Grounded: Try This When Depression Throws You Off Center

how to feel groundedDepression (or anxiety) is a thief that comes up behind you and slugs you, just whams you one right in the spine, throwing you off center so violently you feel permanently tilted off your axis.

Once off center, direction becomes confusing. Sight becomes muddy. Which way is up? Down? Why are my measurements so off? Why am I so wobbly? Which way am I supposed to go now? Loss of center feels like loss of self. You are at a loss as to what to do. You are at a loss when it comes to making decisions. You’ve lost the path forward to contentment or happiness. It’s almost like being alive while grieving your own death, as though that person is gone forever and you now inhabit a new soul you don’t like very much. (You’re still there, I promise, but I get that it feels that way.)

I’ve come to recognize that during these times I desperately seek grounding.

In the emotional health sense to be grounded means to be someone who is sensible, stable, calm, fully present and … interesting given the tilted axis … centered.  In the moments when I have felt grounded I have felt confident in the knowledge of who I am, what I want, and that I am fully capable of handling most situations and able to press forward. It’s the glorious feeling of being solid and tall and strong on my own two feet.

When I don’t feel grounded I feel like a tumbleweed, the buffeting winds of life blowing right through me and around me as I fly this way and that, without control, confused, lost on my path and unsure of myself. When in the midst of depression or anxiety, as I’m sure you’re aware, you feel the polar opposite of grounded.  Out of curiosity I looked up some antonyms for the term “well-grounded” and they sure sound a lot like the words women feel about themselves during postpartum depression: inconsequential, invalid, weak, incoherent, stupid, crazy. Any of those sound familiar?

One of the things I like to do at times like these, and I’m really not kidding here, is lie on the ground. No pun intended. Get grounded on the ground. Have you ever done that?

Try it. Just get down on the rug, the carpet, the hardwood floor, the grass, whatever, and embrace Earth. Lie face down. Arms out, legs slightly apart, prostrate.

Now just hold on to the earth, really hold on to it, and think about where you are right now. And when I say where you are I don’t mean the particular street in the particular town in the particular state in the particular country. Because none of that matters at this moment. Where you are right now is hugging the Earth. Feel how solid it is. You are currently holding on to 13,170,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 pounds (or 5,974,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms). I believe the proper way to say that is thirteen septillion, one hundred seventy sextillion pounds.

I don’t know why but in those moments of lying there, hugging it out with Earth, I feel supported. What could be more supportive than several septillion pounds holding you up, right? I feel real. It helps me pull out of my micro-focus on all the ways I feel bad or all the ways I think I’m failing and on all the small things that upset or worry me and I move my mind out to as big and as far away as I can think. I am fully present for a moment as a human being on this planet. Hugging on a huge mass as Earth and I travel together through space at one thousand miles per hour.

I am one of the 107 billion people that have ever lived on this earth and I’m okay. I’m not worse than any of them. I’m not failing more than any of them. I’m not less than any of them. I have mass. The earth is solid. I am solid. Going through difficulty, yes, but still solid.

I might remind you that the earth is tilted on its axis too and yet it keeps on going. I can keep going. You can keep going. And when you feel like you can’t, get down on the ground for a minute. Talk to other people who have a little bit of experience being where you are and have found the way back to their center. Let them, and the Earth, hold you up.

For other ways to feel grounded, you might like this article from Psychology Today.

 

Mental Health In Color Initiative: Meet The Scholarship Recipients


To recover from perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, women of color must be seen and heard without the roadblocks of judgment and bias. But too often, racial differences between clients and providers make an already difficult process even more difficult.

There is a massive shortage of mental health providers who are specialists in maternal mental health, and sadly, that shortage grows exponentially when it comes to providers of color.

We want to help change the landscape of maternal mental health for women of color by investing in the future of Black women. That’s why last year, Postpartum Progress launched the Mental Health in Color Initiative. We are providing training scholarships to mental health providers of color who are interested in expanding their professional expertise into maternal mental health. We believe that this training will improve the standard of care for everyone.

Today, we are proud to announce the program’s first scholarship recipients.

