Victoria M

There was never a time in my life that I knew I wanted to be a mother. The thought had crossed my mind, but it was never a strong desire. So when my spouse and I found out we were going to be parents, we didn’t know exactly how to react. There was  a lot of excitement and a lot of fear but we were in it together.

I was diagnosed with depression as a teen and when I found out I was pregnant, I was in a really good place. I started to feel the symptoms of my depression again when I was on bed rest. I was a tutor at the time and thankfully I was able to continue my tutoring sessions from home, but being home 24/7 with few reprieves threw me for a loop. I started falling behind in my stay-at-home duties and my spouse could never understand when I told him I couldn’t get out of bed that day. I was raised to be a strong, independent woman and letting go that was one of the hardest things I had ever had to do. I wasn’t contributing to my family in a way that I understood. I stayed at home with the blinds drawn, eating whatever we had in the pantry. The few times I pushed myself and left the house, I would have contractions and be admitted for preterm labor.

I was admitted 3 times for a week each admittance. My sweet, sweet man stayed with me a few nights in the hospital. But during the day I was alone, wondering if today was the day I would have my son. I had no control over my own pregnancy anymore and it was terrifying. I had a cardiac episode my last week in the hospital and my blood pressure and heart rate were so elevated that I had to be given sedatives to prevent my heart from stopping. I remember thinking if I was going to die, they could deliver my son and I could avoid being a mom altogether.

In the end, Little Leo was breech and I ended up having a c-section at 39 weeks.

When I had my son, Xavier, my spouse stayed home with me for a few days and I felt like I could do it. I could be a mom and mold this tiny human. After he returned to work, my emotional stability and bond with Leo took a nose dive. I wasn’t able to get out of bed. I cried most of the day. I looked at my son and I knew that he was mine, but I felt like I was babysitting someone else’s child.  I was breastfeeding and Leo would stay up and cry and I was so alone in our apartment that I would disconnect from reality and my feelings completely.I went through the motions of being a mother but my mind had checked out. Leo was lactose intolerant and after 3 weeks of breastfeeding, we switched him to soy formula (and eventually to Allimentum) and he finally slept. But I had failed him as a mother. I was supposed to be breastfeeding! Breast is Best! Around this time,  the swelling from my c-section had gone down and in the midst of battling with myself and how much I felt I was failing, I made the mistake of stepping on the scale.

Before I became pregnant, I was a size 0 and 105 lbs. I lived on Taco Bell and tea. 3 weeks after birth, I was 155 lbs and a size 13. My identity was wrapped in my weight and I believed everyone when they said I would “bounce back” and return to a pre-pregnancy weight soon after birth. On top of feeling hopeless and as if I would never want to be Leo’s mother, my anxiety piqued and the action of eating became a source of my anxiety attacks. My brain would tell me that I was fat and fat women didn’t get to eat. I could no longer eat in public because in my mind, I was a literal pig with food on my face and everyone in the restaurant knew it. I was afraid that they would look at me and think I was fat and that I didn’t deserve to eat. So I either didn’t eat at all or I would only eat foods that I knew I could eat easily with a fork and knife and no unexpected appearances. (The strange rules of an eating disorder!)

I was still obsessed with the idea of being an equal partner and my inability to provide financially for my family ate away at me. I thought I would pass the time in the day by finding a mom group in the DFW area. I stumbled upon this group on Meetup called Wings for Wellness, a group for mothers struggling with postpartum depression and anxiety. I made the promise to myself to go. I must have looked so raggety on my first meeting, but I pulled myself together long enough to do this one thing. That meeting is where I met Shelley and Karen.

It was strange to share my struggles so openly. I wasn’t expecting support. I was recommended to Dr. Lorenzo Triana for my medication management. I continued to attend meetings when I can and started seeing Dr Triana for everything buy my eating issues. My depression was confirmed and I was given both an antidepressant and eventually an anti anxiety medication. Part of me knew I needed to get better and another part of me was convinced I was not worth the self care it would take to get better. But I had already been diagnosed with depression. I knew the drill. I hated that I wasn’t good enough to fix myself. I was this new person and I didn’t know my new identity as a mother and I hated it. I hated being home with Leo because I looked at him and I wanted to love him, but I just didn’t.

