I dreaded writing about this. I barely found the strength to admit it to others in person. My dad is a clinical psychologist, so I was accustomed to the idea that if you think something might be wrong, you do something about it. You tell people. You seek help. There's no shame in that. None at all. I knew the signs of anxiety and depression; I had read about them plenty of times before, but I had no idea what a burden it can be and the shame it brings until I experienced it myself.
It started with nightmares. Of horrible things happening to my baby and other children and I did nothing. My brain couldn't make the connection that something was wrong until I woke up feeling ashamed and terrified. Then the anxiety took root. I felt distant from my baby. The blissful quiet in my heart that I experienced when my second child was a newborn wasn't there. It was like another person, a miserable person, was trying to take over my body. I'd wake up with a sore jaw in the morning because I spent most of the day and the evening before clenching my teeth.
Several times I had to call my husband to come home because I couldn't cope. I'd sob in his arms the minute he'd arrive. Finally I called my OBGYN, came in for an appointment, and told him how I was feeling. He prescribed me medication, and I slowly felt things returning to normal. I could hold my baby without feeling like I was the wrong mother for her. I could say "I love you" to my children without wondering if it was a lie. The miserable person trying to take over me shrunk, until it got so small I barely acknowledged it at all. The anxiety makes a mild return when I talk about it, so typically I avoid even thinking about how it once made me feel, but women need to know about this. They need to know that postpartum depression and anxiety is real, and nothing to be ashamed of. Please seek help if something doesn't seem right. There are some things in this world that we weren't meant to bear alone.
