What PPD Meant For Me (a long one).

There is a lot of misconception around the term Post Partum Depression (PPD). I will speak frankly here because well, it's a serious subject. It is often seen as a debilitating mental illness which causes the sufferer to run away, or drown their children, or burn down the house, or commit suicide. In the vast majority of cases PPD is much simpler and harder to spot than that. I will not speak to the experience of any other woman, but I can attest to my own experience. For me, PPD was an all consuming sense of apathy with bouts of self doubt, and extreme frustration. All while still loving and taking care of my son. I am lucky to have a good man who stood by me through it all, knowing it was doing slight damage to us as a team, but that we could fix it when the time was right. Although, it certainly didn't come out like that at 3am on a sleep deprived night.

Here's how it went. I will leave out a lot of details and I will not ask your forgiveness. This is a very personal topic and involves a LOT of private details and conversations that I will not be so bold as to share. That being said....

After James was born and the hype started to settle, I found myself more than a little lost at what to do with this constantly sleeping bundle of baby. So I left him in his bassinet while I attempted to learn how to function upright after major abdominal surgery. I played with him when he was awake but that mostly consisted of begging him to latch for breast feeding and crying that he wouldn't. I felt like Daniel cared more about the baby then he did me, which is a strange way to feel. We were both sleep deprived, I was in the hospital and there is NO sleeping in the maternity ward. Daniel was working double the hours so that he could be home at least one or two days after we came home from the unexpected 4 day hospital stay.

Day 3 hit like a lead balloon. When the visitors had left and it was just Daniel and James and I, I completely and unexpectedly fell apart. I sobbed for hours. I felt completely defeated and had no idea why. I felt a sadness so deep in my heart it scared me. I loved my baby and he was healthy and gorgeous and peaceful. I tried so hard to fake it, but the tears would just pour through my big fake smile at the nurses and the midwives. They were kind and concerned and did a lot of listening. As did my roommate, Amanda. She was flat on her back in her bed and I was attempting to cry silently in mine, and she talked me through the whole night through a white curtain separating our beds. I am forever grateful for that.

Once we got home I felt better. Family came around, the grandma's helped. But I had a hard time with the c-section and feeling useless. I had a massive amount of weight still sitting on my incision and it complicated the whole deal. Then the TRUE sleep deprivation hit (James ate every 2.5 hours, no mater how long he had been asleep, it was hell),  it all hit the fan. I can remember screaming at Daniel for not helping, bawling my eyes out in the bathroom wondering what I had done and why did I think I could have a baby, and that our marriage would never survive, and so on and so on. Basically, I painted every horrible picture I could think of. I suddenly understood how moms could pack up and leave in the night. I was terrified of what was happening to me. But I knew exactly what was going on.

5 weeks after James was born my mom and step dad took him overnight and I slept for 14 straight hours. I thought that would fix me, but it didn't. The sadness lingered. I gave up on breast feeding, I didn't bother to baby wear James because he was a big baby and it wasn't worth the effort, we didn't go out much if I didn't have to....and it snowballed until I was almost a hermit and had not bothered to do a fraction of the things I had said I would. I left the house for James' sake only. Underneath it all I was crying almost all the time. Daniel couldn't even look at me without me losing it.

Ultimately I felt like a massive failure. This was also when the health issues started coming up for me. Once I found out my dad was dying and then my grandma passed away suddenly it all came crashing down around me. It was hard and messy and I was mean to people who love me. I got some help and managed to get through without medication. I am not sure I would face it unmedicated if it happens again though. Its a potentially dark and scary time.

All through this time, I was loving and affectionate with my son, but I was easily frustrated and lost my patience quite quickly. I am not proud of that but it's my reality. He forgives me, and I work everyday to earn and maintain forgiveness from the emotional gap between James and I for his first 10 months.

Since July I have felt much better, much more like myself. It gets a little better every day and I can finally recognise myself again. I live in the moment and enjoy and cherish my time with James. I learnt a great deal through this chapter of life, and I am happy I did so.

I was the last person you would expect to suffer from PPD, but that is my whole point.

Get help if you need it ladies, its worth it.