Desirée Israel, LGSW
Desirée Israel is a mental health professional who focuses on postpartum recovery. She has a longstanding commitment to postpartum well-being and is active within the Postpartum Progress community. Her areas of professional focus are on Cognitive Behavioral, NTU Psychotherapy, and holistic energy healing (reiki). Desirée works with the pre and postnatal client populations. She applied to the scholarship in order to deepen her reach and bring effective knowledge to the work she is already doing.   

Collette McLean, LCSW
Collete McLean is a mental health professional who focuses on multiple forms of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy interventions. Her specialization is in Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavior Therapy and Combined Parent-Child Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Additionally she employs Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, Dialectical Behavior Therapy, Cognitive Behavior Therapy, and Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Collette works with college students at a mid-size state school. She applied for the scholarship in order to provide a resource to pregnant college students, a demographic that is often missed and undersupported.

Olivia Baylor, LCPC
Olivia is a mental health professional whose focus is work with LGBTQI couples. Olivia is particularly passionate about this demographic and often sees additional harm shown to LGBTQI identified individuals due to their lack of visibility in maternal mental health work. Olivia’s theoretical approaches are CBT, Narrative Therapy, Solution Focused Therapy. Olivia is also a gender affirming therapist.

As our operating budget grows, it’s our goal to be able to offer even more scholarships in the future. For questions about Postpartum Progress’ Mental Health in Color Initiative, please contact program manager Jasmine Banks at jasminebanks@postpartumprogress.org.

How My Friends Stood By Me In The Darkness of Postpartum Psychosis

Today’s Warrior Mom guest post comes from Eve Canavan, who lives in the UK.


By Eve Canavan

I was the first of my girlfriends to have a baby. They were excited I was going to be a mommy, and so was I. I envisioned us taking walks together, pushing the stroller along the road, laughing and enjoying this new life.

And then I gave birth.

Instead of gazing at baby Joe in wonder, I found myself too scared to look at him. I would shake in his presence and started experiencing vivid hallucinations. I couldn’t remember how to get dressed, and I developed an intense fear of the future. The idea that my baby was here forever sent me into a terrible frenzy, and I would look at the clouds and try to work out a way to escape the world.

My friends wouldn’t be able identify with my new life, and especially with this illness, I thought. How could they? I didn’t even understand what was happening to me. But while my mind had run away from me, they were still there.

Courtney visited me one day. I remember thinking the room was dark and that I felt very, very cold. She was on the sofa being lovely, and I could hear my teeth chattering.  I couldn’t focus on what she was saying — all I could do was nod and say, “Yes.” But her presence made me feel safe. I will be forever grateful for her shoulder, for I leaned on it when I felt like I was standing on my own.

Then there was Cheryl. In an attempt to leave the walls that I was convinced were closing on in me, I left my house to visit her. As I walked down the high street, I had a panic attack. In my mind, the buildings were stretching all the way to the sky. When I arrived at her house, I sat on her sofa and said, “Chez, I am struggling. I think I have made a mistake. Having a baby is not what I thought it would be. I’m crying all the time and I am scared. She took my hand and said, “Evie, you will be okay. Maybe not right away, but you will be. I am here for you. We all are. Anything we can do, tell us, because you’re our friend and when one falls, we will all lift them up.” She told me about the book Feel The Fear and Do It Anyway and said it may help with my anxiety. She reassured me I was doing a good job and that I could always talk to her. I felt so comforted by her words.

I also think about Rachel. At the time, my symptoms were becoming too much for me to cope with. I became suicidal and was hospitalized. My hair started to fall out. I wanted to shut everyone out and for everything to stop. I had forgotten how to use my phone — it confused me and my eyes went blurry when I looked at it. Rachel told me I sent her endless rambling text messages, repeating things over and over. But she continued to message me. She wanted me to be able to look at my phone and see that I wasn’t alone. Knowing this is amazing. My friends still cared about me, and that lifted me.

When Joe was 7-and-a-half weeks old, our friends Nik and Kath drove 200 miles to see me in the hospital. The unit agreed I could leave for a couple of hours, and armed my husband with a handful of antipsychotics in case I felt unwell. I cuddled Kath and cried and cried. She is one of my dearest friends and just seeing her made something in me lose a little of the terror for those two hours. She had gone to such an effort to see me in my very darkest of hours.

