I share a lot online. I have an active Twitter account and tweet about my day-to-day shenanigans as a mom, wife, and startup CEO. I blogged through my husband’s battle with cancer last year, sharing the raw emotions from his diagnosis all the way through his treatment. But of all the things I’ve shared online, there’s been one thing I haven’t.
Around five weeks after my pregnancy, I was officially diagnosed with severe postpartum depression. I’ve told some people about it before, but I haven’t ever gone into detail about what happened to me. Like many moms, I was ashamed.
Depending on the person, the manifestation of the disease can be different. I never had thoughts of harming my daughter, but I had frequent thoughts of harming myself. I had convinced myself that I was absolutely unfit to be a mother and that the only way to make the situation “right” for my daughter would be if I took my own life so that others who were more fit to raise her would step up. I knew that no one would believe I was unfit to be a mother if I was living, so therefore, I had to be dead. I firmly believed that it was the only way out.
In retrospect, it was the perfect storm of events that led to my depression spiraling out of control. A day after my daughter was sent home with us, we found ourselves back in the NICU because of an episode where she lost consciousness. While she was in the NICU, I also moved back into the hospital so I could be close to her. I stayed in a tiny hospital room where I was on call to breastfeed her. I couldn’t leave to even get food or shower, because as soon as one breastfeeding session finished, I would pump to increase my supply, and then it was time to breastfeed her again.
When we finally took her home, she was healthy, but I was mentally and physically depleted. I was still recovering from giving birth, but I hadn’t really slept, eaten, or given my body any time to heal.
The suicidal thoughts that started forming in the hospital really came to a head once we all got home for good. I remember late one night I was cleaning my breast pump parts and I thought that I should kill myself at that moment because everyone was asleep. But I was too tired. Honestly, the sheer exhaustion was the only thing that saved my life those first few weeks.
For each person, how you get better is different. Serious postpartum depression is almost always best treated with professional help, but sometimes getting the help you need is the hardest and most daunting part.
For me, there were two things that were really vital to my recovery. First, I talked to other parents and heard what I was experiencing was normal. This helped me admit to my doctor that I had a problem and put me on the road to recovery. Second, I forced myself to get out of the house, with and without my daughter. This helped me feel like a human again and just the sheer physical activity of going places with my daughter helped me return to health.
If you would have told me 1.5 years ago that today I’d be happier than I’ve ever been, I wouldn’t have believed you. I want other mothers who are struggling with postpartum depression to know that it does get better. Today I have a healthy, beautiful, happy toddler and I wake up every day thankful that she’s in my life. While I still find parenting challenging at times, I no longer feel that challenge is insurmountable. I also now run my own company, Winnie, with the express goal of making parents’ lives easier. I would have never had the idea for this company had I not become a parent.
I never thought I’d say this, but I love being a mom. Moms, you are not alone. Postpartum depression is a real disease, but the good news is it can be cured. I’m living proof.
