OK, I am joking, because actually, compared to his big sister, Matthew sleeps beautifully at night, well apart from the past three weeks which those who "know" call the 4 month growth spurt, where he has just been awake in the night, and not wanting to sleep, despite Mama begging, pleading and otherwise...! He is back to sleeping at night, but during the day THIS BOY WILL NOT SLEEP! He literally nap for 20 minutes, 30 if I am lucky, which is not a heck of a lot.... I barely get anything done, and poor Em is getting a bit neglected! (thank goodness she goes to nursery, or she would be hooked on CBeebies, as I seem to spend a lot of my time either frantically trying to tidy, or trying to persuade her brother to go back to sleep when he has decided a 20 minute cat nap is sufficient!) All my friends tell me it will pass, except for one honest friend, Nina who cheerfully told me that her second son was a bad napper, and he didn't improve! Thanks Nina, at least I am not living in la la land and you can console me when Kim and Aggie (How Clean is Your House?) come to my house to fumigate and clean it because I haven't had time to even find the vacuum cleaner much less use it, and I need a shoulder to cry on!
OK, maybe I shouldn't moan, he does sleep at night, but oh, when I hear people tell me he "should" be taking at least 2 long naps in the day, I just laugh, and say "tell him that, please?"
I give up, entirely. My home will slowly get messier, I will just let Emily loose with the pile of paper to be filed, and let her learn to use the shredder, because lets face it, I so don't have time to sit and file all the bank statements, insurance documents and important paperwork. I will randomly clean bits of the house when I find a spare moment, and Matthew will probably develop an early appreciation for Barbie dolls and play dough as I bounce him on my lap when he is tired and whiny, (from, ahem, not napping) whilst trying to spend time with his big sister, who it has to be said, has handled his arrival and the fact that her Mummy gets little time with her right now, remarkably well.
My son wont sleep, but heck, he is very cute, sociable, ahead of himself in his developmental milestones, and weighs 19lb and 7oz at 5 months. I cant win them all I guess. Now I am off to hunt down a clean pair of boxers for my poor husband, who has given up asking "is there any clean underwear" and has started bringing home chocolate more regularly for his frazzled wife, because he knows that sometimes only chocolate will do when I haven't stopped all day!
Oh and before all the sleep "experts" out there chime in... I am not prepared to leave him to cry, it breaks my heart, makes my boobs leak (sorry, t.m.i but that's how it is) and we have tried swaddling, rocking, singing, patting, shushing, and all the "techniques" out there. He will nap if I lay on the bed with him, but that is not practicable, I am pretty sure social services would question if I just go to bed for 2 large blocks of the day with Matthew and leave Emily to her own devices (maybe I could train her to clean the house?) so for now, I give up, we soldier on, and one day (I hope and pray) he will do nice long naps for his Mama, and life will feel more under control!
Good night all, I need to go and do all the things I don't get to do in the daytime, then head to bed! Til next time.....
Thursday, 30 September 2010
Sunday, 26 September 2010
I miss my Mum!
I have just posted the long promised story of my walk out of PPD and PPA after the birth of my daughter, sorry for the delay!
This post is about me, and how I feel now.
I am good, I am coping well, I love being a mum to two precious children! Life is utter chaos, my house is never tidy, or very clean, and my admin pile and my to do list grows unchecked and my husband has to rummage through a basket of clean laundry daily to find clean socks and underwear, but hey we are GOOD! Nothing like before, for which daily I thank God, and also my friends and family for their help and support!
I do miss my mum though! She died when I was 18, over Christmas, suddenly, from issues relating to a disease that 16 years ago wasn't much known of, Myeloma, which now, with research and new treatment, sufferers have a much better chance of life and quality of life. I try not to feel bitter, that MY mum didn't get that chance. It isn't for me to question the why's and the why nots. She was very ill, in a lot of pain, and her body couldn't fight any more, and I know if she could have she would have stayed with us, but her time was then.
I went through a lot of hard times, dealing with, understanding and "getting over" her death, and mostly I have been fine, there are memories, and things that even now, make me tender, I still cannot bear the hymn Hark the Herald Angels Sing, because she loved it, and it was played at her funeral, and the Louis Armstrong song "We have all the time in the world" which we bought on CD for her, for Christmas, sadly she never got to open that gift and the smell of the Estee Lauder perfume she liked, will send me down a lane of memories, but time has healed a lot of the pain.
