Down Came the Rain

“I feel like I’m trapped in a sinking car, pounding on the windows, drowning, and there’s no one around to save me.”

Postpartum depression. Even the word sounded so cliché to me. You know all of those PPD pamphlets they give you at the hospital that you throw away the second you get home because you don’t think it’s even an option for you? Yep, that was totally me.

Depression isn’t something new to me. It’s something I’ve lived through over and over again throughout my life. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to me when I got hit with PPD, but it was. There’s one significant difference about going through depression on your own and going through depression once you’ve had a child: you have someone other than yourself that’s relying on you to take care of them.

And down came the rain…

When I first got home, I wasn’t hit with the “wow-I’m-a-mommy-to-this-beautiful-little-human-being” feeling. I wasn’t in love with her right away. That can’t be right, can it? This was supposed to be the most exciting time of my life. Why was I feeling so terrible all of the time?

Between trying to keep it all together so family could come visit the baby, finding time to take a shower and brush my teeth, and dealing with a screaming newborn whom constantly needed my attention, I didn’t have time to think about my feelings.

Olivia was (and still is) the most needy baby I’ve ever come in contact with. From day 1 she didn’t want to be separated from me, not even for a second. I couldn’t take a shower without her crying. Even if I sat her down in her bouncer (RIGHT NEXT TO ME) and she could see everything I was doing, I couldn’t fix myself something to eat without her wailing. Oh, FORGET trying to get her to fall asleep in her basinet. She had to sleep in the bed right beside me all. night. long.

I read alllllllll of the books, so I knew motherhood was NOT going to be easy. I knew about the late nights, cracked nipples, teething stages, and ­many other “new parent” struggles. I told myself over and over that I could handle it, that women do this all of the time. Right? I mean, I had a wonderful support system that was there for me through anything I needed. Why didn’t I ask for help?

I knew because of my history that I had a higher risk of developing PPD. I knew the signs so why did it take me so long to connect the dots?

I am an introvert and a perfectionist. I’ve always been one to hold in my feelings and I didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone that I had postpartum depression once I finally admitted it to myself. I remember a few weeks after I had Olivia, we were at my mom’s rehearsal dinner the night before her wedding with lots of other people, other parents, and everyone was laughing. I heard myself laugh, and it was the most fake laughter I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s like I wasn’t even there in that moment. I was just pretending to be.

Later that night, I found myself crying because I felt inadequate as a mother. I couldn’t even breastfeed correctly. Isn’t that something that women should be able to do naturally, I mean it’s what our bodies were made for? My nipples were bleeding and I was just about to give up. I couldn’t do this and I didn’t want to be her mother. I thought she would end up better off without me. I’ll say this again because I want you to understand the severity: I didn’t want to be her mother.

I needed someone. I needed help. And I needed it fast.

I was watching Serena Williams play recently and she said, “When you’re on the plane, the people tell you to put on your mast first before helping the person beside you. And I realized I wasn’t putting my mask on first. I was constantly putting on – I was putting on her mask.”

I realized that I couldn’t be a good mother to Olivia if I didn’t take care of myself first. So, I made some changes:

I started slow, going on a walk with Angie, Olivia, and the 2 dogs (Bella & Marley) almost every day. Not a long walk, about a mile or so, just to get Olivia some fresh air and get some energy out of the dogs. When we first started these walks, it was almost business-like conversation. We talked about her day, about my day, what we ate for lunch, what we were going to eat for dinner, and that’s about it. As each day went by, Angie would pull a little bit more out of me, when it came to my personal feelings. I had finally found someone to talk to. I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Next, I decided to completely cut out meat from my diet. Almost instantly, I saw a rise in my energy levels and happiness (and my milk production, YES!!!!) I felt lighter; less bloated, and like my life was finally developing a sense of discipline again.

Then, I started back working out, running almost every day. My clothes were fitting better and my self-esteem was climbing. I could finally fit back into my pre-pregnant clothes at only 4 months post-partum!

I could feel myself coming back into my skin. I was starting to feel like myself again.

When I look back on it now, the bad memories are starting to fade. All I remember are the good ones: her first smile, her first laugh (during bath time of course), the look on her face the first time she tried avocado, and the way she smiles at me with such love in her eyes. I wouldn’t trade these moments for the world. Everything that I endured, it was worth every second.

If there was one piece of advice I could give anyone that going through PPD it’s this: ask for help. Ask for a day to yourself so you can accomplish tasks you’ve been putting off for months. Ask for an hour to yourself so you can get a pedicure. Ask for TWENTY minutes so you can take a shower. It will make a world of difference because hey, Serena said it best: you can’t help others if you don’t help yourself first.