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         “Enjoy every moment, won’t you?”

I offer a watery smile and nod but inside my blood freezes and my heart pounds with the anxiety that has come to constantly plague me like an unwelcome guest. Because how can I? How can I enjoy every moment of what is hailed such a precious time when I’m so frightened I can’t even hold a conversation or cook a meal? When I’m so sad I sob my heart out several times a day? When I’m so anxious that just being in the same room as my baby causes me to sweat and shake?

“It goes by so quickly, doesn’t it?”

Every minute feels like an hour, and every hour may as well be a week. The hours before my husband arrives home stretch on like years and I wonder if I’ll make it to the end without hurting myself, or worse.

“Isn’t your heart just bursting with love and pride?”

If I could locate my heart I’d tell you but I haven’t felt it for weeks. I can’t feel anything beyond the crippling terror and sadness. I can’t see past the horrifying, persistent images in my head of blood and pills and death.

“These are the best days of your life.”

Then why do I crave my old life, the old me, with a staggering ferocity? Why do I long for a time machine to the past when everything felt normal and right, or to the future where I pray this nightmare will be over?

“You’re just tired. Sleep when the baby sleeps and you’ll feel better.”

I can’t sleep when the baby sleeps. I can’t sleep when my husband sleeps. I can’t sleep when it’s 3am and the whole country is sleeping. If I could just switch off my brain…if I could just switch off everything.

“You need to eat something.”

Why would I put food in my mouth when I can’t breathe, can’t think, can barely speak? When I feel sick all the time. Why would I sustain my body just so my mind can keep going like this? Where is the girl who loved her food, where is she?

“You aren’t well, but you’re not alone. And you will be okay.”

I wish I could tell you that sentence alone was enough to make it all better, but it wasn’t. In fact, merely being diagnosed with Postpartum Depression and Anxiety brought a wave of panic so strong I had to call my mother in law to take my son for the afternoon. But it was a turning point. It was the end of that horrible chapter and the beginning of the next challenge. It was someone pulling me from the blizzard, strapping much-needed supplies on my back and standing me steady at the bottom of a mountain, ready to climb.

Enjoying every moment is impossible when you’re suffering from PPD/A. In truth, it takes lots of therapy and hard work just to enjoy a single moment. But when you do, and you will, just grab onto that flash of relief and hold it tight. Memorize it. For when the darkness slips back, that memory will make it harder for the illness to take that moment of light from you. Soon another moment will come, and another. You’ll have a rush of relief every week, then every day, then several times a day.

It will be frustrating. The mountain is high and steep and horribly intimidating. Some days you’ll be too exhausted to climb and you’ll simply collapse on the ground and cry with exhaustion and that’s okay. Because when you’re ready to get up and carry on you won’t be back at the bottom, nothing will be undone, and you can continue on your way.

Eventually, and how I wish I could tell you how long it takes, you’ll be enjoying many moments. You’ll feel again. You’ll think straight again. You’ll love again. And maybe it won’t be one glittering, wonderful moment of realisation when you think “I’m cured.” But, more likely, it will be a series of moments that creep up on you, a collection of evidence that shows you’re recovering. A few hopeful glimpses of the summit.

I have many days when I feel truly well, and I have other days when I wonder if I’m still climbing. But in the meantime, I’m living life, I’m enjoying lots of moments and not enjoying others and learning to be fine with that. Because when well-meaning people tell you to “enjoy every moment” they are setting an unrealistic goal for any parent. Many aspects of parenthood are simply not enjoyable. Instead, I focus on feeling every moment, good and bad. If I feel afraid, that’s okay, I just sit with it and let it pass. If I feel sad, I allow myself to cry. And if I feel happy I clutch that joy to my chest and absorb it into my soul, and try to keep it safe forever.

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Laura is a thirty-something wife and mum from Essex, England. Following the birth of her son in 2013 she unexpectedly found herself battling Postnatal Depression and Anxiety. Reading blogs became her obsession and she’s now decided to flex her own writing muscles. You can find more of her words at https://thebutterflymother.wordpress.com and Laura can also be found on Twitter – @butterflymum83

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Yuz Rozenblum: On PPD and Coping with a Premature Baby or Baby With Special Needs

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postpartum depression, mental health, maternal mental health

Dear new mum of a premature baby or baby with special needs,

I know this isn’t what you expected – a baby born too early or with some medical complication(s) following birth, but this is now your and your family’s reality.