But recently with the birth of my nephew, and the arrival of my son, I often find myself in tears wishing she could see her three beautiful grandchildren and that she would have been terribly proud of my brother and I for over coming a lot of bumps and hurdles in our lives to get where we are, each in our own ways. I wish I could phone her for advice, or just to tell her how clever her granddaughter is becoming, or how big her grandsons are, and I wish she could have held them, and known them. I feel almost like I am grieving again, in a way. I think having children has brought back a lot of memories and feelings, and also an awareness now as a mother myself, just actually how hard being a mum is. I want to be able to tell her I am sorry for being such a stroppy, difficult teenager, and that when she told me things for "my own good" she was actually right, now that I hear myself sounding like her to my own daughter. I also want to tell her I admire her, I know she wasn't perfect, but she was very strong, very determined, very colourful and she had many characteristics I find coming out in me.
I can't bring her back, I can't tell her these things. It hurts sometimes, but I let it go.
I was at a bus stop recently with Em and Matty, waiting to go home from an outing, and an elderly lady was chatting to me, and admiring my children, who I think are pretty gorgeous, and she asked me if I had any family nearby, and I told her my Dad was close by, and my brother and his family, and she asked about my Mum, and I told her she had died 16 years ago. She looked at me, and took my hand, and touched both my children with her other hand, and said, "my dear, I am so sorry, you should not have to be motherless, but I know that your Mum would have been so proud of you and these beautiful babies!" I cried on the bus, poor Emily didn't know why, I had to sing "The wheels on the bus" and "Incey Wincey" in funny voices to assure her I wasn't sad, just sometimes that grown ups cry too, I don't think she believed me!
Anyway, all of you out there who have your mum still with you, give her a hug, tell her you love her, share a moment with her, because we don't appreciate our mother's until we are not able to be with them.
Here's to you Mum, and I know you would smile and be proud and whilst you may not have agreed with everything I have done and will do, that was the nature of our relationship, I loved you, you loved me and us, and that's what I hang on to when I miss you!
Goodnight all! Sleep tight, as Emily said tonight, don't let the bugbeds bite!
This post is about me, and how I feel now.
I am good, I am coping well, I love being a mum to two precious children! Life is utter chaos, my house is never tidy, or very clean, and my admin pile and my to do list grows unchecked and my husband has to rummage through a basket of clean laundry daily to find clean socks and underwear, but hey we are GOOD! Nothing like before, for which daily I thank God, and also my friends and family for their help and support!
I do miss my mum though! She died when I was 18, over Christmas, suddenly, from issues relating to a disease that 16 years ago wasn't much known of, Myeloma, which now, with research and new treatment, sufferers have a much better chance of life and quality of life. I try not to feel bitter, that MY mum didn't get that chance. It isn't for me to question the why's and the why nots. She was very ill, in a lot of pain, and her body couldn't fight any more, and I know if she could have she would have stayed with us, but her time was then.
I went through a lot of hard times, dealing with, understanding and "getting over" her death, and mostly I have been fine, there are memories, and things that even now, make me tender, I still cannot bear the hymn Hark the Herald Angels Sing, because she loved it, and it was played at her funeral, and the Louis Armstrong song "We have all the time in the world" which we bought on CD for her, for Christmas, sadly she never got to open that gift and the smell of the Estee Lauder perfume she liked, will send me down a lane of memories, but time has healed a lot of the pain.
But recently with the birth of my nephew, and the arrival of my son, I often find myself in tears wishing she could see her three beautiful grandchildren and that she would have been terribly proud of my brother and I for over coming a lot of bumps and hurdles in our lives to get where we are, each in our own ways. I wish I could phone her for advice, or just to tell her how clever her granddaughter is becoming, or how big her grandsons are, and I wish she could have held them, and known them. I feel almost like I am grieving again, in a way. I think having children has brought back a lot of memories and feelings, and also an awareness now as a mother myself, just actually how hard being a mum is. I want to be able to tell her I am sorry for being such a stroppy, difficult teenager, and that when she told me things for "my own good" she was actually right, now that I hear myself sounding like her to my own daughter. I also want to tell her I admire her, I know she wasn't perfect, but she was very strong, very determined, very colourful and she had many characteristics I find coming out in me.
I can't bring her back, I can't tell her these things. It hurts sometimes, but I let it go.
