Postpartum depression doesn’t always look the way you expect it to. It can show up late. It can manifest as a rage that comes out of nowhere. It’s also really hard to step out of and get help, especially if you feel you should be able to handle it. You don’t have to handle it. You’re not alone, and I’m sharing my story in the hopes it will help.
Writing about postpartum depression is sticky, and I’ve erased more versions of this post than I can count. Why? Probably this little issue I have with pride. You know that saying, “pride goeth before a fall”?
I don’t like being wrong.
I don’t like letting people know I need help.
When it came to postpartum depression, I was too proud to seek treatment and too afraid to admit that I needed help. And so I survived untreated for nine years, letting it smother nearly a decade of my family’s life.
Nine years; nearly the entirety of my eldest child’s existence. This beautiful, quirky creature who needed me more than she needed anything else had gotten the worst of it: a volcanic combination of love and resentment, joy and anger, selflessness and self-hatred.
It began after her birth, surging in and out like the tide. On good days, I was supportive, loving, devoted. On bad days, I was a screaming, raving lunatic with tantrums that rivaled a DEFCON 5 toddler meltdown. And then the guilt would engulf me, wrapping parasitic arms around my shoulders as it whispered sweet nothings in my ear:
I would never be the mother my child needed.
She would only remember the anger.
I had ruined her.
There was no hope.
Eventually, there came a lull, and then we welcomed a second daughter. This creative firebrand, sensitive and headstrong like her mother, was spared the postpartum wrath.
My older daughter was not.
Once again, I focused my anger, frustration and shame at my eldest. My depression began to manifest itself in her. The girl who would eat anything became a highly selective eater. She had epic tantrums well into kindergarten when those sorts of things are supposed to be phasing out. She was aggressive with her peers and withdrawn at school.
I felt ashamed of her.
I did not like her.
Something deep within questioned whether I even loved her. I was trapped in an endless cycle of self-hatred and remorse. I felt so guilty and blamed my former bout of depression for the problems she was currently experiencing. Yet the shame I felt at destroying her not only kept me from seeking help, but also from recognizing the same oubliette into which I had stumbled.
And again, there came a lull.
We made the decision to educate the oldest at home. It was an opportunity to repair our relationship, heal both of our wounds and provide her with an education more fitting for her learning style and needs.
About two months into our second year of homeschooling, our family was blessed with a son.
I felt great. No anger, no guilt, no frustration. No uncontrollable outbursts. The sense of relief was palpable. I had prayed for deliverance from that horrible cross and received it.
For a while, at least.
What I didn’t really know, and what many other people don’t know, is that postpartum depression doesn’t have to be immediate.
Around the nine-month mark, I grew a little more quick-tempered. I had moments of unbearable anxiety. I was obsessing over my faults, both real and imagined, the words “I hate myself” on repeat in my internal monologue.
And then the school year started. For the first time, I was teaching two at home and corralling a mobile baby. My world imploded, trapped under the self-imposed pressure of being a good mother, a good teacher, a good “I got my body back in under a year” postpartum warrior. I remember screaming, “WHY CAN’T YOU LEARN?!?!” at the girls, tears streaming down their faces while the baby babbled in the background.
Two weeks later and I was waking up in tears. I was a shell. Social situations placed me inside a glass booth where I watched everyone else from afar. Schooling was a constant barrage of insults from me and tears from the girls. Finally, collapsed in a puddle and babbling incoherently about how pathetic I had become, I let go of the pride that kept me trapped. It was prayer that brought it out of me, a prayer whispered by my five-year-old as she, too, cried on the floor, her upper body draped over mine. “Please, Jesus,” she begged. “Save my mommy…..”
O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, Hear me.
Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated …
From the fear of being despised…
From the fear of suffering rebukes …
From the fear of being ridiculed …
From the fear of being suspected …
that I may become as holy as I should…
I’ve always had trouble with the Litany of Humility.
But in that most vulnerable, most desperate moment, God used the smallest of his children, my little daughter, to bring me back to life. The next day I was at the OB; the day after that I was on medication. Six months later I am the mother my children need.
