Post-partum--my personal hell (Remembering a time I was not me)

 

     Earlier today me and hubby got talking about the time in our lives right after I had my first baby, which was forever ago now (about 14 years), but sometimes it feels like yesterday.

     One thing that I said was that I am happy that it and other mental health is something that is talked about now. When I had my oldest back then, they had sort of started talking about it, but the only one's I had seen were extreme cases like Brooke Sheilds in an interview talking about wanting to stuff her baby in a washing machine. 

    I had a really tough time after giving birth to my firstborn and was constantly being told that new moms always had a little baby blues. There were even a few times that I went to different doctors (OBGYN, Pediatician and even my regular gyno) when I was at my wits end about a problem and the gist of the answers were either I was over reacting or whatever problem the baby had was my fault. Which was so not what I needed to hear right then.

Now you might be wondering what about your husband or the rest of your family?

    Well, hubby was burning himself out by working 40+ hours at a factory and doing 27 credit hours at college (when 12 is considered full time) He was hardly home. He got home sometime after 9:30pm, held the baby, ate some food and went to sleep until about 5 am. When he would wake up, get ready, hold the baby and leave for the day. He was unaware of my mental state because he was exhausted and stressed.

    My parents came over every night at midnight and held the baby. I spent some of the time actually talking to a person with real adult thoughts, some of the time doing a sits bath for my stitches and then about an hour of sleep. Then I got up and stayed up the rest of the night and the next day, constantly holding and bouncing the baby. At around noon, my dad would come over and hold the baby and force me to eat and go to the bathroom in between helping his dying father, which made me feel like an even more terrible mother. He had so much on his plate and he had to come over to help me do something I should be able to do naturally. But it was such a relief both the social aspect and the not having to jiggle a baby that I went with it and let the guilt silently feed my depression.

    I had friends come over, which was always nice to not be alone at home with the baby staring at the same four walls and terrible Christmas movies. Some could empathize with the stress, some had babies too that actually slept for long periods of time (which was sorta not helpful) and some were just conversation.

    My sister-in-law loves babies and offered to watch my kiddo which she did do for me a few times so I could go unconscious for 2-3 hours, but I also felt guilty having her help because she had 3 kids and her youngest was 2yrs old, so again, me putting extra stress on someone when I should be able to do my damn job! What was wrong with me?

    It was a really dark time. I was alone with my thoughts and a cranky baby a lot. I cried so often and beat myself up over sucking worse than everybody I knew at the whole parent thing. When my foster sister visited and held the baby she laughingly asked if I was going to have more (at that time I was severely sleep deprived and depressed and my baby was only a month old) and I emphatically said NO. She thought it was hilarious, I thought it was sad. I had always thought I'd have at least 2 kids, but at this rate I couldn't even care for one baby or myself. I couldn't go through this again.

     As we got closer to Christmas (the baby was about a month and a half) my hubby ended his semester and had a little more free time and we had some trouble sympathizing with each other. It was probably the roughest patch in our relationship ever. But he did seem to realize that something wasn't quite right with me and went to my family to discuss it. They agreed that I might have postpartum. He tried to approach me carefully, but his opening statement felt like an attack. "Me and your family were talking about you and we think that you have postpartum. We're all really worried." Reasonable, yes. But...

    I was horrified and angry. They had been talking about me? They thought I was crazy like Brooke? I had never had a violent thought about my baby. How dare they?! I was a bad mom, but I wasn't that bad. And were they worried I would hurt the baby? Hell no. I would hurt myself before hurting the baby. Didn't they understand that I just had to try HARDER to become a decent mother? Didn't they know that I had spent endless hours thinking about how I wasn't measuring up and how I had to do a better job? It wasn't the baby, I was the problem and just like everything else in my life, if they just gave me a little time I would perfect this too. I was so hurt and angry at them for talking about me behind my back.  And nobody else thought I had postpartum--at least not the professionals, I mean they straight up told me it was my fault. And nobody I knew had it that bad--yes, one friend had it for a bit, but I mean, her life was hard. She was a young single mom of three kids with a bad tough family to deal with, trying to make her way completely alone. Of course she had it. That just made sense to me. But everyone else? They did just fine and I should too because I did have a loving husband and a loving family and I did have friends and a nice house. There was absolutely no reason for me to feel this way. I just had to find the key to solving this problem by myself. 