I was at a bus stop recently with Em and Matty, waiting to go home from an outing, and an elderly lady was chatting to me, and admiring my children, who I think are pretty gorgeous, and she asked me if I had any family nearby, and I told her my Dad was close by, and my brother and his family, and she asked about my Mum, and I told her she had died 16 years ago. She looked at me, and took my hand, and touched both my children with her other hand, and said, "my dear, I am so sorry, you should not have to be motherless, but I know that your Mum would have been so proud of you and these beautiful babies!" I cried on the bus, poor Emily didn't know why, I had to sing "The wheels on the bus" and "Incey Wincey" in funny voices to assure her I wasn't sad, just sometimes that grown ups cry too, I don't think she believed me!
Anyway, all of you out there who have your mum still with you, give her a hug, tell her you love her, share a moment with her, because we don't appreciate our mother's until we are not able to be with them.
Here's to you Mum, and I know you would smile and be proud and whilst you may not have agreed with everything I have done and will do, that was the nature of our relationship, I loved you, you loved me and us, and that's what I hang on to when I miss you!
Goodnight all! Sleep tight, as Emily said tonight, don't let the bugbeds bite!
Coming out of a dark place... Post Partum anxiety
I haven’t blogged for a long time, I think having had a houseguest staying with us, for an extended period, preparing for the arrival of a small boy, known in utero as Kickboxer, and now he is here as Matthew, and all the fun of trying to run a home, be a wife, mother and keep up with life has meant that blogging has been far from my mind.
Well here I am!
I wanted to put down my thoughts, about Matthew’s birth, and also talk about coming out of a dark place. Some people may know that I suffered from fairly severe Post Partum Depression and Anxiety after the birth of my beautiful Emily, until she was nearly 18 months old. It is not something I have shared much about, I have mentioned it on Facebook, and spoken to some friends about it, but I want write about it, in my blog to share the full story, and of my healing, and walking out of that very dark place which held me and to a large extent, my family prisoner for what seemed like an eternity.
I have only ever felt such fear, anxiety, and just like a heavy heavy weight, and a sense of total abandonment twice in my life, once in the period after my mother passed away for nearly 2 years, and then again after Emily’s birth.
This story is a testimony, because like my recovery from the depression after my mother’s death, and my eventual recovery from my eating disorder, God, not man healed me. I know people reading this who are not Christians will question it but I can testify to healing, and that’s what this is about. I did have help from my g.p, my health visitor and a friend who was a psychiatrist, but ultimately, the healing was a walk of faith for me, and putting my trust in Him who holds and heals!
My pregnancy with Emily was complicated, we had had two miscarriages in the years before becoming pregnant with her, and I had some minor hormonal issues, which meant I had to take progesterone supplements, in order to stay pregnant.
We found out I was pregnant very early, with Emily, and as my friends know, I was very very sick, with not just morning, but all day sickness, until I was 29 weeks pregnant, which was very debilitating, and unpleasant. At 32 weeks pregnant, I started to develop swelling, and my blood pressure began to rise. At 34 weeks, I was put on “rest”, with my feet up at home, to try and minimise the effects of my gradually worsening blood pressure issue. Emily decided enough was enough and arrived at 38 weeks. Her birth was traumatic, very painful, and I was emotionally and physically damaged by it. (for those who are not squeamish, I had a 3-4th degree tear, more stitches than if I had a caesarean section, and couldn’t walk or sit down for weeks, and had issues for months)
Shortly after her birth, whilst I was attempting to breastfeed her, Emily went blue and stopped breathing, only very briefly, and the nurses whisked her away and gave her some Oxygen, and she was fine, and they assured me she wasn’t unwell, but this was almost one of the first triggers that sent me into a spin of anxiety, something I struggle with, and that can take over when I am not in a good place.
