But admitting that I am mentally unstable and medicated? That is a challenge. Postpartum mood disorders are like the elephant in the room. Your friends and family will ask if your breast feeding, if your perineal tearing is healing, if you had a c-section, what kind of birth control you have chosen, but no one (well rarely) will ask how your moods are. No one REALLY wants to open up that can of worms because they are afraid of what you might say.
I think people saw me start to crumble at the edges before I admitted it myself. I think this because looking back multiple people gave me "the look". The one that says "you seem a little unstable but I'm afraid of offending you since this could be new motherhood and I think you already don't like me anyway so lets just talk about the weather shall we?" There was one time when I even offered an opportunity to some family members... I said "I think I might go back on meds to help with my transition to work" which was given a "oh yes, that could be a good idea. Are you hungry?"
No one asked. I wanted someone to ask because I couldn't cough it up on my own. The day I cracked and called my doctor was a rough day. I opted to call my PCP since I felt like I would fall off my OB/GYNs radar... they would treat me and then send me packing. Maybe not, but in a moment of clarity I knew I needed to talk with someone who would be caring for me for many years, not just when my uterus was carrying my offspring. Anyway, it was hard to admit even to her. She said "tell me what is going on" and I sat there stunned for a moment... you could hear my blood in my eye sockets it was so quiet.
I'm angry. I am always fucking angry. I am only not angry when I have my baby. I can't breathe. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't stop eating. I want to run away. I feel guilty about having to go back to work. When my baby is out of my sight I am paralyzed. I freeze right where I am until I can see her again. When she so much as whimpers, I jump out of my skin, worried that something terrible is about to happen. I never let her cry. Every time we get in the car I think silently "if we get an accident please please please let it not be serious." I can't drive or go for walks without picturing our terrible demise. I don't let anyone else go up and down stairs with my baby. I don't let anyone else bathe her. I don't let anyone else change her diapers. There isn't another person in the world that I trust right now.
That's what I told her. And she told me not to worry. That there was light at the end of the tunnel. That this is far more normal than I might realize and that I was a good mom. I needed to hear that. I slept really well that night.
No one asked. I wanted someone to ask because I couldn't cough it up on my own. The day I cracked and called my doctor was a rough day. I opted to call my PCP since I felt like I would fall off my OB/GYNs radar... they would treat me and then send me packing. Maybe not, but in a moment of clarity I knew I needed to talk with someone who would be caring for me for many years, not just when my uterus was carrying my offspring. Anyway, it was hard to admit even to her. She said "tell me what is going on" and I sat there stunned for a moment... you could hear my blood in my eye sockets it was so quiet.
I'm angry. I am always fucking angry. I am only not angry when I have my baby. I can't breathe. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't stop eating. I want to run away. I feel guilty about having to go back to work. When my baby is out of my sight I am paralyzed. I freeze right where I am until I can see her again. When she so much as whimpers, I jump out of my skin, worried that something terrible is about to happen. I never let her cry. Every time we get in the car I think silently "if we get an accident please please please let it not be serious." I can't drive or go for walks without picturing our terrible demise. I don't let anyone else go up and down stairs with my baby. I don't let anyone else bathe her. I don't let anyone else change her diapers. There isn't another person in the world that I trust right now.
That's what I told her. And she told me not to worry. That there was light at the end of the tunnel. That this is far more normal than I might realize and that I was a good mom. I needed to hear that. I slept really well that night.
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