You’re feeling a myriad of feelings and emotions at the moment, not to mention the normal postpartum/postnatal mood swings. You’re tired, overwhelmed, in shock, sad, relieved (if your pregnancy was medically challenging and you worried about your baby each day), feeling robbed and at the same time dealing with all the unexpected and unplanned-for scenarios you’re now living with. Of course you’re relieved your baby is alive and that makes it harder to rationalise your negative feelings and disappointment over your situation because so many others are not “this lucky.” Welcome to the equation, guilt.

All these thoughts and feelings are shoved (read: suppressed) into an imaginary box of emotions. The “box” is not tied up because new contents will be added on a daily, and sometimes hourly, basis. You hold onto these thoughts and feelings tightly because sharing them would deem you self-centred and selfish and none of this is about you. It’s all about your baby – about you looking after him or her and taking care of your newborn’s extra needs.

You’re going through the motions of feeding, expressing, visiting PICU, NICU or special care and not even stopping to think about how you’re feeling about any of this. You just keep busy and keep moving because you are a mother now and this is your job.

When you have time to digest any of what’s going on, or as you’re trying to sleep, thoughts race in and out of your mind. You might be thinking some or all of the following:

  • You feel guilty that your body failed to carry your baby to term. You failed at the one thing your body was meant to do once you got pregnant and the pregnancy was viable.
  • You feel guilty that your body didn’t create a “perfect” and “healthy” baby and that you’ve caused all the medical complications that may or may not occur following the birth.
  • You feel immensely guilty for causing any developmental deficits or developmental delays to your baby.
  • You feel angry and robbed that you are not having the postpartum/postnatal period you imagined during your pregnancy.
  • You feel sad that you don’t have the balloons, stuffed toys, cards and flowers like the other rooms because you’ve told visitors that they cannot come to visit your baby since he/she’s in care.
  • You feel robbed for not being allowed to hold your baby after the birth, because the baby needed to go to NICU, PICU or special care. And then guilty for not having all that skin-to-skin contact all the books and websites say is essential for bonding with your baby.
  • You feel invisible at times as others take over the basic care (not medical) of your baby right in front of you – the midwives who pick up and undress your baby and change nappies all while you’re craving to just be the mother.
  • You’re envious of all your friends that have had “normal” postpartum/postnatal periods and who brought healthy babies home after a few days in hospital, because you’re not going to have that experience.
  • There is an air of sadness about and around your newborn that everyone’s ignoring or avoiding.
  • You feel as though you don’t matter – people have forgotten that you’re also recovering from having a baby and don’t think to ask how you’re doing.
  • You’re sad because you missed your imagined “newborn” photo shoot because by the time you get home from hospital your baby is no longer a newborn.
  • You feel immensely sad seeing your friend’s newborn and toddler photos in your newsfeed because you’re unable to have or do this yet – or at all.
  • You get upset when you see other babies feed well and be content following a feed because every feed you do is emotional torture. That’s if, of course, you are able to feed your baby because the midwives do most of the feeding when your baby’s in their care.
  • If you have a toddler, you’re angry that he/she can’t go visit the new baby sibling because of germs they may have picked up at daycare that might jeopardize the health of your baby (or worse, other babies in care). You completely respect and understand this rule in your head, but your heart seems to be taking longer.
  • You feel a pang of sadness seeing mothers walk their babies in prams because your postpartum/postnatal period is nothing like you imagined or hoped for.
  • You get annoyed that people have no understanding or (at least) compassion for just how much harder you have it now (and possibly for the foreseeable future).
  • You often feel like your baby’s nurse at times and not his/her mother.
  • You get angry when you hear women complain how uncomfortable the last weeks/months of a pregnancy are, because you would take their place in a heartbeat.
  • You want to ask yourself, “why me?” but you don’t feel you’ve got permission to do so.
  • You get annoyed and defensive when questioned about your baby’s health or developmental delays because of the guilt you feel about it.
  • You life is on hold and you don’t know how long this will be for.
  • When you hear, “It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or girl, as long as it’s healthy” said to someone around you, your stomach turns in knots because people don’t realise just how meaningful that sentiment is and how much you wished for the full-term baby or good health.
  • Images with mums and their newborns will forever upset you, as this was not the experience you had.
  • People are quick to ask you about extending the family again, with little or no regard for anything you went through or are still going through on a daily basis with your baby.
  • The mothers in your mothers’ group seem like distant strangers because the only thing you have in common is that you both own prams/strollers. Nothing about your experience is the same.
  • You get agitated when other mothers discuss seemingly insignificant things around you, because your priorities are miles apart.
  • You feel lonely.

