Postpartum Depression Is Real

I remember sitting in my hospital bed, not many hours after P was born, and pouring sweat. Even though it was below 70 degrees in my room, I felt like it was the Sahara desert. And that was the first time I really felt them, the hormones that is.

I mean I guess in reality I had felt them strongly for every day of the last nine months. But this is the first time I remember thinking "oh, these are the hormones they are talking about, the dreaded postpartum ones."

The next time I felt them was a few short hours later when I was trying ever so hard to get my precious daughter to breastfeed correctly. She was screaming. I was laying there topless and bawling my eyes out with a room full of people who are paid to "help" and my husband. The nurse proceeded to yank P from my arms. And that my friends, is the second time I remember thinking, "it is just the hormones, do not hurt the poor nurse." Needless to say P was back in my arms in a matter of seconds.

So they were there. I expected it. I knew it was coming. I was just going to cry some and be a big mama bear and feel like I was living in the middle of the desert. It was fine. It would go away.

But they didn't. At least not immediately. It was more than hormones. It was emotion and pain and ever so real to me.

The turmoil of deciding breast was NOT best for our family about sent me over the edge. I am confident my husband and mother were, at the very least, concerned for me sanity in those seven days. During this time I struggled to bond with my precious baby. Dotting over and holding her because I was so in love was not on the agenda. I just did not want that in between the dreaded feedings.

I remember the first time I was left home alone with both kids. D was in bed and L went five miles down the road for a soccer game. As soon as he left the house, I was terrified he was going to die in a car accident. I just knew it. And that would leave me all alone to raise the two kids, one of which was a newborn, and that, was just impossible, so he COULD NOT die. But I was sure he would. It took everything in me not to call him every five minutes to make sure he was alive.

When we would go to functions outside our home, which was rare with a newborn, but nonetheless, I dreaded it. I knew I needed it, the interaction and the friendships, but it was not fun for me, which was weird. As soon as we would enter a room of people, people I know and love, it would suddenly feel like there was only one gasp of air left in the room and I was sure to suffocate.  (And this symptom still lingers and pops its ugly head from time to time.)

I cried. And I cried. And I cried. About everything. 

I remember distinctly the day my body began to feel healed of these feelings. It was about five and a half weeks when I finally began to feel better. I thank GOD that He healed and restored my emotions, thoughts, hormones, and life. For me, it was a mere five weeks that felt like months, for some people it is much more.

Late in my pregnancy I was blessed to have a close friend share with me that she had suffered with it and it helped me be aware and know I was not alone. It is so important to be able to talk with someone. L was such a source of strength and encouragement for me during this time. I know there are days he had to have been scared for me (for us) and I am so grateful he walked alongside me as I healed.

It is something we rarely talk about, but it is real. If you went through it, or are going through it, you are not alone. Seek help. Find someone to talk to. And God, He is faithful. He never left my side and He is my Healer. Praise to Him alone.