“The Deep Dark”
That ever-so-quiet popping the monitor makes when it comes on… that’s all that it would take to completely unravel me and send me into a panic attack. The blood would rush to my extremities, my digestive system would start cramping, I’d get the irresistible urge to literally run away from the source of my panic… my daughter.
The first couple weeks of Mae’s life we had a very difficult time getting her bilirubin levels to come down, which eventually led to supplementing her with formula in a bottle. Once she had a taste of that plastic nipple she never turned back! She would fight, kick and scream when I tried to nurse her; I never knew an infant could be so strong! Despite multiple lactation consultants and hundreds of dollars of breast-feeding products we had to admit defeat and move to full formula. It crushed me but with time I was able to accept it and even admit that there were benefits to bottle feeding. Unfortunately, that rough first month only got worse when we also had to admit that Mae was colicky and that no amount of gas drops, probiotics, essential oils or formula changes were going to change it. That beautiful baby girl of mine was screaming if she wasn’t eating or sleeping, and in the afternoons she really didn’t want to sleep (more screaming!). Let it be known that Mae was born with a great set of lungs, she never had the demure cry of a newborn. It was full-volume straight out of the womb! Despite all of these challenges I was surviving. I was successfully getting out of the house, my husband was fully supportive, and we were finding a rhythm.
Six weeks to the day after Mae’s birth my period came back. It was a hurtful reminder of the breastfeeding failure, but I didn’t think any more of it. About three days later I lost my appetite and I couldn’t keep food down (or in). Some people might assume they had a virus of some sort, but I knew something else was wrong. I NEVER lose my appetite; I’m a registered dietitian that REALLY enjoys eating. I was also having a harder and harder time pulling myself out of bed each morning, I was completely apathetic to the outside world, and I started having a never-ending sense of dread. Full-blown panic attacks weren’t far behind, even though I didn’t know that’s what they were at the time. I finally told my husband, mother and sister that I thought I might have postpartum depression (PPD). I couldn’t help thinking that this was really some weakness in me, that I wasn’t cut out to be a mother and maybe I just didn’t have enough faith in God. I called my OB and I answered a question that I would be asked at least 20 more times throughout the next couple months: do you want to harm your infant or yourself. My answer was no every time. I didn’t want to harm Mae, I just wanted to get away from her. And I didn’t want to die, I just didn’t want to keep living like this.
Apparently, it is fairly common for PPD to hit at your first postpartum menstrual cycle (check). It’s also common in women with children who were ill or hospitalized (check), and in women who had a traumatic breastfeeding experience (check). I guess I was just lucky! I was told that it would take 4-6 weeks for the antidepressant I was prescribed to be at its full effect, and that’s if this antidepressant was the right one for me. I was devastated. I couldn’t imagine living another day feeling this way, much less another six weeks.
My mother had to come back to stay with us for almost a month. I had gotten to the point where I didn’t feel like I could care for Mae alone. I just crumbled every time she cried (which was basically all of the time.) Just as I would start feeling some relief, I would get hit by another wave of despair. It got harder and harder each time. My husband was acting as mother and father. My mom was having to stay up with my daughter because I couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to comfort her. My sister would talk me off a ledge by phone every day. My friends would come over and sit with me so I didn’t have to be alone. All of these people stayed by my side even though it was hard, even though I was an epic mess to behold. We started not-so-lovingly calling this period “The Deep Dark.”
I started working with a counselor through my church. We talked about strategies for managing the anxiety attacks and how the physiological “fight or flight” response was responsible for all of my weird symptoms. I wanted, more than anything, for my counselor to tell me that 1) the way I felt was due to PPD and not my new baseline and 2) that I wouldn’t feel this way forever. Fortunately, my counselor knew that I needed to find peace within the storm, not just get out of it.
I had to believe God’s promises:
He is an anchor to my soul. He will not allow me to be swallowed by the storm: Hebrews 6:19
His yoke is light, I can cast my burden on Him: Matthew 11:28-29
He will sustain me: Psalm 55:22
He will restore, confirm, strengthen and establish me: 1 Peter 5:6-11
God is with me in the darkest of places: Psalm 23:4
NOTHING can separate me from His love: Romans 8:38-39
God provides peace that goes beyond reason: Philippians 4:7
My suffering produces endurance, which produces character, which produces hope: Romans 5: 3-5
His grace is sufficient to pull me through my weakest time. I am made strong through him: 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
And He absolutely kept all of those promises. I was empty and completely helpless but despite all of that insurmountable weakness, I was made stronger. As the longest weeks of my life passed, I survived. I started feeling like myself again at almost exactly six weeks after starting the antidepressant. I will forever shout His praises for delivering me and for restoring my relationship with my beautiful gift from Heaven, Mae. There are still hard days and nights and that is when I have to rely heavily on the tools I learned in counseling and these promises from God.
I want to make it absolutely clear that God used so many tools to carry me through “The Deep Dark”: medication, prayer, counseling, and unconditional support from friends and family. If you think you might have PPD, please don’t suffer silently. You are not alone and it is ok for you to get help. You and your baby are deeply loved by God and He wants to redeem this suffering and replace your ashes of mourning with garments of praise.
Love you all,
Amanda
Here's a really great website about PPD
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