Your nervousness can be debilitating, you’re always on edge and absolutely everything overwhelms you. You don’t feel as though you’re allowed to feel anything other than being grateful and blessed with this little life. You’re unable to sleep when you can – that is, after all the expressing, steralising, cleaning, administering and monitoring – and the sleep deprivation is all too much to cope with. You don’t know how to just be a mum to your baby because of all his/her other needs and all the things you have to do and deal with. The adrenaline of your situation keeps you going and going until you finally crash. And when you do, you STILL don’t think you have permission to do so.

To my dear (new) mum, please know and understand that you have a lot to deal with now (and possibly in the future*) and your feelings about your situation are understandable, permissible and valid.

When you’re later diagnosed with postpartum/postnatal depression and /or anxiety (because you were finally honest with yourself on how you were really feeling), you will feel immense relief because you’ll be able to get the help you need in order look after yourself. You will be able to discuss the racing and irrational thoughts and the trauma with someone who will listen and who cares, and they’ll be able to provide you with strategies to turn the voices down and, in time, off for good. You might need the aid of medication (or, as I call it, Ventolin) because it too will help you breathe. There is absolutely no shame in getting help or admitting you’re not ok because what you’ve been through and what you’re going through is hard and at times, frankly, just sucks.

Your reasons or circumstance for suffering any postpartum/postnatal mood disorder doesn’t matter, but what I’m about to tell you does. I will keep reminding you in each and every post I ever write about postpartum/postnatal mood disorders because it’s true and you need to hear it:

I want you to know that you’re not alone.

I want you to know that help is out there.

I want you to stop believing everything you think.

I want to tell you that you will get through this.

Be gentle with yourself, as you will be delicate for some time. You must give yourself this time. Allow yourself to grieve over the loss of your imagined post-birth experience and, if you have this experience more than once, allow yourself to grieve the fact that you will never have the post-birth experience that others do and that you always wished for.

I hope that the passage of time treats you well and your recovery is triumphant. Be patient with this process – your recovery will be full of highs and lows, achievements and regressions. The ride will be bumpy, my friend, but we’ll be here for you, cheering you on and supporting you on your good days and holding your hand and throwing you a lifeboat on the hard ones. No matter what the future holds, you’re strong, you’re fierce and an admirable woman and mother.

Sending you love and hope always and forever,

Yuz (Warrior mum and survivor)

* Research has shown that mothers with premature babies or babies with special needs often suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which often goes undiagnosed until many years after the initial trauma or experience.

Yuz Rozenblum is an Australian mum of two kids aged five & three (both born at 36 weeks), a PPMD survivor & passionate for speaking up about all postnatal/postpartum mental illness (PPMDs) & hoping to reduce stigma. Yuz is joint admin for the #PPDChat FaceBook support group & various other PPD/PPA closed FaceBook groups, is a Den Grandmother for Mama’s Comfort Camp FaceBook group & started two closed group dedicated to supporting those that have had a PPMD & planning, TTC or having another baby, called ‘Baby After a PPMD’ & another group to support those mothers that still live with any sort of mood disorder after the ’12 month’ postpartum/natal period while raising their family, called ‘MMD’s Friendship Circle (#MMDFC)’. Yuz is also admin to LTBM Australia (an Australian-based online support group for families affected by Laryngomalacia, Tracheomalacia &/or Bronchomalacia, a condition her son was born with & suffered from. She blogs at http://www.notjustaboutwee.com & can be followed on Twitter @notjustaboutwee

***

Postpartum Progress, the world’s most widely-read blog on all things related to emotional health around pregnancy & childbirth, is a service of Postpartum Progress Inc., a 501c3 nonprofit devoted to raising awareness of postpartum depression and similar illnesses. Please consider making a donation today, Mother’s Day, so we can continue and expand our work supporting maternal mental health. Thank you!

