My life with Postpartum Depression

Just a few weeks after Emery was born I understood that I probably had postpartum depression. I didn't get treated for it until he was seven months old. There were several reasons why I refused to get help. I kept feeling a little better every day. Being the optimist, I valued those good days too much. When I went back to my birth control, Mirena, I felt a lot better as well. I later found out that the same horomone, progesterone, that are in anti-depressants are also in the Mirena. Although, it wasn't enough to replace all the progesterone my body had lost. I'm also so weary of the pharmacy. It didn't make sense to me that such a natural activity like delivering a child and caring for it would require drugs that encouraged mental stability. Lastly, the issue of the mind can be mistaken for an issue with the heart. I wasn't sure if my mind was sick or my heart was sick. I want to be transparent and honest with you in hopes that it may help you or someone else. I think so many people feel ashamed to talk about any sort of mental illness. The symptoms are so personal and so effective. I read somewhere that it's almost impossible to recall a moment of physical pain and remember what it felt like. Although, in my experience emotional pain is very memorable. Emery will be a year February 9th, and I'm just now feeling like myself again. 2011 was an exciting year, but also the most difficult. Any sort of depression should be considered a serious condition. With that said, it is my responsibility to become an advocate to helping others who have to deal with it or will deal with it by sharing my experience. I did have a lot of complications after Emery was born. Like many, I had multiple problems with nursing. When Emery was seven and eight months old, I got a break from any issues, but besides that, none of those problems ever really resolved. I'm thankful I have friends who are supportive of breast feeding. I'm certain Emery is healthier. I can't say I really enjoyed it. I wish I had. To be honest, after ten months when I decided to wean him, I was quietly celebrating! Before I became pregnant, I weighed 117. At full-term I weighed 157. At Christmas time when Emery was ten months, I weighed 108. By then, I was advised to stop breast feeding to improve my own health. Emery also had this horrible condition called reflux when he was born. It's basically heart burn. For an infant to have constant heart burn is brutal. For seven long weeks, Emery was usually sleeping, eating or crying. And sometimes crying and eating at the same time. There were several times I would hallucinate hearing Emery cry even when he wasn't. Those seven weeks, every morning waking up to Emery screaming after two hours of sleep at a time I'd give myself a pep talk. "You can do this. First, stand up. Then walk to his room....." I know it sounds pitiful that I had to tell myself to do this simplest things. Fortunately, I was granted the wisdom to take him to the chiropractor to realign his spin that had been manipulated from being pulled during labor. The spin that was out of alignment was affecting his central nervous system which affected his digestion, causing immature valves. It only took two adjustments before Emery was a completely different person. I never thought about hurting Emery. I know that is the scariest symptom you'll ever read. I had a hard time trusting myself even though I didn't have any desire to hurt anyone, much less my beautiful baby. An article I read about it put me at ease and I hope it will you also. It basically said statistically very very few women actually hurt their children with this condition. The worst thing I thought about was putting Emery in his crib at night, getting in my car, getting a hotel room and staying there for as long as I needed to without telling anyone where I went. I did contemplate hurting myself a couple of times, but talked myself out of it. A friend of mine suggested I draw which was relieving. It makes complete sense to me now why anyone would want to hurt themselves. There isn't any visual reference the pain you feel inside. No one would recognize the craziness you feel and at times you feel like no one believes you or would believe you. You wish that you had a large gash in your leg or something so someone would make attention to take care of you. You feel totally out of control and there is a huge need for someone else to take control. When Emery was seven months, I went to the midwife who diagnosed me with postpartum depression and gave me a low dose of Zoloft. Supposedly, it takes about 2 weeks to really experience an effect of the drug. About ten minutes after I took the first pill I felt better. The drug didn't make me feel normal again, it just calmed me down. I felt like a zombie at times. It made me extremely tired. I slept every chance I could get. I'm forever in the mercy of the photography clients I had in 2011. I just couldn't make my work a priority. I hated the fact that I couldn't respond the way I wanted to and deliver what I timely promised. I knew I had to make mothering and getting myself better my priority and if I had any more energy and time left, I'd invest it in photography. I made it a point to give myself enough energy and creativity to capture wedding days and other events I couldn't replace. Although, my post-production work suffered the most. I can't say for sure what causes postpartum depression but from my research I've concluded that at least part of it has something to do with genetics and sleep deprivation. There has to be something that happens in us when we don't sleep enough and never catch up. Just like food, we need sleep and if we don't get enough, our bodies suffer. Mothers, including myself, put so much on ourselves and make the mother's body ill. I'm going to arrogantly say that I feel like I've done mostly by best and I'm proud of myself for what I've accomplished and gotten through the past year. I have a sweet, beautiful, healthy little boy who is developing lovely to show for it. I really believe God blessed me a strong mind. Jesse and I have conquered delivering an eight pound baby, working through nursing problems, getting through reflux, postpartum depression, trees falling, major home repairs, car wrecks, five cars, tax issues, money issues, loosing a job, starting our own business, lost sleep, back issues, a new house, and a new renovation. Not to mention holding a crying baby when I didn't want to, feeding a crying baby when I didn't want to, changing the baby when I didn't want to.... If we can just get to February 9th, the rest of our lives will be easy right? I can't say for sure that my condition has cured itself, but the past few days I've felt more like myself than I have since Christmas 2009. I enjoy Emery so much more. I've weaned myself off Zoloft. As of a week ago I haven't taken it. It's been so long, I couldn't even remember what it was like to feel like me again! I don't think it's a coincidence that Emery hasn't slept through the night until exactly the same time I started to feel better, which was about a week ago. I'm reading the second book of Baby Wise, and the first chapter talks about how intuitive babies are to their parents. Probably the worst part of all this is the thought of doing it all again for another baby. There's no reason to make a decision about having more children now, but I want to make sure that however many children we do have, they will all be very well taken care of. I'm so thankful for my family, especially Jesse. Bless him, I've been rather difficult for him the past year and he still loves me. Bless my parents who will probably still insist on taking care of us when they are 110. Bless Jesse's parents who have on so many occasions given me a restful weekend. Bless my brides who have given me so much mercy. Bless everyone I love.