Secondly, I’m going to touch on a subject which people seem to forget about. A subject which lies close to my heart.
I can’t fault the media for raising awareness of this topic every now and again, but it seems to be that as soon as its coverage has finished, it’s forgotten. It’s that age old out of sight, out of mind scenario.
The topic today is PND. Post Natal Depression.
I’d like to start my boohooing those who claim that depression is “Just all in your head” or that it isn’t a “real illness”. It really frustrates me when I come across people who are this ignorant. It is very real, and it’s been known to destroy lives. I’m speaking from first-hand experience, and the reason I’m writing this today, is not for sympathy, not for a pat on the back and a well done for overcoming the worst of it and speaking out about it. I’m trying to raise awareness because a lot of women, like I did, will suffer in silence. I knew something wasn’t quite right after having Amelia, but I never said anything as I didn’t want to seem weak or unable to care for my baby. I didn’t want to feel like a failure. I’m a very proud person and therefore admitting anything like that to myself, never mind other people, would have finished me off…. Or so I thought. It all started with what felt like a really low self-esteem, followed by this overwhelming sense of being out of control and so low, that I’d spend the majority of my days in tears. Most women suffer from the baby blues (around 85% actually), but this generally subsides after around two weeks. I mean let’s face it, being a parent is hard work, let alone being a new one. There’s no baby manual, you’re just expected to know what to do. Most people struggle to set the time on their microwave, never mind suddenly being in charge of a little person who’s only way of communicating with you is to scream in various tones and decibels (for those who don’t know, these are loud, louder and loudest!) My ‘baby blues’ went on for months. I’d have these horrendous thoughts, almost like nightmares of me hurting my baby, even though I knew in my heart I could never harm her. I would keep the front door and windows locked as I was convinced someone would try and steal her. She was the most beautiful, precious thing in the world to me. I couldn’t sleep. I was drained. I was exhausted. And yet as soon as my head hit that pillow, I couldn’t drift off. I’d start wandering around my own mind aimlessly, or silently sobbing into my pillow, or watching her sleep because I had this irrational fear that one day she wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t want her dad anywhere near me. I was convinced I was fat and ugly and that people didn’t like me. I felt like he could do better and he knew this. If he offered to take her out for a walk or for a drive in the car, I’d think it was because he wanted to get away and couldn’t stand to be around me. It never crossed my mind that he just wanted to give me a break so I could rest. I didn’t want to go out, I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to stay in with my baby, where I knew she would be safe. It was quite possibly the loneliest, darkest place I’ve ever been. I had an amazing friend, and although we don’t speak now, I’ll never forget what she did for me. – I don’t generally use people’s real names, but Claire, if you’re reading this, thank you, from the bottom my heart, thank you! She would come down every Friday morning without fail, to pick us both up and take us out for lunch. She would literally make me get dressed and go with her, even if I said I didn’t want to. Unbeknown to me initially, that she’d actually been through all this herself and had recognised the signs and symptoms. Amelia was only four months old when I found out I was pregnant with Will. I cried. I couldn’t go through all this again! How could I take care of two babies?!? I don’t know if it was the extra boost of hormones or what, but I started feeling better again. I felt like I could do this and started getting excited. I couldn’t wait to meet our next bundle of joy. I went back to work in April and finally felt like me again. I even worked up until the week before my due date, which in hindsight was pointless as he was two weeks late. He’s still a stubborn little monkey now! I had a tough labour with Will. I was due to be induced on the Wednesday and my contractions started Tuesday night at 5.08pm. They were every twenty minutes and we thought “Yes! He’s going to be here tonight!!” WRONG! He wasn’t…. in fact, after a badly placed epidural, lost heartbeat, a second epidural and an emergency C Section, our (not so) little bruiser was finally born at 6:47pm on Thursday evening, weighing in at a decent 8lb 12oz. Yes he looked like a monkey, but he was my monkey, and I loved him! I was doing brilliantly, everybody said so… but it was a different story behind closed doors. It was at our eight week check up at the Dr’s when she asked that fateful question “And how are you doing?” I broke down. “I’m not!” I sobbed. She was amazing. She took Will from me, passed me the tissues and quickly passed him off to the reception staff who spent a good twenty minutes cooing over him whilst she spoke to me. “Have you felt like this before?” She asked. “Yes. After I had Amelia,” I whimpered into a tissue. “That’s a long to time to be in such a dark place without telling anyone Anna. It sounds like you have post natal depression,” she explained. “No! No I don’t! I don’t want to go on medication! I’ll be fine!” I said, panicking. What would people think? She then explained that if I’d broken my arm or leg they would simply put a cast on to protect the injury until it had healed. It’s the same with the medication. It wouldn’t be a quick fix or make me better, but what it would do is keep me on an even keel and stop me from getting worse. I reluctantly agreed. She also gave me some sleeping tablets, which they’re not supposed to do. “Only one!” She said, “A couple of nights a week, and you must make sure your partner is in and you must tell him when you’re taking them!” She directed. The anti-depressants were one a day, she said I’d feel hung-over for the first couple of weeks and then start to feel a bit better. The whole time I was sat there, all I could think about was how was I going to tell J? What would he think of me? My heart sunk and I felt like I needed to be sick. “He’s going to think I’m a failure,” I thought. I was so scared of his response I wasn’t even going to tell him. My mum suggested otherwise and anyway, I had to tell him about the sleeping tablets. I text him as I was stood at the bus stop. I couldn’t even say the words to myself, never mind to his face. “I have post natal depression” I was so ashamed. In true J style, he acknowledged it and then pretended it never existed. I suppose it was easier for him. For me, not so much. It felt like I had to go through this on my own. After two and half weeks on medication I was feeling no better and so they doubled my dose. After a month, I was getting my life back. Kind of. I was still struggling in social situations. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose and was sure people thought me more rude than quiet. I was easily offended and would often relapse for a few days if I thought I’d upset someone or if people didn’t like me. Around sixteen months later, I took on the pub with my mum. I was suddenly forced into a situation where I had to be social, I had to be professional, I had to be presentable. Gone were the days of sitting at home feeling sorry for myself and feeling guilty for putting my family through this. It was around two weeks of fifteen hour shifts before I realised I’d not been taking my happy pills. I remember being stood behind the bar and feeling like someone had shook my head. I lost my balance and went a bit dizzy, but you know what? A sense of pride washed over me. I’ve not taken my tablets, and I’ve been fine. I was coming through this. I must add at this point, you should NOT come off your medication without speaking to your doctor, friends and family. It can be really dangerous and you need the support of the people around you if you relapse! I made the decision then and there to come off my medication. I had a new focus. I didn’t have time to dwell, I had my family around me now. I could do this! And I did. I’m still aware I’m suffering nearly four years after it started. It’s something I have to live with. I have good days, I have bad days, sometimes bad weeks. But I know now, that I have nothing to fear. I won’t be judged if I go to the doctors and ask for help. I know that’s exactly what they’ll do. They’ll help me. I'm no doctor, but from someone who's been there and got the t-shirt, my advice to you, if you or someone you know is feeling like I did, speak to someone. Go get the help you need. Your babies need you, and if you don’t look after yourself properly, you won’t be able to take care of them properly. There is NO shame in asking for help. None! I’m not going to lie to you by saying it’s going to be easy, it’s not, by any stretch. In fact, it’s chuffing hard, because you have to admit it to yourself, but you know what, the sooner you ask for help, the sooner you can’t start getting your life back and focusing on what’s important – You and you’re children! Peace Out! A x For more information on Postnatal Depression check out the link before – http://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/postnatal-depression/ | “Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had and dealing with fears you didn’t know existed” |