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Postpartum Depression Statistics: One in Five

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postpartum depression statisticsI’ve been saying for years that I believe more women in the US get postpartum depression than the oft-quoted “1 in 8.” That postpartum depression statistic is based on data from the CDC that found a range of anywhere from 11 to 20% of moms get PPD.  Most people like to say it’s 10% or, if they’re really adventurous, 15%. I know one expert who, after saying to the powers that be that he believed the numbers were higher, was told not to get hysterical. Sound familiar, ladies?

The truth is that people aren’t really tracking the numbers as closely as they should here. Good postpartum depression statistics are hard to come by. There is the information from the CDC, which looked at only a handful of states and at only self-reported cases. Given what we now know about how untreated postpartum depression affects both mother and child, I hope to see measurement being ramped up.

I recently reached out to both the CDC and the National Institute of Mental Health to find out how many women die of suicide in the first year postpartum in the US, and where suicide ranks among the leading causes of maternal death here. And you know what? No one had any idea, because they haven’t tracked it. They will now, hopefully, since I made so much noise about finding out. (MUCH gratitude goes to Kathleen O’Leary, head of the women’s program at NIMH, et al, for really making a concerted effort to look into this for me.)

A study came out this week from the Australian Institute for Health and Welfare which surveyed 29,000 mothers and found that one in five said they had postpartum depression, or postnatal depression as it’s called there.  One in five. Could the numbers be that large here in the US? There’s no reason to believe they’d be much different.

One in five.

One. In. Five.

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Black with Postnatal Depression: My Therapist Had Never Treated A Black Woman

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postpartum depression, Warrior Moms of ColorLebogang, a South African mother, has blessed us today with another story for our series Warrior Moms of Color, where we focus on Asian-American, Latin-American and African-American — and today, African — moms with postpartum depression or postnatal depression as it’s called elsewhere around the world and their experiences with the illness. I’m so happy to have her at Postpartum Progress!

Apparently I fit the bill to the T, and I didn’t know it.

I remember at the psychiatrist office, how confused and scared I was.

Have you had anxiety before?

A bit, through my divorce.

Have you had a loss prior to this pregnancy?

Yes, an ectopic pregnancy three months prior to conceiving our son.

Have you been on slimming pills, erratic diets, etc?

Errhm, yes, all my life. In fact I might have been anorexic, but we are black so such issues are never diagnosed/discussed.

Have you had a fertility treatment?

Yes, an IUI after a long year of trying to conceive.

Are you a perfectionist?

I have always been.

Did you deliver via C-section?

YES, YES, YES! What’s wrong with me?!

You definitely have postnatal depression.

Postnatal depression! Everything was a blur from that statement onwards.  All I do remember is thinking for sure that I was dying, my heart was pounding so hard I could literally hear every beat, I was shaking like a leaf.

I don’t think this doctor understands what I’m going through. What the hell does this have to do with postnatal depression? I’m having a heart attack people! Hell I’d take depression anyday over this.

Well that’s what I thought at the time, and boy was I wrong.  I was prescribed the lowest dose of antidepressant and something to control my tremendous anxiety, and within hours I could breathe without counting my heartbeats.  But then things got progressively worse.  By Tuesday I couldn’t concentrate, Wednesday I was living through a glass (few people would understand this phenomena), Thursday I saw my son dying in 101 scenarios, by Friday I wanted to run … and by Sunday I wanted to jump.  My mind was racing, I was in a deep hole.  I pleaded with God to keep me alive and did as much research as possible. [Read more…]

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