When we got home, things seemed to be normal, to the outside world, but in reality, I was in agony, mentally, as well as physically, I refused to sleep, when Emily slept, unless Charles was awake and watching her, because I was convinced she would stop breathing, when we were sleeping, and because she only slept in small stretches, and he had to of course return to work after his paternity leave finished, I soon became sleep deprived but not the normal new Mama sleep deprivation, but much worse, because I couldn’t sleep when she slept. I used to lay awake listening to her breathe all night. This sleep deprivation, combined with anxiety, tumbled me over the edge and I quickly became very depressed, although I was very good at hiding it from the health professionals, my friends (some of whom, I think suspected, and despite their best efforts I would not confess something was wrong) I was terrified, I could not enjoy her, and every time I thought something was wrong, I was magnify it in my mind to the point where what would be a simple cold for her, was to me going to turn into pneumonia, and hospitalisation. Some days I was scared to be left alone with her, not because I would harm her, I would have (and still would, give my life for my children) but because something would go wrong, she would stop breathing, or get ill, and I wouldn’t know what to do. Everyone kept telling me “oh you’re a nurse and you nannied for so long, you are the best person to me a mother, but in fact I felt that couldn’t be further than the truth. I felt that Emily was so beautiful, and so precious, and that I was a dreadful, incompetent mother, who didn’t deserve a child, and that God would take her away from me. This overwhelmed me, and I became very withdrawn, anxious, and not a very nice person to live with, but I was so ashamed of feeling these things, that I couldn’t tell anyone. I thought I should know better, and that as a Christian woman, of nearly 11 years at that point, I should be able to “get a hold of myself” and be normal. And anyhow, how could I tell people that I wasn’t coping with my much wanted, adorable, healthy baby, when I have worked with families whose children have such fragile existences and I have friends battling with infertility who would give their left legs to be blessed with a child?
I went back to work when Emily was 10 months old. This probably made things worse, because my job situation was difficult, and had changed totally since I had left on maternity leave. Sadly, we lost three children (all of whom had complex health needs) in a short space of time, and my boss took a new job role, which left me running a unit of very sick children. I battled on, and put a brave face on things, although of course I felt like I was slowly dying inside. In a dark, dark cave, with walls pressing in on me, so much so that some days I would have panic attacks and not be able to breathe. I tried to pray, I tried to pretend I was ok. Charles knew something was wrong, but I wouldn’t talk to him, and he put up with my moods, my increasing anxiety, and tried to hold us together. Some days I battled to even get dressed, or get it together to cook a meal, or see friends, and the urge to retreat to bed and stay there was something so tempting all the time. I had to soldier on for my daughter, so I did, all the while feeling more dirty, ashamed and angry, and wondering where God was in all of this.
Finally, when Emily was 14 months old, my boss sat me down and challenged me…. She could see I wasn’t coping, with home life, baby or work, and she told me she thought I had Post Partum Depression. As soon as she said it, it felt like a weight was being lifted from me, and it dawned on me what was going on. She sent me to speak to one of our colleagues, a psychiatrist we worked with. She and I had a long chat, and I broke down and cried and cried and cried. She held me, and handed me tissues, and told me not to be ashamed, or angry at myself (I felt, I of all people should have known what was wrong with me) and she told me I was a classic case, and that having had trouble conceiving, after having had miscarriages, a difficult birth, problems with breastfeeding, and the breathing incident in the hospital, combined with being a naturally anxious person by nature, and also a total control freak (my friends who know me, will smile at this) made me totally susceptible to PPD and PPAD (Post Partum Anxiety Disorder) and that I needed to get help. She told me to go home, see my GP, and my health visitor, and to talk to my husband.
I did see my GP, who wanted me to start medication, but because I was breastfeeding, I wouldn’t, despite her assurances it was safe (the control freak in me, I will not take any medication bar paracetamol when breastfeeding) but I did agree to see a mental health nurse for an assessment. She was terribly kind, and helpful, and gently scolded me for letting it go on so long, she has known me for 15 years, and I could have gone to her at any time for help.
I was seen and assessed, and agreed to attend a group for women with late onset PPD, although really, I had been battling from the start. It was good to talk to other women, to realise it wasn’t just me, and that there was in fact NOTHING wrong with me. I wasn’t a bad mother, or a bad person, I had just slipped into a cycle I couldn’t get out of. The words to U2’s tribute song to Michael Hutchence ring in my mind, Bono singing “you’ve got to get yourself together, you’ve got stuck in a moment, that you cant get out of” and I cant hear that song played without crying, still.
The group therapy helped, and I saw a specialist health visitor regularly, but I still was battling with feelings of fear, anxiety and this deep dark depression, and I still felt trapped in my cave of darkness, and still wasn’t sleeping a great deal.
We went on holiday, home to Scotland, when Emily was nearly 17 months old. It was a lovely holiday, and one morning, when Charles had taken Emily out for a walk, I was sitting alone in the cottage we had rented, and I felt like praying. I cried out, and asked God to help me, I was so tired, I was so sore, I was damaging my marriage, I couldn’t be a proper Mother to my wonderful daughter, and I needed to be “well”… I felt a gentle voice say to me “my child, how I have waited for you to come to me” I had of course been running away from Him, avoiding trying to ask for any help, sometimes being angry at Him for letting me get this way, and guilt for feeling angry.
