Postpartum Depression Snuck Up On Me

Yesterday I was diagnosed with Postpartum Depression.  Today I’m sitting here thinking, “Really? Depression?  Me?”  Here’s why:

I’m not constantly crying or weeping.

I CAN get out of bed in the morning to take care of my children.

I CAN smile and laugh.  I STILL like hanging out with friends and shopping and surfing pinterest and baking.

I’m not a new mother.  I didn’t have PPD with my first two children.

My mother never suffered from PPD.

I don’t want to kill myself.

I don’t hate my baby.

I don’t even have a newborn. 

I had a quick, easy and natural birth and exclusively breastfed my beautiful third born baby girl up until last week.  She is four months old.

I don’t have the symptoms of PPD.  Except I do.

I started noticing it about a month ago.  I was just feeling like I wasn’t myself.  I was losing my temper more quickly and intensely than usual.  I was feeling super guilty after the slightest thing.  I was having disturbing dreams which were causing anxiety and panic in reality.  I was feeling unloved and offended by my husband.  Often.  I was feeling frustrated and worried about my baby’s slow weight gain and my ability to feed her.  At first I attributed it all to having three children, getting no sleep, being busy, etc. etc.  All the normal new mom stuff.

Once my baby starts sleeping through the night, I’ll be okay.

Once my five year old starts school again, I’ll be less stressed.

I just need to eat a little healthier and start exercising.

I just need to practice more relaxation.  Keep calm and carry on.

I just need some down time.  A date night with my husband.  A break.

I just need to pray more.  Read Scripture more.

And then the thought crept in.  Is this a postpartum thing?  Someone mentioned it.  Do you think you have postpartum depression?  Are you depressed?  Are you having disturbing thoughts?  No, no, no.  I was fine with my first two children.  I’m not sad.  I would never hurt myself or my children.  I’m just tired.

But I wasn’t myself.  I was angry.  A lot.  So angry that I would scream at my children for silly things.  I found myself clenching my teeth so hard it hurt.  I felt like punching a wall.  I started swearing.  I would scream profanities in my head.  And then under my breath.  And recently I started swearing out loud and that is just not me.  I used to cringe whenever someone would use a profanity.  I would think, “Was that language REALLY necessary?”  Now I was the one on the verge of screaming profanities at my children. 

Last week it got worse and I felt like I was losing control.  I was screaming at my children throughout the day and then immediately feeling extreme guilt, frustration and shame.  I would scream and point and threaten and throw crazy eyes at my 5 year old in one instant and then in the next instant I would be a ball of guilt and tears and apologies and hugs and kisses.  The other day I stomped my feet.  For real.  Like a two year old having a tantrum.  I looked and sounded so angry and scary that my 5 year old ran away from me.  I was in a rage.  Red rage.  Ugly rage.  

If envy is a little green monster, rage is a humongous, ugly, red monster.  

And that’s just what my most prevalent PPD symptom is.  Rage.  It’s not a well talked-about symptom.  I’m pretty sure no mother wants to admit that she is feeling rage towards her children or her husband but that’s exactly what I was feeling.  The moment I saw the fear in my daughter’s eyes was the moment I knew I needed help.  I knew things needed to change.  I was not the mother or wife I had been or knew I could be.  And it was killing me.   

I called the doctor’s office and begged for an appointment.  I was on an intake list, had been for months and would be on it for a couple more months.  At first there was nothing they could do but then I cried.  And mentioned possible postpartum depression.  They got me in right away.  How the appointment went is the another post.  Stay tuned.