There is no way I could have written this post a year ago. Because I didn’t know how to describe it. I couldn’t find the words. But last night was a rough night. It was like the rug of calm-loving life-pleasant-happiness got pulled out from under me.
Cody asked a friend, who is the mother of a 3 month old, how it felt being a new Mommy…and she said “It’s the best feeling in the world.” Innocent enough. But the moment I heard the words my ears burned. My throat closed. My eyes filled with tears. And I couldn’t breathe.
My knee jerk reaction was to text a friend. Someone I knew would understand. So from the bathroom, in tears, I texted and never sent it. Because I didn’t want to TALK about it. I didn’t want to discuss it. I didn’t want her to call and want me to talk. So I didn’t send it. That’s a mistake. Friends let me tell you, the moment you have the instant reaction to reach out? DO IT. Trust me. She probably could have talked me through it and it not spiraled the rest of my night. But I kept it to myself, and much like PPD did a year ago, it ate at me. Slowly. In every word said, every action of my child. It’s unnerving.
When we got home I instantly reached out on twitter, where people won’t call me, but I can get it out. I can put it out there. After we put Sophia to bed Cody went back over to my brother in laws house. Leaving me alone. In a silent house. Because I didn’t tell him I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t tell him I needed him to stay. I didn’t say anything about what I was feeling. That’s a mistake. He could have stayed and maybe I would have told him….but even if I didn’t I wouldn’t have been in a quiet house. Alone. With these feelings.
Eventually the feelings left room for rage. And before I knew it I was calling Cody and yelling at him. Fighting. Yelling. It was easy to fall back to that place.
After Cody came home he made me talk. He tried to understand. But the truth is he can’t understand PPD. He can’t really get it. And when he tries he gets frustrated because he just can’t get it. So I get upset. And we get no where. But last night, I found a perspective I hadn’t been able to put my finger on before. And so this is how I explained to him what happened when she said those words “it’s the best feeling in the world”.
Imagine that this huge, life changing, awesome thing happens to you. But instead of getting to enjoy it and experience it you’re taken hostage and locked in a small cell, with no windows, with someone coming by and terrorizing you, screaming at you, cutting you down. But that voice, that person? It’s your own voice. And you may get so desperate to get the voice to shut up that maybe you start hurting yourself. So now you’re in this small dark cell, alone, while being emotionally beat down and maybe physically beat down as well. But while you’re in this cell….everyone else is enjoying this huge, life changing, awesome thing. Everyone else is basking in it, they are full of happiness, joy, elation. They are loving every moment of life while you are locked in this small dark cell, alone.
Months pass and you find the key and you hopefully let yourself out of the cell. But it takes months for your eyes to adjust to the light. It takes months for you to remember how to walk. It takes months for you to believe anything other than what the voice in your head told you while you were in the dark cell. It takes time to adjust and by the time you do this huge, life changing, awesome thing has changed. You missed part of it. You can’t get it back.
But other people didn’t, so when they say those words “It’s the best feeling in the world”. It instantly puts me in the cell. It instantly transports me and it makes me so incredibly sad. It makes me sad for everything I didn’t experience. For everything I didn’t feel. For everything I missed out on that the rest of the world didn’t. “It’s the best feeling in the world”, for her. For everyone but me.* And in seven words I’m thrown into the cell. The wind is knocked out of me. The rug has been pulled out from under me. I’ve been sucker punched in the gut.
*I understand not everyone experienced the happiness and joy and elation. But it feels that way, when you’re the one missing it. When you see the joy in someone’s eyes that you know you didn’t have.
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Wow. Very well written. I, too, hated hearing “It’s the best feeling in the world!” I so badly wanted to shoot back “Well if it was, why do I need anti-depressants to get through it, huh? Why do I feel like I’ve been sucked into a black hole of nothingness?” I’d get so angry that women would just ASSUME I was happy and bubbly and full of joy and wonder that is the first months of motherhood.
Honestly, even a year later, I don’t know how they could feel that way. I don’t understand what it’s like to have those months be the “best ever.” And I still get mad about it.
