There is a terrible story in the news where I live south of Boston, this week. A local mother was arrested after having killed her three children and tried to kill herself. The children were 5, 3 and 7 months. Seven months, so tiny. And the news coverage has been what you would probably expect: interviews with neighbors dumbstruck by the event. Prayer vigils and a GoFundMe have been started. Some of those interviewed have said that there is a lot to be learned but mostly, the reaction has been shock.
When I heard the story, my heart broke for the family, especially the father. The magnitude of this loss. What he has to live with now is unimaginable.
But what I didn't feel was shock.
I wasn't shocked because I understand postpartum depression. I've been there.
To be clear, this woman had postpartum psychosis, which is must more severe and dangerous. With psychosis, you lose touch with reality.
I've been thinking about this the last few days because when I went through it, I thought I was losing my mind and for weeks, I couldn't even acknowledge it. I also know that women don't talk about this openly. When it's talked about, details aren't shared. Often, the question is; how does this happen? I don't know how it is for others, but this is how it happened for me.
The day after I had my first baby, I felt great. I had made it, he had made it, and side note -- because I'd experienced two miscarriages before him -- it felt like the biggest miracle I would ever know. The nurses were kind and nurturing. Then they sent us home.
It took his dad and me almost twenty minutes to change the first diaper. We didn't know what we were doing. After two days, his dad went back to work. No paternity leave for us.
When you come home with a baby and especially the first, everything literally changes overnight. There is no amount of preparation to be ready. Eating, sleeping, and pooping are all that matters. Whether you are nursing or not, this little life initially has to be fed every two or three hours, around the clock. Sleep deprivation kicks in. After a week, I found myself crying a lot and began to feel something new: dread. Dread for me became my norm. The moment I woke up: dread. What had I done? How could I take care of a baby? I was terrified, every day, every minute.
On Mothers Day, when my son was two months old, my Dad came for a visit. He was thrilled; I was a mess. I tried to tell him how lost I was but he didn't get it. I think he assumed that what I was experiencing was normal. I wasn't sleeping, even when I could. I adored my baby but couldn't imagine that I was able to take care of him. I couldn't imagine ever being able to go back to work. I was in a stuck place of fear.
When my best friend came for a visit, she couldn't believe what she saw. I was a mess. I couldn't figure out how to brush my teeth or take a shower. I simply couldn't take care of myself. The energy I had was given to the person who needed it, my bright-eyed baby, but that was all.
By Father's Day, I knew I needed help. A former therapist of mine suggested I reach out to psych nurse she knew. It was an appointment that changed everything. This nurse was *the* person I needed, right then. She was unfazed with what I was telling her and was able to suggest that I try some meds to help get me back on track. I left that appointment being grateful for the prescription AND for being taken seriously.
After that, it got better. It wasn't easy but I began to feel more like myself. More present, more grateful, less dread.
By the time, my baby turned six months old, I was significantly better. Six months may not sound like much time, but when you are in deep despair, when every day feels like hell, weeks feel like years. I look back on this time of life and it feels like it must have gone on for years, because that is exactly how it felt. That's how it works, and when you are in hell, you have no idea that you will ever emerge
When I see new mothers, I ask them how they are doing. Even when I say I experienced postpartum depression, they often quickly tell me they are fine. I always hope that's true, but if not, I am hoping I planted a seed for them to reach out and ask for help.
I also think about the healthcare I have access to; I know I have been privileged to get what I needed. What about those without good insurance, access to doctors? How do they get any kind of care for themselves and their babies? When we talk about generational poverty and inequity, this is part of it. How do we break that cycle?
People also wonder: why? Why do some of us experience this but not others? There are ideas about there being a history of depression, either diagnosed or undiagnosed, but to me, that's less important than simply having an awareness of it at all.
Having a new baby is tough whether or not you experience this. The percentage of women experiencing it range from 6-20% of new moms. It's just a guess. No one one knows. I just assume all new parents are struggling. Think about it. Why not assume that? It takes a village to raise a child, remember?
When my baby turned one, we celebrated. My Dad couldn't come but when I talked to him, I was able to tell him how much better I was doing. I got choked up, reminding him of something he had told me once. He said that he knew others who'd had parents late in life and never regretted it. I was 40 when my baby was born. I told him: "I thought I was going to miss out on this, this being a mom. I am so glad I didn't miss this."
It's still true. My baby will be 22 soon, still with bright eyes. Joined later by a sibling. My heart can't possibly love them more.
Every baby should be so loved.
Peace.