Dr. Triana told me to do something for myself every day. I started a multi-media diary, using paints and reciepts and everything I could to document my day in a way that visually made sense to me. I was taking the meds I needed to be taking but it felt like they weren’t enough.

And then a light turned on for me. I wasn’t fixed, but I could get out of bed. I went back to work as a teacher in August of 2014. Leo was 6 months old and little by little, I saw my sense of humor, my passion come back and my desire to be a mother come back. I looked at my son and I knew he was mine. I knew I loved him and I would do anything for him. I was able to look at Xavier and know that he was my partner and that he loved me. Again, I wasn’t fixed, but I was slowly getting better.

Eventually, I saw a therapist for my issues with food. I was diagnosed with Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID) and started seeing Rosanne Elling. (Rosanne was my therapist when I was a teenager with depression!) After a lot of work, tears, and hundreds of meals, I found myself putting on my Large tops and my size 11 pants and loving my body. I wasn’t a size 0, but I was worth self love.

Writing this, Leo is 18 months. I’m going into my second year of teaching. I have found my way out of darkness and into a much, much brighter future. I still take medications (with a few tweaks,) and I still have days that are gloomy, but I love my family and I love myself. I love being a mother and I love my body. I can honestly say that it does get better- that it will get better.

Victoria M - Richardson, Texas

 
Jenn K

According to www.depressionanxietyhelp.net, Postpartum depression, also known as post natal depression, can make an individual feel restless, anxious, fatigued or even worthless. In some cases the new mother can develop even more serious symptoms such as: stops eating, has trouble sleeping, becomes frantic or even paranoid. This type of depression could begin at any time within the first three months after delivery of a child. The condition is surprisingly common. Current data suggests that 5 to 9 percent of women will develop postpartum depression, but less than one in five of these women will seek professional help (Jacobs, 68), but many women recover because of a support group or counseling.

I was in that 5 to 9 percent of women who developed PPD but did not seek professional help. In fact, I did not share this information with anyone. My husband did not know the extent of it until one of my best friends was going through it herself, and I relived it while helping her. My experience with PPD was one of the most frightening and loneliest times of my life. I had been blessed with this beautiful amazing angel and all I could do was cry. It felt like the four walls were closing in on me and I had no idea what to do. I thought being a mom was what I had always wanted, but now that I was one, I was not so sure. I missed the ‘outside world’ of all my friends, my job and the company of others. There were times, when my husband would come home from work and the baby was asleep, that I would be in our closet crying. He would ask me what was wrong and I would tell him I felt overwhelmed, lonely and scared. Of what? I was not sure, but those were the feelings I was having. There would be good times and bad throughout the day. By the fouth week of my daughter’s life, I knew I had to try to help myself. I could not allow myself to continue to live in the ‘fog’ that engulfed me. So I forced myself to take her for walks each morning without fail, and by the sixth week of her life I was feeling much better and pretty much my old self again. I then started meeting one of my other best friends with her baby and we would walk and talk. I did not realize at the time how much that had helped me in my recovery. I truly have no idea what would have happened if I did not have the loving, caring, understanding support of my husband during this time of my life. I was embarrassed to have these feelings and scared that if I shared them with others (professionals) that something bad would happen to me, or worse, to my daughter and husband. Thankfully, I never had thoughts of suicide or hurting my daughter. My PPD only lasted six weeks, but those six weeks were the toughest of my life thus far.

If after you have your child or children and have any of the above mentioned symptoms, please talk to someone about your feelings, whether it be a friend or professional. You should not think that you have a character flaw or a general weakness. This is sometimes simply part of giving birth. I was fortunate enough to be able to work through my PPD without professional help; but if I were to have these feelings again, I would seek a local support group and/or counseling. When it was time to think about another child, I did so without hesitation of the PPD returning. I knew I had a strong support system in place this time around, and I now have two beautiful, healthy, happy, strong children whom I absolutely love and adore.

