. And there was no one here to help me through it. There was just me and Joshua, figuring this out like we’ve done time and time again.

I can’t stand to let Joshua cry. It’s one of my triggers. Colic and reflux made sure that he spent the early months of his life screaming his little baby lungs out. And the early months of his life were, by far, my worst. When he screams, I go into fight or flight mode just like I did two years ago. I get irrational. And cranky. And angry. And hurt.

Why can’t I fix this!? What is wrong with me!? Why does he hate me!? WHY ME??

Do you see what’s wrong with those questions?

The questions are completely irrational, folks.

I can’t fix anything about this situation unless I never leave my house again or never break our usual, customary routine.

Nothing is wrong with me. I am not broken.

My son does NOT hate me. He’s too little to even know what hate is. And if I have it my way, he won’t know what hate is. It’s certainly not something I plan to teach him.

There is nothing I’ve done or not done to deserve this. Nothing. This is punishment for any wrongdoing in this or any other life I may have lived.

It’s times like this that I have to remind myself that I am a mother. A mother with postpartum anxiety and depression, yes, but a mother. I am not postpartum depression and anxiety first and a mother second.

Yesterday afternoon, I got a sippy of milk and brought Joshua to bed with me. I got him settled down and he eventually flipped over onto his stomach, head on my shoulder, and I sang to him the song I always sing to him when he’s crying.

“Don’t worry…about a thing. ‘Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright.”

And it was.

We napped together, Mama and son, curled up on the same pillow, for two hours. And when we woke up and he smiled, my soul smiled back.

It is.

I know that I have what it takes to cope with setbacks in my progress. I know that setbacks are going to happen. I never expected to just wake up one morning and POOF! no more postpartum. That’s unrealistic. But I also know that everything? Is pretty alright most of the time. And “most of the time” gives me the strength I need for the times when things aren’t okay.

It will be.

This may have been the past two years of my life. This may be my now from time to time. But postpartum is not my forever. It’s not yours either.

Every little thing is going to be alright.

Miranda is a wife, mother, teacher, daughter, friend, and NOT a super mom. At best, and worst, she’s average. But with a cape and tiara? She could probably save the world. She blogs about life as a mom and wife and PPD/A survivor at the blog Not Super…Just Mom.

For Sale: One jeweled box, cheap

Leave a reply

This week’s Red Dress post involved an assignment in which we had to write a Craigslist ad for something an ex had left behind. This is my submission.

For Sale:

A bejeweled box left behind by an ungrateful and anxiety ridden house guest.

Dating back to the 18^th century, this box is pure silver. At first, the silver had a horrible tint to it and was covered by a dark grunge. The jewels, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and rubies, all lay hidden beneath the same coating of scum. A quick swipe with silver cleaner shined the box right up. So much so that I felt comfortable opening the box.

Opening the box is quite simple. All you have to do is drop it and it pops open. Closing it, however, is a whole different story. In order to close the box, you have to complete a puzzle on each of the four sides and then finally complete a rather complicated puzzle in order to seal the box tight. It can also be costly because if one of the puzzles won’t close, you have to purchase an entirely new box along with a cheat set of keys. Even then you’re not guaranteed to be able to close the box.

I finally opened the box.

This box appears to be completely empty.

So why the hell am I here?

Rest assured this bedazzled box was once filled with horrid things like beating yourself up for your chosen type of motherhood, your decision to have children, your need for bonding in your relationship. Also in this box is a black veil. Even when you wear it out in public, you’re painfully aware of every stare, every whispered word, every single second of ever single day. Every step in front of others is excruciating. Why not just brand you with the letters P P D and get it over with??

If you manage to get the box closed without it affecting you, chances are you may drop it again. When you do, make sure you have others to help you close the frustrating little bastard.

For the bargain price of just $0.50, this box can be yours. I make no guarantees nor promises regarding the satisfaction or functionability of this box. No instructions will be sold with this box as no instructions came with this box. I’ll be available for support or chat if you need it after purchasing the box. No one should own this box alone.

Please do not purchase for children, infants, elderly people, new moms and husbands. Also do not purchase for gifts. In fact, unless you really reallllly don’t like them, and even then, don’t purchase this. I know, I know, what kind of salesman tells someone NOT to buy something? This one. This box is one twisted puppy.

To be purchased for your own personal use only, either as display or to destroy. We recommend burial instead of burning. Say prayers over this box before you get up .

Must sell QUICKLY. As in yesterday.

It is not okay to contact poster about any other issue here. I’ll only be talking about this evil, horrible trinket in hand.

Purchase with caution.

Saturday Sundries 02.19.11: Talking with your kids about Postpartum Mood Disorders

Leave a reply

Hey y’all! This will be a short yet important post. I’m in the car on my way to the circus in Atlanta with the family. I planned to blog last night but fell asleep on the couch after watching Grey’s. Woke up long enough to crawl into bed. So here I am. Blogging from my phone at 70mph. Don’t worry. I’m not driving.

Some of you may have older children in the home when Postpartum strikes. They already have a lot to deal with when a baby joins the family. Their role in the family may change from only child to oldest child from youngest to middle child and so on. Issues of jealousy may enter the picture as a result.

Then Postpartum strikes.

Older children may react in one of two primary ways:

Self-blame for parental depression
Projected blame onto their new sibling for the cause of parental depression

The most important thing kids need to hear is that a parent’s depression is NOT their fault.

I know that’s hard to do when you’re in the midst of hell. We did not talk with our oldest before my Postpartum experience with our second. I had Postpartum with our oldest as well.

We did talk to our daughters about what might happen with Mommy after she had their brother though. We drove home that it was not anyone’s fault…. not theirs, not their brother’s, not daddy’s, not mommy’s. Then, as a family, we brainstormed ways they could help Mommy if she got sad or angry after baby arrived. My oldest planned to tickle Postpartum Depression into oblivion.

Thankfully I did not have Postpartum after the birth of our son. But our daughters knew how to help mommy and would even ask how I was feeling. I think they were looking for an excuse to tickle me!!!

Bottom line: Talk to your kids. Use language appropriate for their age. Answer their questions in an age appropriate manner. Reinforce that Postpartum is not anyone’s fault. Reassure them that Mommy or Daddy will get well. Recruit family members to take older siblings out to do activities and keep their schedule as normal as possible.

Depression affects the entire family but with careful planning your family can come through with flying colors.

Postpartum Voice of the Week: @HeatherColeman’s Ignite DC speech

Leave a reply

Ignite is an awesome concept. They organize gatherings which give ordinary people like you and me just 5 minutes to get up in front of a bunch of people with the goal of “igniting” them to action.

Not too long ago, Heather Coleman shared her story anonymously over at Katherine Stone’s blog, Postpartum Progress. Heather’s story is intense as it involves details of a Psychotic Break. But it’s also inspiring because people stopped to help her as she struggled during the darkest moments of her life.

I am glad Heather has grown bolder in sharing her story as it is an important story to share. I applaud the courage it took to get up in front of a room full of strangers to tell her story.

Thank you for walking to the front of that room, Heather. Thank you for sharing your journey with them. And with us. You rock.

Go watch her amazing video here. But first, get some Kleenex.