    No. I never sought professional help. And no, I didn't really talk about it too deeply with my family. But my husband was home more and my kid started sleeping for long hours in her crib (instead of my arms) starting on Christmas Eve. (I still tell everyone it was a Christmas miracle and the best present ever) Turns out I wasn't making enough milk and the baby was always getting alot of air causing gas. Once the baby doctor started having me supplement formula with the feedings, her belly was full and she could sleep more. More sleep helped quite a bit. Having hubby home more hours of the day helped more. Fixing our romance and starting to feel like a person and a woman (instead of a stinky, dirty, exhausted lump) helped too. Then he did less hours at school in Feb. and lost his job in March, so he was home a lot. I started working weekends doing hair and had a reason to do my hair and makeup and wear nice clothes. And I felt more like myself doing something I excelled at and being social again. 

     Over time these things helped heal me. My parents ended up moving in, so that when I, oops, got pregnant again when my daughter was about 5 mo. old, it was different. I had many fears about it happening again, but this time I had so many people in my house. So many helping hands and my one year old kept me going. And I immediately added formula with my second baby, so she slept well and so, even though I woke a couple time in the night with both babies, I had so much more sleep. I did much better.

   I was never exactly the same as I had been before kids, because noone ever is, but I didn't fall back into that awful head space. And I moved forward and remade myself within the family dynamic. 

   But I will never forget the way things were then. I don't even know who that person was, but I feel pity for her and wish that it hadn't gone on so long.

     Since then I realize that many women and girls go through those deep lonely isolating depressions. Many still go it alone, but many more actually know that they can go get help. They know that they are not alone. And it's not abnormal or wrong. that they are not a bad parent or a bad person. That nobody will judge them as less. That there is help and it is so much easier to find now.

    I am sincerely glad that they have turned a spotlight on mental health and postpartum. I am glad that there is information available everywhere. I am glad people are being open about their experiences so that those women that are up late and crying can read that others have been there and that they can and should talk about it. It's not a dirty secret. It's not wrong. But they should definitely get the help they need. 

   They shouldn't have to let it drag out for months. They can get feeling better. They can enjoy life and their new baby.

    If you have experienced it.Please share.

    If you're experiencing it now...*Big hugs* You are a great mom. You are a wonderful person. There is nothing "wrong" with you (i.e. crazy or etc) you are going through a natural thing and it will get better. Call someone. Go to blogs and websites. read up and see. You are not alone. Chances are, if you have a deep heartfelt conversation with some of the women in your life at least half of them have experienced more than the baby blues. Get a therapist that specializes in Postpartum. Get help. not only mentally, but let someone have the baby and go to sleep (it does wonders) and do not feel guilty. Most people love babies and they probably love you. Let someone cook you dinner. Let someone clean your house. it's okay. It does not make you less. Let people help you because most people want to help.

   Remember. You are not alone. Even if you have a sucktastic family. Reach out on the internet--sometimes internet love is bigger than real life. Reach out to a therapist. 

    Do not think you are alone. 

   *more hugs just because*

    You are doing great. You are awesome. You are going to raise a great kid because you are awesome.

Mental health effect on my writing

 Originally I was going to try to just pick up where I left off and write about some Blog ideas that have been pickling in my brain.

Instead I decided to start off with a fizzle. And write a little about the last few months.

If you follow my blog posts, you'll see that I was going pretty good and then I needed to pull back a little in order to beat NaNo WriMo last year. I knew that if I tried to keep up my daily blogging and try to do my daily word count, I would fail. But I fully planned to pick up blogging again in December; maybe not daily but I could at least get a blog post up weekly.

But then the holidays came up and even though I wasn't working a day job yet, the stresses of trying to make Christmas nice for my kids kept me away from my computer. The more I stress, the more I clean my house. Or take naps.

My husband had missed quite a few days each week of his work but we at least had unemployment, until we didn't. So I started applying places and one of the local dollar stores needed a Asst. Manager (Which has as much authority as being a cashier--except I could handle the deposit money.) But they needed only nights and weekends, which might not be so bad except I get up with my husband at 4am when he goes to work and my kids have school. Just about the time they were finishing and he got home, I was leaving for the night. And I was never given any weekend days off--even when I requested a day. So--I didn't see much of my family and I wasn't making very much money. And also, Hubby's health issues got worse. The doctor's put him on medical leave until the end of this month so his money disappeared starting the end of January.