I felt a sense of peace for the first time since before Emily had been born, and could breathe. I cried and cried, till the tears wouldn’t come any more, and that night, I confessed what had been going on to my wonderful, patient and gracious husband, who had known something was wrong but hadn’t known what to do. We talked, and I agreed to let him help me, and to be open with him, and I went to bed, and slept for a longer stretch than I had in a long time.
It wasn’t an instant healing; I had to learn how to get hold of the feelings of anxiety and fear, and take them, and refuse to allow them to bog me down. I slowly became calmer, and was able to feel like I was a good mother, and for the first time in her life, as she turned into a toddler, from a baby, I was able to enjoy being her mother, and to rejoice in her, and not be filled with anxiety and I was slowly walking to what I could now see was the mouth of my very long, dark cave. I still fight with anxiety, it is a fault of my personality that I struggle to overcome, but with His Grace, I was no longer overwhelmed with self loathing and the feelings I had before!
When I fell pregnant with my precious son, which thank God, happened so easily compared to Emily’s conception, I was worried that I would again fall into the dark cave, and loose sight of the light. Again, we were on holiday in Scotland, and I was feeling very ill with morning sickness again, and one afternoon I was sitting watching the rain fall out of the window while Charles and Emily napped, and I asked God to help me, and that I didn’t want to fall again. I again felt his peace, and I knew from then, it was all going to be ok. Even though statistics say once you have had PPD, with subsequent children, you are much more likely to suffer again; I knew I would be fine. I think when I told my husband this, he was unsure of whether to believe me, and who could blame him, after the experience we had.
When Matthew was born, and after we were settled in our hospital room, just him and me, after what was a fast, furious, and slightly traumatic birth, I stood by his bassinet, watching him breathe, and all of a sudden felt overwhelming panic, and fear and the voice in my head trying to tell me “you cant do this, you don’t deserve this, you cant be a good mother” and I sat there, shaking, battling to breathe, scared to call a midwife, in case they thought I really was mad, and took him away from me, and not wanting to call Charles, who had gone home tired and proud. I felt overwhelmed and scared, and almost could see the mouth of that dark cave again….
I held on, and I cried out to God, and asked him to help me, and once again, felt his peace and calm, and his voice saying “hold onto me, you CANNOT do this alone, do NOT let go of me this time” and I slowly started to breathe more easily, and stop shaking and I was able to calm down, and although I didn’t get any sleep that night, due to feeding a very determined little boy who knew what he needed to do to get my milk supply in, I felt calm, but almost full of adrenaline and peace at the same time! I knew it was going to be ok, and I could do this, and I was a good mother, and I did deserve my beautiful children. When the midwives wheeled a roommate in for me at 5am, a lady who had suffered a very similar birth to my own first birth, I was even able to go to her and comfort her, when she began to cry when her husband left her to get some sleep.
I had seen my GP and the specialist health visitor, prior to Matthew’s arrival, my g.p insisted I take the prescription she wrote for me, for medication, and made me promise that as soon as I felt any overwhelming feelings, to have it made up and to take the medication, and to come back and see her, and the specialist health visitor saw me at six weeks, to check on my progress and to talk to me about how I was coping and feeling. I was so calm, and honest with her, about the “normal” feelings you have when in the post birth period, and was able to tell her I wasn’t struggling with anything like the feelings I had after Emily arrived, and she was happy for me to not have to see her until Matthew was 4 months old, unless I needed to call her for help. The prescription for the medication still sits, crumpled in my drawer, un used; I have had no need to take it to the pharmacy to be made up. I feel at peace, I am able to sleep, and I am able to enjoy my small son, and the delightful 3 year old that is my daughter, in a way I would never had dreamed about 3 years ago. I still have a wobble now and then, but I hang on to Him, and I wont let go, and where I could fall, he holds me, and where I could fail, he helps me. I will not slip back into my dark cave, he will not let me!