This post is so, so how I felt as well. Thank you for writing this!
Wow, I can so relate! The good thing is that now you know whats going on, and with number 2 I finally got to feel that “it’s the best feeling in the world” thing. I still have bad days, but the good days are so much more numerous!
You put into description something I’ve never been able to do. The first twelve months of both of my kids lives was pure hell. Not entirely PPD, but situational. It lunged right into PPD for the most part. But I never got to “enjoy” pregnancy or my kids’ infancy. And then I had to have the hysterectomy, and know I never will. Hard pill to swallow even now. I get that lump in my throat, the tears trying to well up, and that sinking feeling in my stomach just thinking about it.
You, my friend, have a way with words. These written words? Exceptional. Amazing. Beautiful and purposeful, so thank you for sharing.
I’m so sorry she made you feel that way, with that simple statement. I’m so sorry that he didn’t get it, and that it’s so hard for them to, but I’m glad you reached out and tried.
I have a lump in my throat, I’m breathing heavily and I want to hug you. It’s fantastic that you shared, mama. Much love.
My friend, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. The next time you have these feelings, you can call me. I don’t know how you feel, and I don’t know what you are going through. And I won’t ever pretend to. But I can listen. Love you!
Oh Alena, I’m so sorry.
You should have called me! You are so strong and I admire your courage to write this. I definitely know how it feels, both because I dealt with PPD/PPA/PTSD, and because what should have been a joyful thing (his birth) was a horrid experience that rocked to me to my core, and still does, if I let it. You know I’m always here if you ever need to talk. Or cry. Or anything. Big hugs friend.
Oh Alena! You just put into words what I have been trying to say for MONTHS…for almost a YEAR. This is EXACTLY what it was like for me. In fact, if I had had the words, I could have written the entire thing.
The wanting to reach out.
The wanting to communicate.
The holding back.
The yelling and fighting.
The cell.
Yes. Just. yes.
Thank you for writing this. THANK YOU.
I know you know this—but you are NOT alone! I struggle with anger and resentment for every mother who seems like they have it all together and seem happy in the midst of sleepless nights and a screaming baby. I try to convince myself that they are lying, but its finally starting to sink in that not every mother goes through that; and the problem isn’t them. I know it hurts that you can’t get that time back, but it always helps to know you did the best you could and Sophia knows you love her. *hugs*
This is the reason why I shut myself off of Facebook and close friends who were experiencing the “happy” of motherhood. I hated it with a fucking passion.
I’m so sorry that you are going through this and ugh…I just know. Im always here if you need to talk…always
I’m so sorry you felt alone. I’m so happy for you that you were able to express yourself to Cody & write it out here. This really did help me see/feel what PPD is like for you & so many others. Thanks for sharing Alena. Here’s a e-hug for you & your bravery!
That is exactly what it is like, be it PPD or depression when it steals away your life for a long period of time. Exactly. And you’ve put it into words so well and so beautifully. I,too, have the hardest time explaining it to my husband. He sees it, but he’s not in my head hearing my internal dialogue. Sometimes I just say my internal dialogue out loud for him, which of course freaks him out. But at least it lets him in on what I can do to myself. I’m so glad you shared this, and that you found a way to share your feelings with your husband in a way he could understand.
Oh wow, I loved this post. You have a way w/ words. I didn’t experience PPD (or wasn’t diagnosed), but the first few months were so hard for me. I roll my eyes a bit when I hear people exclaim how wonderfully perfect everything is. Hmm, maybe that’s cynical, but I appreciate when people like you are honest!
Thank you for writing this…for being so brave and honest. I’ve been struggling with the EXACT same thing for months. I’ve had to enter into a grieving process after PPD…grieving the time that was lost, that will never be given back. It’s not something that we talk about often, but it’s so helpful to know that I’m not the only one who *hates* hearing those 7 little words.
