Postnatal depression, motherhood, antidepressants, GP, CBT, it is ok not to be ok
It is strange to write about my postnatal depression (PND) experience after nearly nine years. Very emotional times writing about this, made me cry a few times already, and I am only on line 3, even just to think about it. I hope this story will help others recognise early signs of PND and ask for help as it is ok not to be ok. Some of my friends just had babies recently, and it made me reflect on my experience of birth and becoming a mother. The crippling fear of something like this will repeat itself, the reason why I never had the guts to go through pregnancy again.
When Erin was born, it was the best day of my life. She was absolutely perfect; she still is. It took her three days to decide it is time to see the sunlight, but we got there in the end. I remember the birth itself was really long, I started to have contractions on Wednesday, and she was born on a Saturday afternoon. I was pumped up with drugs but could only sleep for a couple of hours a day. By the time it was Saturday, I was exhausted to a point, I was close to giving it up. I remember, the matron came in, reminded me of G. I. Jane, she was loud, assertive, borderline aggressive, militant... She told me we are doing this, and we are doing it now. By then, I was in the final stages of labour for at least 3.5 hours pushing. I just wanted it to end. Thanks to the matron, Erin was born in 20 min, and I don't remember much afterward for at least a couple of hours. I have never been that tired in my life; I just wanted to sleep. My husband was amazing as always, bought me some food as it was late and there was nothing coeliac friendly in the hospital. Since Wednesday, he was up with me, barely slept, and was hallucinating at times because he was so tired. Following conversations with the matron, I should have got interventions on Thursday, some things might have been different, but it doesn't matter now. I don't remember any pain or any bad things from the birth itself, just the exhaustion.
I remember the nurses in the labour ward were so kind; they were there to rock Erin back to sleep while I was trying to sleep a bit. Erin had a strong lung on her, screaming the ward down non-stop, waking everybody up. It was around 9.30 in the night when I woke up. The peacefulness woke me up. I looked on my right and saw the empty cot with her white blanket it in. I never felt anything like that before. The adrenalin started to pump in my body; my vision went laser-sharp; I felt like I could lift a truck. Previously, I was in a lot of pain due to the stitches and bruises, but I didn't feel anything from that moment onwards. I was angry, desperate, and deep down, I felt lost, I felt like something was ripped out of me. I was in the UK for only two years, the first time in an English hospital. My English was ok but being a perfectionist, not perfect enough; I felt like I forgot the words in English... I was running down the corridors, or at least it felt like it for me, trying to find a nurse, ask for help. Then shortly after, I heard a familiar cry, the most beautiful noise ever. It was her; I started to follow it and got to the nurse station. She was there, in the lap of one of the nurses, screaming her head off. I was so angry, so scared. I remember telling this poor nurse how dare she taking her away without leaving a note where Erin is.
That night was pretty long; I only had a couple of hours of sleep. She couldn't feed, had to feed her from a syringe every 20 minutes. There was one nurse with a knitted boob, trying to explain to me how to make her latch on; I am sure she didn't mean to make me feel that way, but she made me feel like I failed her, I wanted to breastfeed, but something wasn't right. Then shift change came, finally, someone who believed me, something is not right. She encouraged me, was sitting with me every 20 minutes, forgot about the knitted boob, and brought some syringes. We will do this together. I am really grateful for her as she made it happen; she found the strengths in me to carry on, express, and feed her that way. Morning came, we had some visitors as Erin had jaundice, and they also noticed that she had bad tongue-tie. That is the reason why she can't eat properly. We managed to get an appointment the same day, and they fixed her tongue before we came home.
We came home three days later, not sure I felt ready to leave but got home ok. We adjusted to the new life with the baby. It was the 2012 Olympics, and my husband was watching beach volleyball in the night while rocking Erin back to sleep. First, she was sleeping in my husband's crib, but our little monkey turned somehow and got stuck between the side of the crib, so she moved into the big cot on day 5. After two weeks, he went back to work, and I was on my own with Little Miss. That was the first time the realisation hit me hard, I am responsible for this human being, and I am on my own to deal with anything until 4 pm. I was so worried, and I checked her every 5 minutes to see if she was breathing. So far, sounds normal isn't... but soon enough, I started to feel that I am second-guessing myself; it was hard to make decisions. I was so tired still, didn't have the energy to do anything, wasn't washing my hair as she was always crying, and couldn't put her down. It went on for months, getting worse and worse, but never really understood what is happening to me. I felt that the pressure from the responsibility started to take over me, I struggled to find happiness in the days, I felt like a milk station, stuck on the couch, isolated from the world, alone. I had my mum and my brother at the end of Skype on demand, they were always there for me, but I needed them there in person.