Post partum depression is such a hard battle, and one a lot of women fight through, and we often are ashamed to share, worried we will be judged, our children will be taken away, our spouses and friends will think badly of us, and that our children will be damaged by the emotional minefield we have had to walk through, I have recently read Brooke Shield’s book “Down Came the Rain” about her own battle with PPD and cried tears of pain for her, and also relief that I am walking free. Many famous women have had PPD, Princess Diana, Brittney Spears, Angelina Jolie, Gwymeth Paltrow, to name a few… We suffer in silence, guilt ridden, and scared to tell the truth, for we are supposed to be strong, capable women, meant to be mothers, and to walk free from this dreadful illness is a precious gift I cannot help but share about. I hope what I have written makes sense, and that friends who tried to help me, will forgive me for shutting them out, and I want to praise and hold up my husband for walking with me through this, and for his love and for the great man and father he is too, and most of all I am thankful for my faith, for alone, with no God, I couldn’t have won my battle, and don’t believe I would have been able to be the woman I am today!
Well here I am!
I wanted to put down my thoughts, about Matthew’s birth, and also talk about coming out of a dark place. Some people may know that I suffered from fairly severe Post Partum Depression and Anxiety after the birth of my beautiful Emily, until she was nearly 18 months old. It is not something I have shared much about, I have mentioned it on Facebook, and spoken to some friends about it, but I want write about it, in my blog to share the full story, and of my healing, and walking out of that very dark place which held me and to a large extent, my family prisoner for what seemed like an eternity.
I have only ever felt such fear, anxiety, and just like a heavy heavy weight, and a sense of total abandonment twice in my life, once in the period after my mother passed away for nearly 2 years, and then again after Emily’s birth.
This story is a testimony, because like my recovery from the depression after my mother’s death, and my eventual recovery from my eating disorder, God, not man healed me. I know people reading this who are not Christians will question it but I can testify to healing, and that’s what this is about. I did have help from my g.p, my health visitor and a friend who was a psychiatrist, but ultimately, the healing was a walk of faith for me, and putting my trust in Him who holds and heals!
My pregnancy with Emily was complicated, we had had two miscarriages in the years before becoming pregnant with her, and I had some minor hormonal issues, which meant I had to take progesterone supplements, in order to stay pregnant.
We found out I was pregnant very early, with Emily, and as my friends know, I was very very sick, with not just morning, but all day sickness, until I was 29 weeks pregnant, which was very debilitating, and unpleasant. At 32 weeks pregnant, I started to develop swelling, and my blood pressure began to rise. At 34 weeks, I was put on “rest”, with my feet up at home, to try and minimise the effects of my gradually worsening blood pressure issue. Emily decided enough was enough and arrived at 38 weeks. Her birth was traumatic, very painful, and I was emotionally and physically damaged by it. (for those who are not squeamish, I had a 3-4th degree tear, more stitches than if I had a caesarean section, and couldn’t walk or sit down for weeks, and had issues for months)
Shortly after her birth, whilst I was attempting to breastfeed her, Emily went blue and stopped breathing, only very briefly, and the nurses whisked her away and gave her some Oxygen, and she was fine, and they assured me she wasn’t unwell, but this was almost one of the first triggers that sent me into a spin of anxiety, something I struggle with, and that can take over when I am not in a good place.
When we got home, things seemed to be normal, to the outside world, but in reality, I was in agony, mentally, as well as physically, I refused to sleep, when Emily slept, unless Charles was awake and watching her, because I was convinced she would stop breathing, when we were sleeping, and because she only slept in small stretches, and he had to of course return to work after his paternity leave finished, I soon became sleep deprived but not the normal new Mama sleep deprivation, but much worse, because I couldn’t sleep when she slept. I used to lay awake listening to her breathe all night. This sleep deprivation, combined with anxiety, tumbled me over the edge and I quickly became very depressed, although I was very good at hiding it from the health professionals, my friends (some of whom, I think suspected, and despite their best efforts I would not confess something was wrong) I was terrified, I could not enjoy her, and every time I thought something was wrong, I was magnify it in my mind to the point where what would be a simple cold for her, was to me going to turn into pneumonia, and hospitalisation. Some days I was scared to be left alone with her, not because I would harm her, I would have (and still would, give my life for my children) but because something would go wrong, she would stop breathing, or get ill, and I wouldn’t know what to do. Everyone kept telling me “oh you’re a nurse and you nannied for so long, you are the best person to me a mother, but in fact I felt that couldn’t be further than the truth. I felt that Emily was so beautiful, and so precious, and that I was a dreadful, incompetent mother, who didn’t deserve a child, and that God would take her away from me. This overwhelmed me, and I became very withdrawn, anxious, and not a very nice person to live with, but I was so ashamed of feeling these things, that I couldn’t tell anyone. I thought I should know better, and that as a Christian woman, of nearly 11 years at that point, I should be able to “get a hold of myself” and be normal. And anyhow, how could I tell people that I wasn’t coping with my much wanted, adorable, healthy baby, when I have worked with families whose children have such fragile existences and I have friends battling with infertility who would give their left legs to be blessed with a child?