I have lost a few good friends recently because when I hear about “those magical first few months” I am no longer silent. I carry around with me tremendous anger over how abandoned I felt with my PPD. I am angry that I have felt guilty for so long, angry that my friends didn’t try to understand. Now I always speak out about how hard the first year (or year and a half…) was for me, I tell total strangers about it without shame. I have cried with women I don’t know in public restrooms, women who were grateful to me for speaking the truth and allowing them to do the same. PPD affects so many more women than we know. What is shameful is the lies we tell each other about how glorious our new lives as mothers are. I refuse to hear their side of the story any longer without sharing my own. Many people do not understand, many are frightened by the taboo, but I am continually surprised by how many women have been in that dark place and have just been waiting for the opportunity to tell someone about it. I have decided it is worth burning a few bridges with those who find the truth distasteful. In return I have found strength in numbers, meeting amazing women who have pulled themselves out of their darkest days when they suffered alone and in silence under oppressive guilt.
((hugs)) This is such an important post. Even if you don’t have PPD, it’s a reminder that friends are there for a reason. So many of us always feel like we’re a bother, no one would care, it’s really not that big of a deal.
Thanks for sharing, thanks for being so honest and open.
I put off reading this post because I knew it would deeply affect me. I was right about that.
At my 6-week checkup I sat in front of midwife completely broken down in tears. After she determined that no one was abusing me she just said, “okay, well then I guess we’ll see you again in a year.” And she walked out the door. Over the months as my world got darker and darker I figured reaching out to anyone would get me the same reaction. It’s been a really rough road-my husband and my other son have suffered tremendously because of it as well.
Now that my little one is ready for his first birthday I feel like I’m finally just looking at him for the first time, hoping I can make up for all the love I haven’t given him.
You’re an amazing person for sharing your emotions so publicly. I really do wish you the best of luck.
This is an excellent post Alena. Thank you for writing it. It can be so hard to hear the joy of new mothers without PPD because it is so different from what we experience, and we want so much to be in their shoes instead of ours.
Thank you for writing this. You nailed it.. you especially nailed the retrospective look at what to do when you need to talk. Text, get on twitter, talk to your spouse, get it out there and dont let it eat at you… and it totally does even when youve been out from under it for a year or more. Hugs to you. This is powerful stuff, and it needs to be spoken. Im so glad Katherine listed you on blogs to come visit from Warrior Moms of the Week!
Hi, I can so relate to you because I am a prisoner of my own mind and guilt is my middle name. I am two months postpartum and suffering. My husband tries to understand but men cant understand this so I have to fake it till I make it. The only thing I really dont care about is mothers who say they have it all because God only knows what goes on at home.
This is such a wonderful post. I just found your website through Postpartum Progress, and I’m looking forward to reading more!
I, too, have been searching for the words to describe what it’s like to have PPD. It’s difficult to describe to people who have not experienced it, but you are doing a great job. Thank you for your honesty and your bravery. Women like you (and posts like this) give me inspiration to keep speaking up and blogging about Postpartum Depression.
Thanks for your article. It is 18 years later and I can still vividly remember the fear, anxiety and depression. I still do feel that I missed out on many things after my child was born. It is hard to explain, but important to reach out to someone when one is going through PPD. It is important for women to share their stories and not suffer in silence. One does not choose to have this illness. Thank you for sharing.
You described my PPD perfect. You also hit on another part that most practitioners and media forget (or don’t know) to discuss, that you DO come out of that cage blinded & unable to walk & you have to learn to crawl & it’s a much slower process than anyone wants. And those awful wounding thoughts have to be replaced with self-loving & caring thoughts.
Thank you for sharing, wih bloggers like you & Postpartum Progress, I am feeling less & less alone in this diagnosis.
Thank you so much for this. Obviously it’s 4:12 in the morning so it’s been one of THOSE nights and this is exactly what I needed to read. A good friend of mine just had a baby and is reacting just like you “should” when you hold your baby. But for me? That didn’t happen. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who feels jealousy, anger and frustration. It brings back all the “why me” questions. Maybe now I can go to sleep…
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