Postpartum Depression - It's Real

Did you know January is Postpartum Depression Awareness Month? No? Me neither! This came as a good time as I've been thinking about writing this post for a couple of months.

Coming from the personal development industry, it is really easy to write off depression. Feeling sad? Then change your state! How do you do that? Get physical - go exercise, do your move, or have a quick dance party. Didn't work? Then ask the right questions - what are you grateful for? What are the lessons here? What is God trying to show me? Still didn't work? Surround yourself with the right people who can help you ask the right questions. Read a good book. Change your thoughts.

You know what I'm talking about.

I was one of those people who preached this.

Having been through a period of depression in college, I literally woke up one day and decided that I had enough. I was not going to let my past rule my present. I took a good hard look at my circumstances and came up with all the lessons and blessings they had become. And just like that, my depression was gone.

It was from that experience that I truly thought depression was self-curable. When I started my journey in personal development, it reaffirmed this belief. My friends were happy, my mentors were happy, in fact, nothing seemed to faze them.

And for awhile, I was like that too. There was not a day that went by that I didn't feel grateful. I was positive, optimistic, and generally very happy. And believe me when I tell you I had some pretty crappy things happen in those years - but still, I persevered and came out at the top. I used all the tools I knew, and it worked every single time.

Then I got pregnant with Mackenzie. I still remember laying on the couch with Bryan, not having been out to see anyone in weeks. I turned to him and said, "who cares about the rest of the world, let's run away together and get new identities and start brand new with this new baby."

I knew in that moment I was not myself. I tried to exercise, but my body simply didn't allow me to move with my "all day sickness". I tried to ask the right questions, but somehow, they fell flat. I told myself that this would pass. I was hormonal, I was tired. I would get over it.

And I did. It was at that time that Bryan and I decided to move back to Vancouver. With my best friend's wedding, the move, and the anticipation of a new baby, it forced me to see people, and it forced me to stop thinking about running away. I was feeling great!

Then Mackenzie was born.

I wish I could tell you I looked at her and loved her right away.

I didn't.

Weeks turned into months of worrying about breastfeeding, her weight, and her eating. I chalked it up to baby blues. I convinced myself that my worries were legitimate. Despite bouts of crying, I was elated when Mackenzie slept through the night, or when she started signing, or when she took her first steps. I met women with true postpartum depression, and I knew that couldn't be me.

Then I was pregnant with Bryanna.

I wish I could tell you I enjoyed my pregnancy even for one day.

I didn't.

There were days I didn't even want to look at Mackenzie. When the opportunity came to go away for 5 weeks for my yoga teacher training, I took it. And after a lot of planning, and worries, and what not, there was a point when I was relieved. Relieved that I could be on my own for 5 weeks.

Those 5 weeks were amazing. And I chalked it up with me feeling horrible because I was tired. Because I was running after a toddler. Because I was constantly disciplining this child who was not yet even 2.

Then Bryanna was born.

And it was amazing.

I loved her from the start.

When the nurse called to ask me about postpartum depression, I laughed and told her I was just fine. When she told me to keep watching for it because it could come up to a year after giving birth, I wrote her off. Nothing could keep me from feeling great! I had EVERYTHING! Great girls, great husband, great family - I was truly grateful for all the blessings in my life.

Then 3 months later, I looked at Bree one day and thought...I feel nothing. I don't love her.

I thought that was normal. I thought it was just because Mack had just turned 2 and became so much more interactive that I loved her more than Bree.

Then I got a job. And I was relieved that I got to work during the day. And I was grateful to be occupied with work.

In moments when I did get the girls, amid the crying and the whining and the screaming, I wanted to throw them out the window. I knew logically I couldn't, but I really really wanted to.

I thought that was normal too. I mean, who doesn't think that with 2 babies, 20 months apart? (at least sometimes)

Suddenly, feeling grateful became a chore. But wait! I should be feeling grateful! Look at my life! I had more dance parties than you could count. I asked more questions than you could imagine. When finally, nothing was left, I turned to facebook. I watched countless feel-good videos. Videos that helped me affirm that people were good, and that the world was good. And when I felt down again, I would find a morbid story (I wish there were less baby dying stories out there, unfortunately, there are far more than there should be), and that made me feel good, because I had it so much better.

I was always looking for something to make me feel something. Anything. Because nothing in my life was doing that anymore. I was always chasing the next high. I was an addict.

How did I not see it?

Listen - most days were good. Most days were normal and I figured they were just bad moments. When people asked me how I was, I truly believed in that moment that I was ok, and that I was happy (I probably was). I didn't even associate any of my thoughts or feelings to depression because...well...I wasn't sobbing. I didn't physically harm my babies. I didn't feel sad.

What I failed to realize was that I felt...nothing.

It wasn't until Bryan and I were on the brink of separating (which is a whole other story that I'm saving for another day) did I finally looked back and saw this. When this happened, I knew I needed help.

I walked into my therapist's office 3 days after talking about separation and the first question she asked was, "how do you feel about being here?"

I burst into tears.

She nodded with understanding, and with a reassuring voice said, "You never thought you'd be here."

No, I never thought I would be here.

And even though I had absolutely no feelings about repairing my marriage, I knew it wasn't me thinking this. And I knew I had to get better to start making right decisions.

Turned out, postpartum depression is real. Turned out, sometimes, all the tools you have in the box doesn't help you get out of it. Sometimes, you actually need professional help. Sometimes, you might even need anti-depressants to help you through. And listen - that's ok.

I am grateful having been on both sides of the depression spectrum. It helped me distinguish when I could help myself, and when to ask for help. It also helped me understand what I simply could not before - that everything has a place.

It's been weeks since that first day in my therapist's office. I can tell you, it is ok to look back. Because sometimes, looking back is exactly what you need to move forward. It's been a blessing to have a husband who stood by my side when I wasn't myself. Has it been easy? No. Have there been moments I just want our relationship to end? Yup. And I'd imagine there will be many more moments like these to come.

One of the first things I said during my therapy session was, "I wish I had known I had postpartum depression. Because then maybe Bryan and I wouldn't be here now." And my therapist said, "Carly - how would you know? Have you had babies before your 2 kids to know what this feels like?"

Which is why I wrote this.

Postpartum depression has many many faces. It could be overwhelming sadness, anger, annoyance, and indifference is part of it too. This is why it is so easy to miss. That's why so many women go completely undiagnosed because we just don't know.

Before you are thinking about leaving a marriage (first year postpartum has the highest divorce rate than any other time during a marriage), feeling sad about the loss of your pre-kid life (oh, I know you are out there!), or heck, even just feeling nothing in general (because that is something too) - please, I urge you, talk to someone. I can assure you that the $125/hour fee you might be paying is cheaper than a mental breakdown or divorce. And if none of that is in your future, that's awesome. Talk to someone anyway, it will be worth every bit of your sanity.

In support of PPD month - I hope you will spread the word and help someone in need. Even if they tell you they are ok. It never hurts to double check anyway.

Another post coming up about our relationship, what happened, and what we are doing now. Stay tuned.