At my work place the usual manager took very ill and still has not returned because of her health, and her acting manager and another manager from a nearby store got a power trip and had a dislike for me for reasons I have only guessed (The previous manager they are trying to steal the store from hired me. The acting manager's BFF couldn't pass the manager test and I "took" her job. The BFF is psycho and tried to pick a fight with me the second week and pinned the blame on me to corporate and to her buddy acting manager. And maybe some other non-logical reasons) I really don't have solid reasons, but they were being passive aggressive and giving me extra work and stupid jobs that were near impossible to finish by closing time. They left snarky notes about what I didn't do or didn't complete and they talked shit about me to all the cashiers. I put up with it, even though it was draining and stressful. My husband was continuously telling me I needed to quit. The last straw happened when they harassed me and black mailed me to come into work against doctor's orders even though I had a note, they wrote me up. And because they were angry at me for calling off for the first time, they told the cashiers that they would be getting me out of their soon and planned to up their blame game to corporate so that every problem was my fault.

I finally got tired of their crap. I graduated from high-school (I shouldn't have to deal with it at work from supposed adults) over 20yrs ago and this job was not nearly as important or as enjoyable as being a hairstylist or a substitute teacher. Plus, they didn't pay me nearly enough to deal with the stress. For the first time in twenty years, I flat out quit my job instead of putting in my two-weeks notice because I had had enough.

The reason for this backstory/information dump (Which is a no-no in writing a novel, but is probably okay in blogging) is to show a little of the day-to-day emotional/mental stress that has been going on since New Year's. that doesn't include my husband's health issues or his multiple appointments. Nor does it include the sick elderly cats I have worried about or any of the financial crap.

Because of this, I have been exhausted. On my days off I oversleep and usually still take a nap. When I was awake and at home, I felt guilty about my laziness pertaining to housework and would kill myself to get all the basics done (dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, cleaning bathroom and a few loads of laundry) before I would have to go to work and haul around heavy boxes and stock shelves. My knees are stiff and painful and my shoulder issue has flared up. And as for critical thinking (in order to help my kids with their school work) I have been able to scrape out the dregs clinging to the bottom of my brain. 

And creativity? During this past month it has been near impossible to find. I was inspired maybe 2 days since before New Year's to continue on my book and that was only a few pages worth each time. I have been reading some new authors and have at least been able to follow the stories and enjoy them. I have also been watching a few shows like Wanda-Vision and enjoy those as well, but when it comes to creating anything my brain is numb.

I quit last week on my daughter's bday. I still feel residual irritation or the feeling of being overwhelmed. I'm hoping the side effects of being at that negative workspace will wear off soon. My husband's health is still--meh. But at least we found out the spot on his liver is not cancerous. And some of the other things aren't as dark as they were, so maybe I'll get my groove back.

Part of getting in the swing of things is this blog. I took a shower got my favorite tea and sat down to write on here. And I plan to write some more of my story sometime today, even if it is only a few pages.

I have read some writing advice that says basically that it doesn't matter what's going on. Writing is a job and you can't call off work because you are sad. You have to write every single day. And I've tried to follow that advice. I've applied it to being a hairstylist successfully.

 But there is something different about writing for me. I can't just write. When I'm emotionally and mentally tapped out, there's nothing there to use. If I get stressed enough, I stop feeling emotions completely. Thankfully, it's only happened a handful of times and I never feel upset about it. I logically know this is bad and discuss it with my husband, who takes it seriously. I haven't gotten that numb in a while, but there is a pervading numbness creeping through my brain. It's like the warning tingles you get in your foot before it's dead. Except with my brain (or heart if you would rather) My creativity goes hand in hand with my emotions and if they hide from the ugly of the world they take my muse with them until it is safe. Yes, I could probably write words on paper, but they would be stilted and mechanical. They wouldn't flow or have life and that's even if I could force my weary body to sit in front of the keyboard that long.

But the darkness is ebbing and cobwebs are thinning today. So today I blog and maybe write the next part of my book. And hopefully tomorrow it will be even better. I can always keep hoping.

Honestly, I am tired after writing this blog and will probably read my book for a while as I fight the urge to take a nap. Hopefully, after a rest I will be back here typing away on my novel.

How do you guys deal with stress, exhaustion, weariness and/or numbness if you get that way sometimes?

Do you follow advice and just write anyway or do you take time to recoup?

I'd love some advice or at least knowledge that I'm not the only one. I hope to hear from you.