Jenn K - Dallas, Texas

Jennifer C

I had the same dream growing up as many girls do. From the time I was very young, I couldn’t wait to get married and have a family. When my husband and I found out we were pregnant I freaked out. I was 33 years old and this was unexpected. I had this vision of how it was supposed to be but my reality was nothing like my childhood dreams. I knew my baby was a blessing but I was fearful I wouldn’t be a good mother. I spent my twenties and early thirties battling depression so thought I was not fit to be a mother. I had finally found a good counselor and had overcome most of my issues. Due to my history, I prepared myself for postpartum depression.

The day my son Jacob was born was the happiest day of my life. I was overjoyed with my little angel. I recall only one bad day when we first came home from the hospital. I called my best friend crying hysterically asking her to promise me that it got better. She quickly reminded me that she was pregnant with baby number 3 and there was no way she would be there if it didn’t get better. She offered some advice. She told me that any woman who says that early on she wasn’t on the floor of her closet at least once crying her eyes out would be lying! I made a decision that day. I could either fall apart or pull it together. For some reason beyond me, I was able to pull it together. I couldn’t believe it, simply one day of “baby blues” and no depression! It was a miracle.

My husband and I decided to have another baby when Jacob was around two years old. I was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant again! My pregnancy was easier and there was no anxiety. I just knew everything was going to be even better this time around. While I was more relaxed this time, I worried constantly that I was not going to love another child as much as I loved Jacob. He was my little man. We did everything together. Even though I worked full time, my husband worked longer hours than I did so I spent a lot of alone time with Jacob.
Sam’s birth went fine but when I looked at him it didn’t feel the same as Jacob. I felt terrible for even thinking that. To this day, I feel guilty about that. Here was this sweet little angel looking at me and I kept thinking you aren’t Jacob. During my hospital stay I didn’t try very hard to connect with Sam because I knew he and I would have plenty of time together at home. I rarely held him because I knew when I got home I would be holding him all the time. When I got home I didn’t have the late night bonding I thought I would have with Sam. He was such a great baby. He only cried when he was tired or hungry and went straight back to sleep during the night feedings. He started sleeping through the night at a miraculous 6 ½ weeks. It was as if he knew I had to go back to work.

Work was more difficult to adjust to with this new baby though. I was working as a prosecutor and while on maternity leave they changed my court assignment. I came back to work with a 6 week old baby in a whole new environment. That’s when the wheels fell off. I cried every day on my way to work, even though I loved my job. The littlest thing stressed me out to no end. I felt helpless, out of control, disconnected from everything and didn’t know what was wrong. It never occurred to me that I was suffering from postpartum depression. I didn’t have it the first time around so why would I have it now? I finally went to my doctor and she prescribed medication. It worked immediately, at first. It pulled me out of the slump I was in. I quit crying several times a day and felt like I could function again. That lasted for a couple weeks. Then the depression slowly crept back in.

I began eating to help stuff the guilt I was feeling for being an inadequate mother and employee. I still didn’t understand it though because I had never done that before. I wasn’t balled up in the fetal position on my bed with the covers over my head not eating for days. I was going to work every day. I was functioning. I would look at my sweet boys’ eyes and know that I had to keep going for them. They were the reason I got out of bed every morning but inside I was dying. This cycle of guilt continued for months. I finally started opening up to those around me about some of my feelings. I told Shelley Shook, who I know through work, about what was going on and she encouraged me to talk to someone. I got honest with myself about what was going on and what I was going to do to change it. I knew there were certain things I could change and others that I couldn’t. She asked if I would share my story and I am happy to do so. I think everyone’s situation is unique, just like every individual is unique. I don’t think my postpartum compared to others was bad but it was bad for me. It was scary to me because I kept so much bottled up. On the outside I appeared okay but inside I felt like I was slowly dying. I am so grateful to be on this side of it now, and although I am still a work in progress, I am feeling more like my old self.

