Post-Partum Depression
« Previous EntriesSeven months pregnant: the black dog
Thursday, January 10th, 2008I catch sight of two dark streaks on the car window only to realise with horror that they are big black stripes under my eyes. As I peer more closely at myself, I realise how bloated I look by this pregnancy, how tired, fed-up. Shocked by what I see, I wonder if I scare animals and small children with how awful I look.
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As most pregnant mothers will testify, you reach a point in the pregnancy where the baby becomes less hard work to look after outside the womb than inside.
I have reached that point.
I still have ten weeks to go. (Maybe twelve if I go as overdue as I am expecting to.)
I am huge.
I am exhausted, more in a physical sense than in a sleep-deprived sense but a two year old toddler waking for an hour or more every night wanting to practice his chatting skills and a baby that wants to practice gymnastics in my stomach at regular intervals through the night may be making me more sleep-deprived than I realise (the big black war paint markings under my eyes being the tell-tale sign).
Worst of all I am, I think, depressed.
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Everything in life is ticking along nicely. But I am not doing well.
It has crept up on me - an insidious, uninivited visitor over the holidays - coinciding with the Seasonal Affective Disorder that comes yearly during these dark, wintery days. My SAD lightbox shoots its sunshine rays at me every morning but it ain’t fooling my mind and it’s fighting a losing battle with the dark clouds inside my head.
For the first time I am beginning to wonder how I am going to cope with daily life when the new baby comes. I’m not sure if this is contributing to the depression or a symptom of it.
Every day is a struggle, mostly because the me-time I have is spent resting because I am so exhausted. I reach the end of the day and I feel not only have I achieved nothing of any consequence but I am just as tired as ever. Again, I’m not sure if this is contributing to the depression or a symptom of it.
On the one hand, like a prickly hedgehog I want to go into hibernation, or failing that, curl up in a ball with my sharp spines protecting me from unwanted visitors. On the other, I desperately engage the grocery delivery man in conversation because it may be the only adult conversation I will see today.
I need treatment but I am frightened to take anti-depressants while pregnant, even though I know that research has shown that by not getting treatment I risk the psychological well-being of my other children. How’s that for mother-guilt? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
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I am resigned to the fact that I will probably take anti-depressants for much of the rest of my life. Certainly while I have small children. Why have more children if they make you unhappy? a worried friend asked. Well, it’s not the children that make me unhappy but the life it entails. More affordable, flexible childcare would help, as would opportunities for mothers to get back on a flexible career ladder. Still, the friend asked, why have more children if the life makes you unhappy? She has a point.
At our last book club meeting a friend said to me wistfully, you’re so lucky. I know how much she wants a second child. It isn’t going to happen. I am lucky. I am grateful. I know that, but it doesn’t stop me feeling like I do.
I was talking about this with a friend before Christmas. She has four small children, admittedly two of whom are in school and one in nursery, but still, she has a workload. How do you manage? I asked, seeking reassurance that I, too, can manage. Mother’s little helper, she confided. Sometimes those who look like they have it all are the ones who, underneath, are struggling the most.
Where that leaves me - unwilling to take anti-depressants - I’m not sure.
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Posted in Pregnancy, Post-Partum Depression
Maternal depression, irritability and guilt
Sunday, August 13th, 2006I have been feeling increasingly sad, low and irritable recently. I haven’t had more than a few nights’ decent sleep in seven months so I’m fairly sure that is at the base of all this. I’ve been reading a lot about mild, persistent chronic depression. I’ve been reading a lot about maternal depression and the possible risk I pose to my children by being unmedicated (and in a very timely fashion there is an ongoing blog book tour about Tracy Thompson’s new book ‘The Ghost in the House‘ on this very subject, details of which can be found on MotherTalk. Go and read the reviews by some of my favourite bloggers.) I feel guilt over not taking pills that will make me better as much as I would feel guilt over taking pills that mean I can’t breastfeed when it is important to me that I do. I feel angry at my children over trivial matters. I sometimes want to smack them (even though I absolutely do not smack them). They seem intent on killing each other and it’s so tiring. I shout at them even though they are just doing their usual three and four year old thing. If everything else feels out of control, I feel the need to control what I can; that is, the children (by shouting at them to stop fighting), the dogs (shouting at them get out of the kitchen when we are eating), the baby (by holding him to stop him crying when perhaps putting him down and letting him cry just a little bit wouldn’t kill him and would let me get on just for one minute) and