We interrupt your
not-so-regularly scheduled programming for a bit of my real life. This is where
I write so it’s where I’m putting this. I have some other posts to write up
still too, but for now, this is what I have. (If this is the first or only time you've read anything I've written, I usually don't write this stuff so whether you want to read more like this or not, it's not something to expect.)
So I guess this will be real
talk time, and it’s hard for me to write but I feel like it’s necessary (more
so for me than for anyone else). Why am I writing something so incredibly
personal where anyone can see? 1. Because I need to get it out of my head where
the words swirl around constantly. 2. If someone does see it and feels the
same, I really want them to know they’re not alone because this can be a very
lonely place. Even if you have people around you, it’s a little easier knowing
someone else has felt the same (while at the same time you wouldn’t wish it on
anyone). And I also want anyone who feels like this to know that reaching out to someone is the best thing you can do for yourself right now.
A few days ago I had my 6
week postpartum appointment with my midwife. I knew before the appointment that
I’ve been struggling, and I was finally ready to admit that I needed some help.
The biggest thing was the roller coaster I’ve been on with my hormones. And
it’s just not stopping. I have to fill out this questionnaire thing about how
I’ve been feeling every time I go to the pediatrician’s office for my little
giraffe. The problem is that I know what they want me to say to be able to tell
me I’m normal and fine and everything is going great. Unfortunately, that means
that none of the doctors have known that I haven’t been fine lately and everything
has not felt great. This time, I answered the questions more honestly. I
admitted that I would like to run away from my life at times, and that I’m
terrified everything I’m doing is wrong, and I can’t stand hearing my kid cry.
all. the. time. And then I got to hear what I was dreading.
“You have postpartum
depression.”
This was followed by the
doctor telling me that I’m one of the ones that often get missed. The type of
person who has dealt with depression without wanting to take medicine so she
learns how to still get up and go to her responsible adult life things. The
kind who can still get dressed and look presentable, who can still make eye
contact and look like I’m fine. Because I can shut everything out for most of
the day so that I can function.
Until night begins, and then
I just want to scream. Every time I hear the giraffe cry. Every time I hear her
start to fuss and I start to panic it’s going to turn into a complete meltdown.
And I’m changing a diaper with my eyes half shut hoping I put a diaper on her
and not the cat. And I’m mad that I’m not getting any sleep. And I feel like a
terrible parent because I don’t like this screaming person right now. She’s
taking away my sleep. She’s stealing my husband’s attention. And damnit, I want
to cuddle with him now that I don’t have a giant pregnant belly or heartburn
lying between us.
And then it shifts. And I’m
not angry any more. I’m so upset with myself for feeling like this. I start to
think “I can’t believe my baby doesn’t like me, and I’m not fond of her
myself.”
I’m told I’m not alone in
this. I’m told that a lot of people feel this way, and a lot of them don’t
admit it. I hope this gets better with the suggestions of the doctor. I hope
that soon I feel loving towards the sweet girl I’m holding more often than
frustrated. Because part of my brain recognizes how lovely her tiny smiles are.
Part of me knows that I’m missing out on these weeks that I’m actually able to
spend at home with her. The biggest part of me, though, realizes that I am
incredibly lucky to have my husband taking care of her and me and going to work
while I try to keep just myself put together. And that part of me really wants
to give him his wife back.