Sam is 10 months old now and is the happiest, funniest, sweetest baby I have ever known. Big brother Jacob is 4 years old and can light up Sam’s face just by walking in the room. But honestly, Sam’s biggest smiles come when he’s with me. They are both the lights of my life and I am the luckiest person I know.

Jennifer C - Dallas, Texas

 
Susan A

My husband and I married in our late thirties and were anxious to start a family. When I got pregnant a few months after the wedding, we were overjoyed. We were even more excited when we found out that it was a baby girl. We had a bumpy first trimester plagued with morning sickness, medical scares and a period of bed rest, but nothing could put a damper on our excitement. Unfortunately, everything changed at the beginning of my second trimester.

My illness struck out of nowhere. My husband describes it as a switch being flipped. It was a typical Monday morning when I experienced a massive panic attack. I'd had some minor anxiety in the past, but this was different. I couldn't calm myself down. I skipped work that day and lay huddled on the couch praying for relief. My condition rapidly worsened from there. I became scared of the dark… of sleeping… of eating… and particularly of being alone. I couldn't handle separation from my husband and would shadow him around the house. I would pace endlessly at night because I was already worried about him leaving for work the next day. What was most frustrating is that I couldn't identify a reason for my fears. I was constantly on red alert, but I wasn't sure for what. I didn't know what was happening to me. I became desperate for help. I tried meditation, exercise, massage and prayer with little relief. My doctor started me on a mild medication for anxiety, but that didn't help either. Amazingly, I was still able to drag myself to work, but I couldn't perform at my usual level. I would spend hours crying in a back stairwell and had to call my husband repeatedly for comfort. I'm fortunate to have had an understanding boss and workplace during this difficult time.

Things worsened further from there and eventually I no longer wanted to be pregnant. I wanted out of the situation in any way possible. I couldn't tolerate thinking about the baby or preparing for her arrival. I cringed inside when someone would ask how I was doing. This was supposed to be the happiest time of my life… what would they think if I answered honestly? I plodded through each day thinking about my approaching due date with dread. I was dropping weight and only sleeping for a couple hours at night. One morning I was so disoriented that I drove in front of a train just as the gates were closing. My situation was getting dangerous and we had to do something.

Luckily a few different things began to happen. I had a great doctor who insisted that I start therapy and try more aggressive medication. I resisted as long as I could since the idea of taking pills increased my panic. My husband also had concerns about medication during pregnancy. We met with a psychiatrist and a therapist who allayed our fears and we eventually agreed that I should give it a try. Around this time I also met Karen Erschen of Wings for Wellness. I had worked with her husband during her pregnancy and remembered when he had to leave work to care for her. I reached out to him and he put me in contact with Karen. This was one of the most crucial aspects of my recovery. It was a relief to finally talk to someone who understood what I was going through.

With therapy, medication and support from Wings for Wellness, I gradually began to experience glimmers of my old self. I would find something funny and laugh. I 'd want to shop for my baby girl or decorate her nursery. These moments were often fleeting and I'd feel like it was hopeless… but I was still healing. I've heard recovery described like the game 'Chutes and Ladders'. The chutes were devastating, but I began to realize that they were always followed by ladders. Gradually I gained confidence in my recovery and was able to go in a baby store and register. I was able to attend a childbirth class. I was able to have a baby shower. These things were still difficult, but at least I was doing it. One day I woke up and realized that I was excited about her arrival again.

I consider myself lucky to have recovered before my daughter's birth. It was a sweet ending to spend our first wedding anniversary together in the hospital with our new baby girl… the greatest gift! I couldn't be happier today and my daughter is the love of my life. My story is still difficult to recount, but I think it's important to share. I want women to know that this can happen during pregnancy and that you are not alone. Most importantly, with help you WILL recover.

Susan A - Allen, Texas