I went back to work when Emily was 10 months old. This probably made things worse, because my job situation was difficult, and had changed totally since I had left on maternity leave. Sadly, we lost three children (all of whom had complex health needs) in a short space of time, and my boss took a new job role, which left me running a unit of very sick children. I battled on, and put a brave face on things, although of course I felt like I was slowly dying inside. In a dark, dark cave, with walls pressing in on me, so much so that some days I would have panic attacks and not be able to breathe. I tried to pray, I tried to pretend I was ok. Charles knew something was wrong, but I wouldn’t talk to him, and he put up with my moods, my increasing anxiety, and tried to hold us together. Some days I battled to even get dressed, or get it together to cook a meal, or see friends, and the urge to retreat to bed and stay there was something so tempting all the time. I had to soldier on for my daughter, so I did, all the while feeling more dirty, ashamed and angry, and wondering where God was in all of this.
Finally, when Emily was 14 months old, my boss sat me down and challenged me…. She could see I wasn’t coping, with home life, baby or work, and she told me she thought I had Post Partum Depression. As soon as she said it, it felt like a weight was being lifted from me, and it dawned on me what was going on. She sent me to speak to one of our colleagues, a psychiatrist we worked with. She and I had a long chat, and I broke down and cried and cried and cried. She held me, and handed me tissues, and told me not to be ashamed, or angry at myself (I felt, I of all people should have known what was wrong with me) and she told me I was a classic case, and that having had trouble conceiving, after having had miscarriages, a difficult birth, problems with breastfeeding, and the breathing incident in the hospital, combined with being a naturally anxious person by nature, and also a total control freak (my friends who know me, will smile at this) made me totally susceptible to PPD and PPAD (Post Partum Anxiety Disorder) and that I needed to get help. She told me to go home, see my GP, and my health visitor, and to talk to my husband.
I did see my GP, who wanted me to start medication, but because I was breastfeeding, I wouldn’t, despite her assurances it was safe (the control freak in me, I will not take any medication bar paracetamol when breastfeeding) but I did agree to see a mental health nurse for an assessment. She was terribly kind, and helpful, and gently scolded me for letting it go on so long, she has known me for 15 years, and I could have gone to her at any time for help.
I was seen and assessed, and agreed to attend a group for women with late onset PPD, although really, I had been battling from the start. It was good to talk to other women, to realise it wasn’t just me, and that there was in fact NOTHING wrong with me. I wasn’t a bad mother, or a bad person, I had just slipped into a cycle I couldn’t get out of. The words to U2’s tribute song to Michael Hutchence ring in my mind, Bono singing “you’ve got to get yourself together, you’ve got stuck in a moment, that you cant get out of” and I cant hear that song played without crying, still.
The group therapy helped, and I saw a specialist health visitor regularly, but I still was battling with feelings of fear, anxiety and this deep dark depression, and I still felt trapped in my cave of darkness, and still wasn’t sleeping a great deal.
We went on holiday, home to Scotland, when Emily was nearly 17 months old. It was a lovely holiday, and one morning, when Charles had taken Emily out for a walk, I was sitting alone in the cottage we had rented, and I felt like praying. I cried out, and asked God to help me, I was so tired, I was so sore, I was damaging my marriage, I couldn’t be a proper Mother to my wonderful daughter, and I needed to be “well”… I felt a gentle voice say to me “my child, how I have waited for you to come to me” I had of course been running away from Him, avoiding trying to ask for any help, sometimes being angry at Him for letting me get this way, and guilt for feeling angry.
I felt a sense of peace for the first time since before Emily had been born, and could breathe. I cried and cried, till the tears wouldn’t come any more, and that night, I confessed what had been going on to my wonderful, patient and gracious husband, who had known something was wrong but hadn’t known what to do. We talked, and I agreed to let him help me, and to be open with him, and I went to bed, and slept for a longer stretch than I had in a long time.