The thought of going back to work was daunting, I hated my job at the time, my boss wasn't particularly a good leader in my eye. I started to look into childcare, find someone I trust in, and perhaps do a better job than me, a failed mother. I felt more and more guilty that I want to go back to work, that I am throwing Erin away, I am a bad mother. I visited many childminders, and nurseries didn't like any of them, I felt I am letting Erin down. After weeks of searching, I finally found a childminder, I remember walking through her doors, I instantly thought, I can trust you. I can trust you with the most precious thing in my life. Of course, I never neglected Erin, the house was always clean, she was happy and looked after, attended baby groups, health visitor appointments. But when you are in that darkness, you forget about yourself, you neglect yourself.
Then one day, I started to have intrusive thoughts that I am a danger to her. I was constantly worrying and often started to cry for no reason. Ten months went by when I finally broke. It was around 2 am when I called my mum and brother and confessed that something is not right. I can't do this anymore. I was so frightened. I was petrified from the thought that they will take Erin away from me, that I will be locked away. Still, I had to risk it, as this darkness was stealing away the happiness I should feel being a mum, enjoy the moments before I need to go back to work, be proud of who I become and be proud of my beautiful princess. The next morning, I saw a GP; he was so young, so calm and understanding, spotted the signs of depression straight away. I got prescribed antidepressants, stopped breastfeeding, and started cognitive behavioural therapy. I felt like a failure that I couldn't stand up on my own—now looking back, how silly is that, if life would be that simple. The first two weeks were really hard, the recovery was a long journey, but slowly, everything started to go back to normal. I felt like a normal human being again. The combination of CBT therapy and antidepressants helped me through every little step. I was looking forward to going back to work, to provide and justify my decision to leave my daughter in childcare, and enjoy doing something for me. I was able to sleep again in the nights, life returned to HD mode again, started to feel again, but somehow the ability to cry vanished.
I spoke with my mum and nana after the diagnosis; we spoke every day, we were on Skype 5-6 hours a day, every day, eating together, watching TV together. My nana mentioned an old tradition where new mothers are looked after for the first six weeks of the baby's life so they can recover physically and emotionally. Of course, it wasn't possible for us because they lived in Hungary, and I had to face everything on my own from week 2. I wasn't recovered from the birth, I was exhausted and socially isolated. I was only 24, in a relatively new country, with limited friends, no support network. Us three against the world.
There is so much stigma about mental health still, especially in European countries. I remember my mum saying that it will get better, it is only you who can change it. The minute things got really bad; she instantly realised that something has to be done and thought about mental health in a very different way. We need to break down the stigma around mental health, support individuals so everybody can make a full recovery, and live a full life.
Until recently, I was petrified of the thought to have any other children; I didn't feel I am strong enough to go through this again. A very touching conversation with someone in front of the free-from aisle in Morrisons shed some light on perhaps why I think about this the way I do. You never know what you will take away from conversations when you open your heart and have an open mind. Fifteen minutes of casual chat, and changed so much in my life, reflected on my motherhood experience. This person doesn't even know how much she has done for me with that 15 minutes conversation, very special lady, and I am really thankful for it.
I am proud of myself for asking for help and dealing with postnatal depression. You need to be strong to realise when you need intervention from others. My regret is, perhaps to do it earlier, how much I would have saved and enjoyed more my maternity leave. Do I want other children? Not sure if I do. But I am not sure because I can make this decision without the paralysis fear of having PND again, and not PND making this decision for me anymore.
My learning takeaways;
It is ok to be not ok. Asking for help when you think you are struggling with your mental health is brave, and it is nothing to be ashamed of.
Postnatal depression is a real thing; the sooner you realise the signs that something is not right, the easier is to find a solution.
There is support out there, family, friends, health visitors, GPs, mental health services.
I am not a failure; I am a mother who went through hell and back with PND.
Useful links;
Photo reference in order of appearance
Photo by Dominika Roseclay, Aidan Roof and Lisa Fotios from Pexels
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