Under The Veil: Motherhood And Postpartum Depression
by Anonymous
Warning: This article contains details of suicidal thoughts and depression.
Here is my story. And it’s a lot of women’s stories. It might even be your story.
But when it was happening to me, I didn’t have many resources or people to talk to. It felt like a secret. I was sick with shame and I didn’t know how to express what was happening to me. In some moments, I talked myself down. In others, I thought it might be my imagination.
Postpartum depression snuck up on me.
I didn’t expect it. I couldn’t have ever imagined it. But one day, while I was alone, I thought of driving my car in front of a semi-truck. Not to kill myself. No no. Just to make everything stop for a minute so I could have some quiet. I didn’t do it, but it was one hell of a red flag. Incidentally, a health care provider makes no distinction between wanting quiet and wanting death. Both are thoughts of suicide. Just for future reference. But let’s back up.
That’s the middle of my story. I will start at the beginning.
How the veil came down.
I had an incredible pregnancy. I went off birth control after many years and got pregnant within 6 months. I took pre-natal vitamins, had supportive family and friends, took childbirth classes, read books, searched websites. The whole gamut. I was healthy and happy. I was that glowy kind of pregnant that society says you should be but lots of women aren’t and many women can’t stand. My life was startlingly unaffected. As my husband used to say, I just happened to be pregnant. I worked right up until the day our son was born. My water broke at home and we didn’t hit traffic. My fear of delivering on the side of the highway was unrealized. My delivery wasn’t great but our perfect little baby arrived healthy and happy. Eyes wide open and checking out the world. We were blessed. We were thrilled. We still are.
But here’s where things start to diverge.
My nursing “story” was full of blood and cracked nipples and pain. So much so that I would punch myself in the leg to focus on that instead of the chupacabra biting at my flesh. I loved him beyond compare. But I was failing. And it was very was hard. The lactation consultant told me to give it two weeks and call back. She was no help at all. Eventually it worked and we figured it out and I ended up loving nursing.
But in the dark of the night with the exhaustion and pain and uncertainty, the first veil came down.
It’s a tricky thing, that veil. So filmy and light but you can still see everything. Your life. Your newborn. Your friends. Your home. It all seems normal, just a little…softer. A little blurred. But maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Or the “new normal” as they say. Or maybe whatever it is will just pass. It’s not like you CAN’T see. It’s not like you CAN’T function. The veil just makes things a little more distant. It’s not suffocating or trapping you. It’s just there and you learn to function underneath it.
I was home for 13 months with our first son. More a result of lack of employment than choice. The stunning surprise was that I honestly loved it. I thought for sure I would be the mom that marched into daycare at 6 weeks to hand off my kid while I took my briefcase to work. But I wasn’t. I loved being with him, and I loved being home.
It wasn’t just sadness. It was anger.
But under the veil there was always judgment and uncertainty and questioning. I read too much. Put him down. Pick him up. Give him a pacifier. Let him figure it out. Sleep with him in your room. Put him in his crib. Nurse. Bottle. Get a manicure. Sleep with your husband. Clean the house. Cook the food. Enrich the baby. Nap when he naps. Laundry. Baths. Laundry again. Shower? Hardly.
The veil made the cooking and cleaning and enriching seem like it was never enough. I needed to do more or better. The veil pushed me to perfection because I couldn’t see that I was doing fine.
But my postpartum depression wasn’t really about getting the blues.
I didn’t cry.
I got angry.
“postpartum depression isn’t always blue. Sometimes it’s red. But the veil makes that difficult to see.”
I was mad all the time. I was frustrated that my child needed me for everything but could not ever tell me what he needed. He was crying and fussing and I felt helpless and angry. And he was a really good baby. He mostly slept and smiled and cooed at me.
But still, I felt an anger that I didn’t understand. And because it was anger, not sadness, I didn’t immediately know it was postpartum depression. But after a while, I listened to my gut. I listened deeply and I should have trusted my gut earlier, because it had been whispering to me all along. Because postpartum depression isn’t always blue. Sometimes it’s red. But the veil makes that difficult to see.
I held it together for my husband and family and friends and outings and parties. I baked 4 dozen cupcakes with four different flavors in try-me and take-me sizes for my son’s 1st birthday. I put on make-up. I sent out photo albums. We did crafts!
Then I went back to work.
After 13 months, my constant companion was gone. Work added an entirely new level of stress and that’s when the cracks started to show to the world. My highs were high. My lows were low. I cried a lot. I snapped at people. I berated myself for failing, doing things wrong, lack of perfection, stupidity, weight, all of it. Everything. I was furious that I couldn’t have it all and keep it together.
The veil made it so I couldn’t see the good work I was doing in any of my roles – wife, mother, employee, person.
My life was now lived through this gauzy filter that I couldn’t see and didn’t know how to identify.
And then it escalated.
What finally sent me over the edge was something so minor and innocent. I had forgotten to RSVP to a family event. Another failure. Ironically, the date for RSVP’ing hadn’t passed, the person just checked in to make things easier. I didn’t know that until later.