There is still a lot of work to do, therapy being the least of it. I look back on my life before all of this and rue how much time I cowered under that fog. But I cannot live under the “what if’s” and “if only’s”. I can only move forward and embrace the humble truths of faith, of love, of family.
It is so much better on this side of the fall.
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Ginny you are so brave to share this. It’s so important women learn that PPD can be delayed and that getting help can make such a positive difference.
My heart is full of pain and love.
So glad the journey through the long valley has ended! Now move forward and see how the Lord will restore that which the locusts have eaten! After the long night comes the morning! Love you Ginny
Thanks for sharing Ginny- you are definitely surrounded by love xxxx
So glad the desert experience is over ! After the long night – joy comes in the morning! He will dance over you! Now the Holy Spirit will renew the years the locusts have ravaged! You watch and be amazed at the Lords restorative powers! You are fearfully and wonderfully made
Wow . . . incredibly written with such an open heart. May the Lord give you so many happy moments from this day forward – and an amazing relationship with you and your children – especially your oldest daughter.
Thanks, Amy. We’re good now. She’s pretty darn amazing 🙂
Wow, I’m crying here! I’ve never had PPD, but I’m struggling with an iron deficiency and related moodiness right now. Those days are so hard, when I lose control. Then I look back, and say: who was that? I don’t recognize that person, that wasn’t me, what have I become? Brave, beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing this!
You’re welcome – and I’ll pray for you! Any sort of issue that impacts our motherhood is tough.
Aaaand, now that I discovered I’m struggling with depression after all, this hits me on a whole new level! Thank you, thank you, for sharing this again!
Ginny, this article is helping me clear and sort out many things that having been tormenting me over many years. I gave birth to my first when I was twenty. (44 YEARS AGO) They didn’t call it post Partum then. Hysteria probably. Life situations had it that I gave birth to my second child twenty years later and at the same time adopted my husbands two teenagers who only recently lost their beloved Mom. Also, my mom had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and I was her care giver.
Until I read this I have blamed myself for all of the emotional struggles we were all going through because I was so distraught trying to do what I thought was my best but was an emotional and physical wreck. It wasn’t until years later a woman doctor suggested I was suffering from depression and tremendous anxiety. To this day I struggle with guilt as to how this “imperfect” mother may have hurt my four children. I started anti depression medication and therapy (twice a week I must add) to try to get “better”. And thank God just in time because I began a horrendous “change of life” physical and emotional roller coaster. My father was terminal at this point and my husband and now older wonderful children helped me. If it wasn’t for that sensitive Doctor who knew I needed help, combined with my faith in God I would have wound up in a psychiatric facility, as my mother did, because my father was in complete denial. To this day guilt still bubbles up inside of me when certain things or comments arise and I am zapped back to some of those times. I always had the most sincere intentions for our blessed family but still beat myself up about things that have been forgiven but not forgotten. Please continue to do this work God has given you to deliver your beautiful, honest message. It certainly touched me today. I responded even before I had my first cup of coffee and I never usually do anything before that. God bless you and a big thanks an hug from this proud, still a work in progress, mother of four amazing children.
Gerry, thank you for such a beautiful comment! I know the guilt you speak of – it’s not an easy burden. God bless you for all you have been through and done for your beautiful family.
Thank you for this raw, open honesty. Oddly enough, I found the Litany of Humility a couple days ago, tucked into a binder – I didn’t even know I had it, and was considering doing something with it…
Thank you for the insight into this debilitating disorder. This is one I have never felt qualified to speak about – personally, or professionally. Except to say I am sorry that you have experienced it, and to offer my help… what would you recommend for someone like me to help a mama wading through the PPD waters? (Bonus points if you could give me tangible ways to help from a distance, aside from ordering pizza for the family one night…)
Thank you for this honest and vulnerable post. So many women suffer in silence afraid to seek out help and many don’t know that PPD cant hit later than shortly after birth. I really needed to read this today. May Jesus continue to bless you and your family!!!
I suffered from depression for about a month after each of my first three kids and it was terrible. I cannot imagine it going on for years and I am so sorry you had to go through that. Several people in this house are chronically depressed and it is so debilitating. I hope this brave post reaches those who need it and impels them to seek help sooner.