Over time, through exposure therapy and other treatments, I got better. Joe is now seven. He is the greatest little fireball of energy and passion. He builds Lego and goes to women’s marches with me and is truly the best thing to ever happen in my life. I have found a love I never thought possible.

I have always valued my friendships. Having someone to confide in, laugh with and drink wine with is the greatest feeling, but after becoming unwell, I have seen the other side of friendships. How friends can lift you and give you hope when you think all is lost. How they can provide a nonjudgemental shoulder to cry on and how they will cry with you when you are at your lowest ebb. How they will be there to help pull you through.

I Had Postpartum Psychosis. ‘Praying More’ Didn’t Make It Go Away.

Today’s Warrior Mom guest post comes from Nicole Grodan, who speaks out about the stigmatization of therapy and medication in some church communities. Regardless of your spiritual beliefs, it is not a sign of weakness to seek medical help for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. In fact, it is a step of courage.  



By Nicole Grodan

“Just pray more.”

“Have more faith.”

“Cry out to God.”

These were a few of the responses I got when I tried talking to people about what I was experiencing — a spiral away from reality and into postpartum psychosis. After welcoming another baby boy into our family, I started hearing whispers in my head and could no longer determine what was real. I was falling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

I love God and know he is there by my side. This I have never doubted. Baptized in the Roman Catholic Church and raised in Christian churches of various denominations, I would always be able to sense God’s presence in the midst of chaos. I’d be able to look up at the sunrise or sunset and know that everything would be OK, even if I couldn’t imagine how.

And I believed that God was with me throughout all of this, too. The insomnia. The shame and guilt. The whispers that haunted me.

In my younger days, I learned at church that we should not talk about painful things, but instead sweep them under the rug. Talking about these sorts of things proved you were bad and God needed to punish you.

I ignored that advice.

When I was at a full tilt of my postpartum psychosis (which was misdiagnosed as bipolar), I had lunch with a “friend.” But when I shared about the depression I was experiencing, she said I was being punished for my lack of faith and trust in God. She said I had to have been bad in my previous life and that’s why I was struggling.

When I shared that I thought I should maybe see a therapist and how medication might help, I was told that if I went to church, it would get better and that medication isn’t God’s way. She thought I was dealing with this because I didn’t have my oldest son baptized and this was God’s way to punish me.

Sorry, but that is not how God rolls.

Things got worse. Though I had two amazing children, I just couldn’t anymore. I had a plan, a method, a date. I arranged for someone to pick up the boys for me. I had written my letters of goodbye.

Earlier, I had a made an appointment to see a postpartum depression support group facilitator, but I didn’t want to go. In tears, I prayed for guidance. I begged God to help me. I asked him for direction. As I picked up the phone to call and cancel my meeting, I felt a pull. In a brief moment of quiet in my head, I heard, “Don’t do it. Trust me.” I put the phone down and went to my meeting.

There, I broke down. I spent a week in the hospital for my own safety.

For my recovery, for my healing, I needed therapy. I still do. I needed medication. I still do. I needed hospitalization, and I know that if I ever need it again, it would be OK. God will be with me. He is my strength. He gives me hope. And through my battle with postpartum mood disorders, he was standing with me each step of the way.

A few years ago, we found a new church. When I started sharing tiny bits and pieces of my experience with mental illness, I wasn’t shamed. I wasn’t judged. I wasn’t condemned. I was embraced. I was loved. I was encouraged.

My youngest is now 8 years old. He is my snuggle bug. My reading buddy. My library junkie. He cooks with me. We go for walks and we talk about everything. Though he doesn’t know this (yet), all those years ago, he saved me from myself. He is my hero, my heart, my reason. I know without a doubt, God blessed me when he gave us Little Dude.

I continue to share bits and pieces of my postpartum story with members from my new church, even when I’m terrified.

Now, when I reveal my pain, I’m given hugs, love and compassion. And I hear the simple, beautiful words: “Thank you.”