I remember sitting on the couch in my family room, staring at the fireplace feeling like a caged wild animal. I couldn’t escape. The deep aching and sometimes searing pain in my chest combined with a fuzzy swollen feeling in my head had become my new normaI. I cried almost every day for months. I thought that it was all self-induced and “normal” for my circumstances – I was a slave to sleep training and the rigid routines because I thought if I could just get consistent sleep, everything would be better. I listened to my baby cry before every sleep for 10 minutes -1.5 hours. It was gut wrenching. I was also extremely lonely as I was no longer working, had no “mom friends” or family in town. Furthermore, I was too overwhelmed and exhausted to leave the house or even try and make new friends. The realities and drudgery of early motherhood was also setting in, and I began to feel smothered and trapped, mourning the loss of my previous carefree, adventurous life. I had very few outlets or ability to engage in activities that brought me joy and a sense of feeling like myself again. Instead, I felt like my life and my body were no longer mine as breastfeeding exclusively (my baby refused bottles for months) and baby’s needs seemed all-consuming. Eventually my baby had started sleeping 8-11 hours through the night but by this point, I couldn’t sleep. I would lie away thinking about all the things I had done wrong, the guilt of feeling inadequate and not loving every moment of motherhood and how this was damaging my sweet baby girl.
I will never forget my lowest point, which also became my turning point as I finally recognized my PPD. About six months into motherhood, my husband came home from an exceptionally long six-week work trip. It was the middle of spring and I went for a walk in an area near our house that often has wildlife, including bears. As I walked, I thought about the hungry bears coming out from hibernation and the thought of a bear mauling me came across my mind. Instead of feeling uncomfortable with this thought, I felt a flood of peace and relief wash over me. That physical pain seemed so much more tolerable than the mental pain I had been experiencing for months. The thought of death even seemed like a sweet release from the prison I was in. The thoughts were terrifying and I knew at this moment I had PPD and needed some professional help. The next day I called a psychologist in town and had my first consultation within a couple of weeks. I was diagnosed with moderate to severe PPD and had to work through some thought processes, subconscious/conscious beliefs and coping strategies. I was able to express all the thoughts in my head freely and unfiltered to the therapist who helped me reframe my situations and thoughts, allowing the heaviness to slowly lift and I started crawling out of the darkness. Journaling, podcasts, moving my body regularly and doing some of the things I loved pre-motherhood supplemented my therapy sessions and helped move me towards healing and wholeness. Although this year was the hardest year of my life, the journey has made me a better woman and mother as it has ultimately led to profound self-discovery, spiritual and emotional growth. I have also discovered that there is nothing that will rock a woman to her core like the journey into motherhood, and it’s ok to need help – it’s not a path that is meant to be walked alone.
*At the time of writing this blog, the writer’s thoughts of death had completely resolved.