And in the moment, I lost it. My hairdresser offered me wine when I walked in to the salon. It wasn’t until I saw the exhausted, mascara-stained face in the mirror that I figured out why.
On the way home, the semi-truck was in the left hand lane. I was alone. Just…drift over. I would have quiet and stillness. The things I cannot seem to get no matter how much exercise, yoga, meditation, shopping and martinis I enjoyed. And in that second, when I kept the car firmly in my lane, the veil swept to the side and I knew I needed help.
I told my husband that night.
He didn’t know what to say. He was stunned. And unsure. It was a lot to process and he tends to get quiet when he hears big news. And this was big. Very, very big. I had hid it so well and for so long. He said we would get me help. I told a colleague the next morning. She told me to get my ass to a doctor immediately. And I did.
I was so distraught when I got there the doctor gave me a Xanax. I needed to calm down before I could even communicate. And when it kicked in, the veil lifted entirely. And I remembered what life was like before. I saw how different I had been. For the briefest of moments. A taste. And after it wore off, the veil dropped back down just as quickly.
I was prescribed an anti-depressant, a therapist, and some anti-anxiety meds to help with sleep. I felt very lucky. These are incredible resources. Three days into my meds, the veil was gone. My colleague said it was the first time since I went back to work that I wasn’t crying at her desk. My husband said while my moods had always been ever shifting, he didn’t really see how wide the swings were until the meds evened me out.
My depression was sneaky and quiet and really well hidden.
Even from me.
Come to find out, I am super sensitive to serotonin and changes in my levels, which is why meds worked for me in mere days. Lucky lady. And when the meds wiped away the veil, I thought, wow, I remember now. I remember when life was clear and sharp and manageable. And I got sad because of how much I missed and how distant I was when I swore I was present.
For that – to remove guilt and sadness and why me and now what – therapy was key. I couldn’t have done anything to make it NOT happen. It just did. And now on my path to healthy, I got to fall in love with my little man all over again. And marvel at how well I did in spite of it all.
When it happened again.
I stayed on the anti-depressants until we wanted to get pregnant again. I weaned off the anti-anxiety meds as quickly as possible. That was important to me. That worked for me. That may not work for everyone.
Did you catch that?
We wanted to get pregnant again. We were signing up for a second baby. A second newborn.
A second chance at postpartum depression.
I got pregnant quickly. I went off the anti-depressant and went back to weekly counseling sessions. This pregnancy wasn’t as easy. I was working full-time, had a toddler, had a house (not an apartment), was older, more tired, and I puked a lot. A Lot, a lot.
Like last time, my water broke at home and we dodged the side of the highway delivery. Three pushes and he was here. Eyes wide open and screaming hello to the world. I was in love.
I let the nurse take him the second night and give him two feedings. I knew it was the last stretch of sleep I would get. Lack of sleep is a trigger for me. Shortly thereafter, the sleep wasn’t enough.
The veil was back and I knew it. But this time, I recognized it. I was angry. Again. I counted to ten. Nope. I snapped at my husband. Myself. It was ugly but it felt familiar and I knew the veil was there. The veil made me angry and the fact that I was going through all of this again made me angry. I was in therapy, I was sleeping, I was doing everything right. And it happened again. I had failed. But I hadn’t. Not really. It just happens. No matter what you do. And as my dad said, “Failing would be noticing the signs and doing nothing. You have done the opposite.”
I called my OBGYN. Twice. A bit frantically if you must know. He called after hours and the first thing he said was, “There was nothing you could do to prevent this. It just happens.” He’s an amazing doctor. Because I needed to hear that. Still do sometimes. “So,” he said, “you’re crying a lot?” Nope. I’m angry and no matter how many times I count to ten, it doesn’t go away. His immediate response? “Right, so I am going to call in the scrip right now.”
I took the first pill that night. Three days later the veil was gone. We caught it just prior to my 6-week visit. With my first son, I was diagnosed 22 months after his birth. I still get angry and frustrated and sad. But it’s not unmanageable. It’s not paralyzing. It’s not suffocating.
“i still get angry and frustrated and sad. But it’s not unmanageable. It’s not paralyzing. It’s not suffocating.”
With my third (that’s right, we spun the wheel one more time), I went on meds before her delivery. I had fallen into an ugly place due to family drama. I had a new doctor. He was so kind. He talked about the potentially addictive side effects for the baby. Rare and lessened by my hope to nurse but still present. To help put it into perspective he asked, “Can you live like this for the next 4 months?” I could not.
Postpartum depression doesn’t happen to everyone. And it doesn’t happen in the same way to everyone. I didn’t cry in sadness. I cried hot, angry tears. That’s postpartum depression, too. Meds may not work for everyone, but blessedly, they did for me. And a one-size fits all approach doesn’t work for an illness that is anything but one size fits all.
I can’t tell you your treatment but I can tell you my story. So you know you aren’t alone. You aren’t failing. And you aren’t beyond saving. Motherhood is hard. If you say that and reach out a hand, I promise someone will grab you and hold you up. Say it to as many people as you can until that one person hears you and takes your hand.
I will take your hand right now if you need me to.
The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline provides free and confidential support 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Their number is (1-800-273-8255).
