It kind of sucks to have the “no casserole disease.”
Get in a car accident and everyone brings over a casserole. Survive a heart attack, break your leg, come down with pneumonia … casserole. Tuna casserole. Baked ziti. Chicken divan. That green bean casserole with the crunchy onions on the top.
We have the kind of illness that doesn’t portend people bringing potluck. I guess people don’t think mental illness is something you rally around.
I wonder how I would have felt if neighbors and friends had known what was wrong and come together to help me. Brought me food and flowers or funny DVDs. Sent cards. Stopped by. Mowed the lawn and done the dishes.
I imagine part of me would have been annoyed, truth be told, because I wanted to crawl into the deepest, darkest hole and hide. I didn’t want people to see me with unbrushed hair and unbrushed teeth, and welts under my eyes. I didn’t want to attempt to explain postpartum OCD when I myself didn’t understand it. I certainly didn’t want to cry or rage or sit emotionless before them, which would have been likely scenarios. I might have told them to go away and not have answered any phone calls. After all, what pregnant or new mother wants people to know she is miserable about something that is supposed to be joyous?
Given my anxiety, I probably couldn’t have even eaten a casserole anyway.
Then again, I might have felt loved. Wanted. I might have believed that what I was going through was an illness like any other, and that I was a good person who deserved the support of others. I might have been buoyed by the fact that they weren’t giving up on me, and thus led to believe I shouldn’t give up on myself.
Maybe.
What do you think? Would a casserole help with postpartum depression? Would the support of friends and neighbors make you feel better, or make you run for the hills?
Oh my goodness… I simply must respond to this. I was hospitalized with a psychosis (the first time) for three weeks. When my friends from a local mommy group found out, they brought my husband and girls dinner every other night for three weeks. They also helped babysit and even bathed the girls while my husband visited me in the hospital.
On the other hospitalization occassions, the rallying happened again. I'm welling up just thinking about the love and support that came to us during these difficult times. No famine here…
I would have liked a casserole. And a quiet understanding. Great post, Katherine.
No casseroles here, but I will say I was sort of shocked to find out how many other friends had experienced PPD but didn't share it until I talked about what I was going through.
I have a wonderful friend who lined up a whole dinner crew three nights a week the first six weeks or so after I had my son last October. It was amazing and very very helpful. However, when the casseroles stopped coming, I was still not recovered mentally and am just now, nearly a year later, almost there. I, too, have found from talking that many of my friends experienced more than the normal "baby blues" following childbirth as well. And, keeping lines of communication open with people who love me and are willing to listen and pray for me and understand has helped so much with my recovery. Thank you so much for blogging about postpartum mental illness. This past year, it has been a tremendous help to know that I am by far not the only one.
Wow, does this ever strike a nerve. Ten years after my PPD, I still feel a nagging resentment that I got no casseroles–literally or figuratively. Visitors came to admire the baby and squeal about how happy I must feel, but no one brought a casserole. Or a fruit bowl. Or anything to lighten my burden, give me some small pleasure or comfort, or make me feel like my needs hadn't been wiped from memory.
Sometime in that haze, a local pizza establishment left a handbill advertising a $5 medium pizza. I actually wept with gratitude over this entirely commercialized, impersonal kindness. The minimum-wage earning teenager who left it at the door was a guardian angel to me that day. (And the pizza wasn't bad, either.) This may sound absurd, but I was so starved for some indulgence that even a cheap pizza could win my profound appreciation. Why didn't anyone realize this? I still feel bitter that no one did.
I now make it my mission to be the casserole bearer to new moms. At risk of unseemly self-praise, allow me to give one example. When my SiL had her twins, I offered to spend the night and attend to all the babies' nocturnal needs so she could get a decent rest. I assembled a French toast casserole in the evening, and baked it in the morning for her breakfast. This is not a feasible plan in every situation, but there's always something that can be done for a new mom. So preach the casserole gospel!
Great post – One of the many things I learned about PPD/OCD/A for me was to ask for help. I'm currently pregnant and not taking any meds, so I have come to depend on my new social network of fellow mamas out there. Recently my husband had pneumonia, daughter had a cold as did I. Since I couldn't stay home from work (have to save for maternity leave) I was completed stressed out, felt underappreciated, tired and … well … you get the idea. I made two calls and crawled into bed for a long cry fest, terrified that the PPD was coming back. A friend called back and took me out of the house. The next day, I sat down and emailed my friends "Please, I need some help. If you could help us out with meals, then my husband can recover and I can be less stressed when I get home." Wonderful meals arrived the next day! And within 2 days, our little family was doing much better, not necessarily physically, but emotionally and mentally, leading us toward recovery in a more healthy way. Asking for help was VERY hard, VERY strange, and VERY wierd for me. But OMG it felt so good when folks started helping.
The casserole gospel…I like it! I would've felt loved, perhaps a little embarrassed but loved. During those dark months it was so hard to make food and even if there was food, it was sometimes hard to eat. Going to the store was a nightmare and completely overwhelming (add to this no car, a husband out of town a lot, and living on the third floor). One of the most loving acts of friendship was when a friend was at Trader Joe's and called to ask if she could stop by and did I need anything. I asked for something small like trail mix and she showed up with a full bag of groceries. It stands out as a rare moment that I did not feel alone and drowning. In reflecting on this, I also realized that I had no idea how to ask any well-meaning friends for help on that front. It never even occurred to me to ask someone to help. I don't think I'd ask for a casserole but I hope I'd ask for milk.
I actually too was hospitalized and had friends who I wanted the information shared with rally with support. Mowed the lawn, took care of the garden, visited in the hospital.
