my deepest darkest secrets

Lets talk post-partum depression. After I had Eli, I struggled with PPD for about four months. I was never diagnosed, but the further away I get away from it, the clearer it is that I needed help. Every day I felt miserable. Not all day, not every second, but every night I would break down, and every morning I had to drag myself out of bed. The biggest problem with PPD is that when you are in it, you keep thinking, "This isn't depression. I'm not depressed. I still feel happy sometimes. I can get through this." There has been so much awareness in the past year about PPD. If you are struggling, don't wait to get help. Husbands, listen to your wives and pay attention to the things they don't say as well as the things they do. Don't sit by, find a way to get her help because she might not do it on her own.

I started this post after come accross an article about a woman named Emily and her husbands project- The Emily Effect.  If you think my story sounds a little crazy, go read about her here.  PPD is crazy.  It makes people crazy.  Another great read here.  PPD is treatable - get help!

I have to write this post because I've watched three or four friends go through PPD. It's horrible to watch. I can tell by the way they talk, by the tone of their social media posts, and sometimes by them just saying it. My heart goes out to them and I tried my best to reach out. When I was in that phase, the worst part for me was feeling so incredibly alone. I felt like the only person in the world who had ever struggled that much with two kids. I asked other people, but almost everyone said something like, "Ya, it was an adjustment." "I don't remember it being that bad." or my least favorite, "It gets better." The last phrase was the worst. I hated hearing it, because, at the time, I didn't believe it. Things were so horrible. Now I find myself saying the same phrase to others because it's true - things do get better!!!! But every time I say it, there are so many unsaid things behind it.

Now I'm going to talk about some of the horrible, awful things I struggled with during the first six months of Eli's life. Please, please don't judge me. I might be the only one who thought/felt/did these things, but I don't think that is the case. I can't bear the thought of someone out there feeling as alone as I did, so I'm going to be brave and tell you about these things.

I wished I would die.  I wasn't suicidal, but I often hoped I would die in my sleep or in a car wreck.  Sometimes I imagined driving my car off a cliff.

I wanted to leave my family.  I remember an entire week where I seriously contemplated getting in the car and driving to Las Vegas.  Not Las Vegas literally, it was a metaphor for driving away and leaving my family behind and starting a new life.  I planned it all out.  I would take the old car and drive until I felt far enough away, I would get a job as a waitress at a diner in a small town and never see anyone I know ever again.  It sounds stupid now but at the time it sounded almost reasonable. 

I had thoughts about hurting my children.  Very vivid images would pop into my head, unwelcome and unbidden.  Just writing this makes me feel like a horrible, horrible person.  I wasn't imagining it like, "Oh, that would be nice! I should do that!"  The images just popped into my head.  Thoughts about hitting or hurting my kids popped into my head all the time, but especially when they were crying.  It was awful.  It was probably the worst thing about the PPD.  I hated myself.  I felt like a terrible mother.  I pushed the thoughts out of my head immediately but they kept coming for a long time.  It was a real struggle.  I never, ever acted on those thoughts (thankfully), but it was hard to keep myself in control sometimes.

Sometimes when I was too tired and the kids were screaming I had to lock them both in their rooms and then lock myself in a closet where I couldn't hear them so I could calm down.  It took all the self control I had to stop from hitting them.  The dark thoughts were so strong in my head, it was like another person trying to control my body.  I had to fight against myself to protect my kids.  My hands would shake.  Several times I thought about calling CPS and telling them to take my kids away because I was afraid I would lose control and hurt them.  

You guys, writing this down is killing me.  Admitting that I thought and felt these things makes me feel sick.  I was not myself, and I was not okay.  I needed help and I should have been  brave enough to get it.

I still had happy times.  I still loved it when Eli fell asleep on me.  I still felt joy when TJ laughed.  I wasn't miserable all the time, but I did feel miserable more than 50% of the time.

I don't really know how I got through it, but I started to come out of it when I let go of my expectations.  I stopped trying to do the laundry and the dishes and keep the house clean.  I made a checklist for each day with five things on it:
-Get Eli dressed
-Get TJ dressed
-Make the bed
-Get myself dressed (this one was big for my self esteem)
-Leave the house at least once (usually we went for a walk)

Going for a walk every day made a huge difference.  I bought a big double-stroller and I seriously credit that thing with saving my life.  I got out in the sunshine, got a little exercise, and it helped so much.  My hormones also started balancing out, and I think I got some special blessings of help because my kids needed their mom to come back to herself.

The point of all this is that if you have felt these things, you are not alone, but you are also not okay.  Let me be the one to tell you - you need to get help.  Go call your Ob/Gyn right now.  It isn't worth the suffering and the guilt.  I know.  I know because even now I feel guilty.  I have so much regret.  I can never make up those months to my children or my husband.  

If I ask if you need help, or tell you it sounds like your having a hard time, please know I'm doing it out of a place of love.  I'm not judging.  I'm trying to help you in the way I wish I had been helped.  

What I'm hoping is that next time you see a mom who is having a hard time, you will say something.  Offer help.  Ask if she is okay.  We need to be there for each other, because sometimes you don't realize you have a problem until someone else points it out to you.