It wasn’t an instant healing; I had to learn how to get hold of the feelings of anxiety and fear, and take them, and refuse to allow them to bog me down. I slowly became calmer, and was able to feel like I was a good mother, and for the first time in her life, as she turned into a toddler, from a baby, I was able to enjoy being her mother, and to rejoice in her, and not be filled with anxiety and I was slowly walking to what I could now see was the mouth of my very long, dark cave. I still fight with anxiety, it is a fault of my personality that I struggle to overcome, but with His Grace, I was no longer overwhelmed with self loathing and the feelings I had before!
When I fell pregnant with my precious son, which thank God, happened so easily compared to Emily’s conception, I was worried that I would again fall into the dark cave, and loose sight of the light. Again, we were on holiday in Scotland, and I was feeling very ill with morning sickness again, and one afternoon I was sitting watching the rain fall out of the window while Charles and Emily napped, and I asked God to help me, and that I didn’t want to fall again. I again felt his peace, and I knew from then, it was all going to be ok. Even though statistics say once you have had PPD, with subsequent children, you are much more likely to suffer again; I knew I would be fine. I think when I told my husband this, he was unsure of whether to believe me, and who could blame him, after the experience we had.
When Matthew was born, and after we were settled in our hospital room, just him and me, after what was a fast, furious, and slightly traumatic birth, I stood by his bassinet, watching him breathe, and all of a sudden felt overwhelming panic, and fear and the voice in my head trying to tell me “you cant do this, you don’t deserve this, you cant be a good mother” and I sat there, shaking, battling to breathe, scared to call a midwife, in case they thought I really was mad, and took him away from me, and not wanting to call Charles, who had gone home tired and proud. I felt overwhelmed and scared, and almost could see the mouth of that dark cave again….
I held on, and I cried out to God, and asked him to help me, and once again, felt his peace and calm, and his voice saying “hold onto me, you CANNOT do this alone, do NOT let go of me this time” and I slowly started to breathe more easily, and stop shaking and I was able to calm down, and although I didn’t get any sleep that night, due to feeding a very determined little boy who knew what he needed to do to get my milk supply in, I felt calm, but almost full of adrenaline and peace at the same time! I knew it was going to be ok, and I could do this, and I was a good mother, and I did deserve my beautiful children. When the midwives wheeled a roommate in for me at 5am, a lady who had suffered a very similar birth to my own first birth, I was even able to go to her and comfort her, when she began to cry when her husband left her to get some sleep.
I had seen my GP and the specialist health visitor, prior to Matthew’s arrival, my g.p insisted I take the prescription she wrote for me, for medication, and made me promise that as soon as I felt any overwhelming feelings, to have it made up and to take the medication, and to come back and see her, and the specialist health visitor saw me at six weeks, to check on my progress and to talk to me about how I was coping and feeling. I was so calm, and honest with her, about the “normal” feelings you have when in the post birth period, and was able to tell her I wasn’t struggling with anything like the feelings I had after Emily arrived, and she was happy for me to not have to see her until Matthew was 4 months old, unless I needed to call her for help. The prescription for the medication still sits, crumpled in my drawer, un used; I have had no need to take it to the pharmacy to be made up. I feel at peace, I am able to sleep, and I am able to enjoy my small son, and the delightful 3 year old that is my daughter, in a way I would never had dreamed about 3 years ago. I still have a wobble now and then, but I hang on to Him, and I wont let go, and where I could fall, he holds me, and where I could fail, he helps me. I will not slip back into my dark cave, he will not let me!
Post partum depression is such a hard battle, and one a lot of women fight through, and we often are ashamed to share, worried we will be judged, our children will be taken away, our spouses and friends will think badly of us, and that our children will be damaged by the emotional minefield we have had to walk through, I have recently read Brooke Shield’s book “Down Came the Rain” about her own battle with PPD and cried tears of pain for her, and also relief that I am walking free. Many famous women have had PPD, Princess Diana, Brittney Spears, Angelina Jolie, Gwymeth Paltrow, to name a few… We suffer in silence, guilt ridden, and scared to tell the truth, for we are supposed to be strong, capable women, meant to be mothers, and to walk free from this dreadful illness is a precious gift I cannot help but share about. I hope what I have written makes sense, and that friends who tried to help me, will forgive me for shutting them out, and I want to praise and hold up my husband for walking with me through this, and for his love and for the great man and father he is too, and most of all I am thankful for my faith, for alone, with no God, I couldn’t have won my battle, and don’t believe I would have been able to be the woman I am today!
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