Interestingly enough, one of the things I did not want in those early weeks when I was in the deepest depression was casseroles or really any more food at all. Number one, I didn't want to eat a thing and the idea of all that food going to waste just killed me. Two, since I honestly thought that my life was over, it seemed pointless and almost strange to have anyone want to bring me food. And finally, because part of my depression was fueled by my anxiety, having all that extra food in the house with the thought of what to do with it, where to keep it, and when to eat it just fueled my already anxiety-addled brain. It's a similar thing to how I was crazed with anxiety about how I would ever go through all the gifts that were brought and how I would organize those clothes and return the ones I didn't want, etc.
My small group at church brought over dinner for us every night for a week after the baby was born. It was wonderful, although I had a really tough time not being "Supermom" and allowing others into my kitchen. After I was diagnosed, one friend in particular was there for me every step of the way. She had been through a postpartum mood disorder and kept validating how much it sucked. Once things came out into the open and we had dealings with the police, our friends and family really rallied around us. My husband could no longer work because I was not allowed to be alone with the baby, plus I was hospitalized for almost two months. My aunt was offered the job of her dreams and offered to pass it up so that she could help us out. My sister, my aunt and my mother took turns spending as much time with the boys as possible so that my husband could be there for me. The college child care we went to took Jacob in at 4 months even though their minimum age limit was 6 months. Not only did they do that but they didn't charge us a dime. They were rallying around my husband so he didn't have to drop out of school AND so he could have some time to regain his own sanity every day. Once I was released from the hospital a postpartum doula volunteered her services three times a week for six weeks. She was truly heaven sent, especially since I was recovering from Electroconvulsive Therapy. I felt so blessed by all the love and support that was around me during that time. If I hadn't had it, I doubt I would still be here. Thank you to everyone who has ever reached out to a family dealing with a postpartum mood disorder (or any other mental illness for that matter). You are more valubable than you'll ever know.
Maybe if we knew the casseroles would come it would be easier to tell people that we are suffering. Not knowing how people will react and fearing that telling them what is happening will not change at all how they treat you makes it harder to tell those people. I would love casseroles, something to tell me they have sympathy rather than judgment.
Maybe my group of friends is unique, but a friend from church had SEVERE PPD and psychosis and we provided meals, cleaned their house and watched her other kids so that she could get the help she needed. I know it was hard for her to be vulnerable, but it was a little bit of help to her and her family. I am sure that there are a lot of women who could have used the same help, but are reluctant to share their struggles.
I had a girlfriend bring over a casserole when I got out of the hospital.
It was the greatest thing ever.
But more importantly, she sat with me & just let me talk. About celebrities, motherhood, my garden, the hospitalization, & my exercise schedule. Everything & nothing at the same time. She just let me talk for an hour & she listened.
I got tons of casseroles! My church family was planning on 2 weeks of meals anyway for a "normal" birth. It got extended after all of my craziness set it. Our family mowed our lawn. My BF cleaned my bathroom. My mother-in-law did my laundery – I was surrounded by lots and lots of love! Not to mention the hundreds of prayers I received. All of it helped speed up my recovery for sure!!!
Well hell! Apparently I'm living in the wrong neighborhood. So glad to hear that some of you received wonderful support!
I had a few close friends who called to check up on me every other day, who offered to bring meals, and had playdates at least once a week so I would have an excuse to leave the house. These women also had children the exact same age as mine, so it couldn't have been easy to think of me when they were also going through the same kind of physical and emotional trials. But they did.
However, I do remember saying to my husband that I wished more people knew how debilitating mental illness can be, because then we'd have had a lot more support from church members, who are normally extremely neighborly. But I think part of the problem is that so many people think it's "all in our heads" that they assume we don't need physical help.
I love this post…lots of thoughts are chains of thoughts go off…very interesting perspective on support and asking for support, and what is considered needing support….I DID have people come over to help for a bit and also I had some people come over so I could take a shower…it was intermittment. Our culture is so unforgiving, not just to moms, but to families and ppl who have long-term illness. Not much of a safety net here in the US.
My experience was more like Michelle S. This really resonates: "Visitors came to admire the baby and squeal about how happy I must feel, but no one brought a casserole. Or a fruit bowl. Or anything to lighten my burden, give me some small pleasure or comfort, or make me feel like my needs hadn't been wiped from memory." I was open about my needs, I asked for help, and I was told it was a phase, that it would be easier in a few days, a week, a month, and that I had to get used to doing everything by myself. It frankly sucked and it ruined a lot of relationships with the people I asked to help me.
I think that can be a benefit of a church family or a mom's group… Friends from my church group brought meals for two weeks. That time is such a haze, I remember not wanting to see any one… so they would drop it off and my husband would thank them. They didn't even get any baby-time! But I know it was a huge help because I probably wouldn't have eaten without that food. The second child I was prepared and had a plan just in case it happened, so some close friends were on the ready to bring us meals… However, PPD didn't hit until 10 months PP and I didn't get meals then.
There's a friend of mine going through a tough time and her friend used a website called mealtrain.com to set up meals for their family. It was great! I hope more folks use it for their mom friends in need.
k
I had one friend in particluar that was there for me in the ways that she was able. She is TERRIFIED of hospitals, actually quite a hypochondriac, but still came to visit me during my stay in the hospital and brought me the pop I liked and celeb magazines to bring some normalcy to my experience that was way out of my comfort zone. I found out afterwards that my hospital stay really traumatized her. My hospital experience included many others who were very mentally ill and she had a hard time processing what I was going through with what she saw that afternoon. Despite her fear, I received cards and notes of encouragement randomly – old fashioned, hand written cards affirming that I would be ok and that she still loved me despite everything. They were a God send, thank you M.