the house (a new household management system is in place to keep track of all the crap coming in and out of the house but there is still so much crap everywhere). I have withdrawn socially, finding most interactions dull, superficial and, again, just a little bit annoying. I have been criticised for writing here and I feel defensive about that. I also hate the wider criticism of ‘mommyblogging’ when it can be a lifeline to so many. Both my eldest two children have been labelled by people I thought would know better and I feel defensive about that too (are they right and I can’t see it? And if my children have a problem is it as a result of my depression?). The mother’s help who seemed so keen didn’t turn up this week, no explanation, just incredibly unhelpful and leaving me feeling more busy and in need of help than if she hadn’t been due to come at all. I’m tired of feeling constantly down, even mildly. At the depths of the post-partum depression I suffered two years ago I tried explaining to a well-meaning health professional that I couldn’t feel any optimism over life even though I knew, I KNEW, that I was lucky. Lucky to have all that I do. Lucky to have my beautiful children. I’m not really feeling much optimism now even though I KNOW this is a phase and my babies will grow up and some semblance of a balanced life will return, where I can sit down with a cup of coffee and not be interrupted once in that five minutes. I love my children and I love attachment parenting but it is really taking its toll on me. I want to get away from my baby even though of course I don’t really want to get away. I’m not feeling much hope about the immediate future even though there will be more time for myself when school starts back. I want another baby but I wonder if I really do because I wonder if I will go into mental meltdown and if everyone will tell me it’s my own fault. I’m not feeling a lot of support about anything, but I’m not sure why I feel I need support. I’m not sure why I feel I need support when on a basic level I can get the children fed, bathed, entertained and so on without too much problem. Yet, still, I feel overwhelmed and at the same time underwhelmed. I know in my heart of hearts that I am depressed but I can’t get over the feeling that it would be admitting defeat to admit it. I can’t talk to anyone about this and that is almost certainly part of the problem. I worry that my husband will discourage me from wanting another baby and I worry that he may be right to do so.
So, in short, I’m feeling sorry for myself.
But I suppose you know I can’t be feeling too bad if I managed to get at least one paragraph break in there. Oh, there you are, there’s another.
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Posted in Post-Partum Depression
Family life
Tuesday, August 1st, 2006With a newborn in the house and two pre-schoolers thrown in on top, time is at a premium. Add in school holidays and ‘me’ time becomes almost non-existent. I have been blogging at one site or another for nearly two years now. My tagline for most of that time should have been “WATCH ME FALL APART!”. (IN CAPS! JUST FOR GOOD MEASURE!) During that time, writing has been a form of therapy. Writing has given me a little space to think my own thoughts. Writing has been a form of communication: as the months passed, odd mentions here and there meant I now have a lovely readership of non-blogging mothers in the UK as well as lots of great blogging friends from all round the globe. I correspond with many readers by e-mail, some regularly, some just now and again. Their friendship and support has become two-way.
Despite all these lovely people coming to my site every day, I have clearly been unable to write recently, swamped by the sheer work that goes with having a baby and then when I do get a spare moment I find I have become entirely inert through sleep-deprivation. Asleep over the keyboard. There are days when I feel like I am letting everyone down as I struggle to maintain a hold on my general pissiness and irritation. Then the day ends and I find no time to write, no time to paint my toenails, no time to read. These things are what define me (although maybe not the toenails so much).
So my need to write stuff has itself become another source of irritation and when Blogger decided not to accept comments, not to allow me access, not to publish my template ANYMORE I wondered if I should just write a Dear John post. But then at the end of a particularly bad day recently I received an e-mail (hi Sally!) which reminded me why I write here, why I write so much personal stuff about how I don’t quite cope, why I write it all knowing that people will think I am whining again and wondering if I give an even partly balanced view of family life, why I feel the need to put something out here even if it is just once a week and I don’t get to paint my nails instead:
I just wanted to send my sympathies for the difficult times you’ve been going through lately. The first year with a newborn is so very hard. I’m sure all of your kids think you are a wonderful mum even though you sometimes struggle with depression. Your story has been a bit of an inspiration to me. You want a big family so you soldier on despite the difficulties. It’s hard - sometimes almost unbearable - but it’s also worth it. Seeing that helped me decide to pursue my hope of having another child despite my fears. Even if I get post-partum depression again, at least I know enough now to recognize it. Plus, I now know that I don’t have to be a perfect mother to be a wonderful mother.
