PPD

Some nights after work, I have been known to cook 3 meals, do a load of laundry, and have a phone chat with a friend. This is not one of those nights.

Real life #amirite

The baby is asleep already. I sit at the table, holding my bowl of lentils and rice in one hand, and a spoon in another. As I stare blankly out the window, my whole being feels hollow. My eyes feel hollow, my torso feels hollow. It's been like this all day, the weight of everything pressing down. 

I realize that the bowl and spoon are too heavy, and I put them down. Next I realize that even though I am hollow, I am too heavy, so I schlump forward on the table. Still too heavy. I want to be in darkness and I want to be on the floor. I lay down flat on my face on the carpet. I wonder how to proceed, but I am too hollow and too heavy and too damn exhausted to wonder very hard. 

I don't know how long I lay there, hollow and heavy, but eventually I feel my heartbeat against the floor. I remember, not with my mind, but literally re-member, finding my body again, feeling it fill up. I am still heavy but it is transforming into groundedness. My breath finds me and I turn my head to the side. "That's why I wanted to lay on the ground." I realize, my instincts affirmed again. 

This is what post-partum depression feels like. Sometimes. If you've been with me for long, you know that I am not afraid to tackle sensitive personal subjects on the blog. It actually feels better to share than not share. The American Psychological Association says that 1 out of 7 women will experience postpartum depression. While we were in the NICU, we learned that number is probably too low on average, because those are just the ones who seek help. And if you spend any time in the NICU or have a traumatic birth, the odds only increase. 

Several months ago, Samuel started to cry. Almost always when he cries, I rush to him, full of love and compassion. But that particular time, I reached for compassion and came up empty. Instead, my body reacted, "Meh. Oh well." Because I was prepared, first by my midwife, then by the NICU staff, and finally by the pediatrician at the first few visits, I knew what the disconnect meant. I saw my counselor from years ago, but could tell that this was not her specialty. I saw my doctor. I talked to my post-partum physical therapist (every woman needs one of these). I emailed my pastor and she called me while I was pumping one day to talk to me. I reached out to friends. I told my parents. I started seeing a new counselor. And things started to get better, lighter, little by little. 

I still have moments like the one described above. But they are more familiar now, and they end more frequently like I describe above. It wasn't always like that. And if I get stuck, I know where to turn, mostly. 

If you are struggling with this, search for "postpartum resource center" in your area. And tell people.