You can read Part 1, 2, 3, and 4 here.
I was numb. I was exhausted, always fighting to keep my eyes open. I was gaining weight rapidly and all of this frustrated me. The medication that I was put on in the hospital that ultimately saved my life had many unpleasant side effects.
I literally felt nothing. I was put on an anti-psychotic which numbed me from feeling. It was designed to knock you out and I was nearly on a full dose of it to stabilize me. I also mentally struggled with the weight gain. Nothing fit. I had gained 40 lbs in 3 three weeks… With a weight gain that fast I was devastated. I had to wait nearly four weeks after being released from the hospital to see the psychiatrist. In the meantime life was still really hard. The only improvement made was that I no longer wanted to end my life and I was no longer being haunted by hallucinations. Continue reading
*This blog post is an excerpt from my journal. Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, and hospitalization*
You can read Part 1, 2, and 3 here.
Written Feb 14, 2019. Events took place the end of January.
I don’t think any husband imagines a day when he’d have to walk his wife into the mental hospital. I sure don’t think mine did. We’d been married nearly 7.5 years when my postpartum mental illness finally escalated out of control. It had gradually gotten worse after each birth. Now four sons in I could see no way out.
It was exactly 18 month prior we found ourselves driving to the birthing center for the birth of our unexpected son. He would be the caboose of our family, totaling four boys in five years.
Now 18 month later I sobbed as my husband drove to the mental hospital. I wouldn’t be home there next morning to see my baby be 18 months. I wouldn’t get a picture of us. What hurt the most was the reality that I could never be in another photo again. Never be at another birthday, never play with my kids again. I could steal all those innocent kid years from them in an instant when I wasn’t being myself. Continue reading
You can read Part 1, and 2 here
*Warning- talk of suicide*
I wouldn’t have imaged trying to find help would be so difficult. I was always led to believe that the hardest part is recognizing you need help and then telling someone. Speaking up, asking for help. No, trying to find that help turned out to be so much harder.
We spent days looking up therapists in our area who said on their website that they specialize in postpartum depression. We made countless calls, leaving as many voice mails as calls to never have a single one respond. It was two weeks leading up to Christmas but still I would have expected a response. Continue reading
You can read Part 1 here.
I wish I could say that I was brave enough to seek help but I didn’t. My husband, Trevor, knew I had Postpartum Depression but was clueless about the anxiety and the hallucinations I was experiencing.
I never knew how I was going to make it through the day let alone the next task. I felt like I was drowning. I was in the depth of despair and yet managed to fake it enough to have everyone fooled. Continue reading
I was done. I had 3 boys in under 3 years. I had them young. When my third was born I was only 22.
My hands were full. Busy was the only word I could use to describe my day but still it wasn’t adequate enough to describe the chaos of what I lovingly referred to as my “wild things”.
Even so I was a very intentional with my boys. I made sure I was on the ground playing with them, jumping on the tramp with them, watching a million eapisodes of whatever their favorite tv show was at the time. Continue reading
Something that’s not often talked about is grief. Grief isn’t just for when you lose someone you love. Grief comes for many other reasons. Most often in motherhood grief is talked about for those you’ve lost a baby, I’ve grieved through three miscarriages myself, or for those trying for a baby grieving something they want but have not yet had.
There’s another grief that isn’t spoken about. The grief of having a child you were not expecting. The grief of losing the life you had. Maybe your plans, sacrificing your body for 9 months then sharing it still to nourish the baby. The grieving of your personal space you’d just regained or perhaps never had to share before.
For me it was grieving so much more than that. Grieving my body that’s I’d just worked so hard to get healthy and fit again after the three previous children, grieving my mental health that I lost because of sever postpartum mood disorder and postpartum PTSD. Grieving because I am no longer the interactive mother I once was. Grieving because having this baby strained the relationships had with my other children. Grieving because of having postpartum mood disorder and feeling it was unfair the severity of it.
So often I feel like I have to keep this to myself to not hurt those wanting a baby but the truth is my grief and pain deserve to be heard and recognized as much as the next person.
It hurts when you tell me
“At least you could have a baby because so-n-so can’t and wants one so bad.”
That’s not fair to not validate what I feel. My voice deserves to equally be heard. I’m not alone in my grief. I’m just the one brave enough to speak up.
I hope that through speaking out and normalizing this form of grief that one day it will be met with the same understanding and respect as any other form of grief.
Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.— Oscar Wilde.
I’ve had this quote sitting in my drafts for 3 months knowing I wanted to use it. It is so powerful to me. Ive thought about it a lot lately. What does it mean to me? Why is it so powerful?
I’ve had a lot of unexpected life events as of late. Paths I never thought I’d have to go through. For example I never thought I’d go through postpartum psychosis. Continue reading