One sentence in particular struck me: “You want a big family so you soldier on despite the difficulties.” This really hit the nail on the head for me because I am clearly struggling a bit at the moment, six months into the desperately short, hopelessly interrupted nights that are the norm around here, and I have wondered why I want a big family, why I had another child when I struggled so badly last time (although of course I only have to think of Ben to know that it was absolutely the right decision), why I want another child when I was so sick with the last pregnancy and when I am so tired and short-tempered now. I wonder if my marriage will survive another child. But family life has a way of making all that worthwhile. I soldier on. It’s hard. But it’s all absolutely worth it.
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Posted in Not Enough Children, Post-Partum Depression
Ten minutes
Wednesday, June 14th, 2006So I’ve decided to stop wallowing in self-pity and to get on with Life. I chose this path, right? So I should just suck it up and get on with it. And the baby? Oh, well I’m going to pop him in the cot in the corner and leave him to work out how to entertain himself and get himself to sleep, because clearly he has too much attention. Too much, you hear? While he’s there he’ll probably learn to scrabble around for a few crumbs that fell in there when the children climbed all over it, because he’ll be wondering if he’ll even get fed, right? What was I thinking, spoiling him like that? Okay so now that’s clear, I can spend all my time with you, blogging. Or reading tat celebrity magazines. And there’ll be no stopping me because the baby will be crying but I’ll be doing what makes me happy and that’s much more important.
And I must learn to see the humour in things. CareerGirl has two children close together and gets depressed staying at home so has another, stays at home some more and gets depressed again! You couldn’t make this stuff up!
Boy, I’ve got this chippy thing down to a fine art!
I’ve had some sleep. And until yesterday, the weather has been fantastic, almost too good. Wish-I’d-had-a-pedicure-and-lost- all-that-pregnancy-fat weather. So my sense of humour and ability to keep things in proportion has been somewhat restored. I’m not at a stage where I need antidepressants. What I need is a better balance in life. Meds would just make me happier about the fact that I don’t have a good balance in life. I need someone to provide support, an extra pair of hands round the house, someone adult to alleviate the constant background noise of whining, crying and shouting that is life with three small children. I need ten minutes to myself each day.
After all, I can’t be expected to read about Brad Pitt’s baby in anything except concentrated solitude.
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Posted in Too Many Children, Post-Partum Depression
Depression, post-partum depression or something alot like it
Monday, June 5th, 2006As you will have noticed I have stopped posting very frequently. The reasons for this are:
1) I have no time to myself
2) I usually have a baby in my arms (this makes me both happy - I have a baby - and unhappy - he wants carrying pretty much all the time)
3) I have stopped writing, here and elsewhere
4) I’m very tired
I was determined not to suffer from post-natal depression again, even though I think I am predisposed to mild depression and have also suffered post-partum depression before. But I am going through a period of self-recrimination, envy of other people’s lives (as in everyone is cleverer, prettier, nicer than me, has more help, has a better work/life balance and so on) and blowing things out of proportion. I am struggling to see that this period in my life with so many small children at home will be short-lived. I have a sense of my life passing by and of getting suddenly older without achieving anything. I sometimes feel angry over ridiculous things.
I feel ashamed to admit all of this. But if I am suffering from PND then it is different from last time. I am not crying all the time. I am not shouting like I did before. But I am definitely not quite right. A little while back I posted about how I was going to seek solutions to improve my underlying happiness. I haven’t had time to do anything concrete but I have been thinking about it. I imagine that I will look back with regret over my life and wish I had been happier. That’s a sad legacy: Ella M, she wished she’d been happier.
I would like more time to think about things. From the moment I wake to the moment I sink gratefully into my bed I am busy. I feel a sense of achievement at the end of most days that everything went pretty much according to plan, but the cost is that adrenalin is coursing through me pretty much all day. I feel like I barely have time to draw breath.
The trouble now is inertia: if I have a little time I feel unable to find solutions to the practical problems like lack of time (get a cleaner) or lack of writing (tie the children to their beds so they don’t disturb me at night so I can get more sleep so I can think coherent thoughts). I know the solution many will suggest is meds but I am not keen to go down that route, given that firstly I want to keep breastfeeding Ben for as long as possible because of his eczema and secondly that one of the side-effects of the anti-depressants is possible increased risk of suicidal thoughts and given that I am on my own most of the time I am scared that I might not be in a position to make rational decisions for myself. You’re probably shaking your head in disbelief at my explanation but there we are.
A few good nights’ sleep would possibly make all the difference. You will forgive me if I am not posting here regularly. As you click on my page to find the same post yet again you can rest assured that it is bothering me much more than it is probably bothering you. Meanwhile I struggle on, loving my children, making an effort to be happy.
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Posted in Post-Partum Depression
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