I was having breakfast with a couple of my girlfriends a couple of weekends back. Another thing I hadn't done in a really, really long time since I had isolated myself so far from all of my friendships.
One of them is a mother, the other is child free in a long distance marriage.
All three of us have dealt with mental illness in one way or another. We've all posted about it on social media, made light of it. But we had never really sat down and talked about it.
I had never really talked about it with someone who completely understood where I was coming from.
I literally disappeared for months, maybe even years, from my friends' lives. I struggle so hard with the fear of abandonment and as I was in my victim mode, I always felt most alone when I would see pictures of them out doing something, when I was inside caring for my children.
The postpartum depression started after I had my son, my eldest. He was born with a complex medical condition. The pregnancy was unplanned. I left the hospital without him and was hooked on painkillers for weeks after I had him. I didn't have a single visitor come to my home after I left the hospital. I was alone, without my baby, without my child's father, without myself. Pump, change diaper, change bandage, what doctor appointment is next? Crap, now he's having a shunt malfunction?
No one knew how to approach me, maybe.
No one knew the signs.
People visited every now and then, or Tyler would take me somewhere.
But I really don't recall many times where I actually went to do something by myself.
I surrounded myself with a lot of people who didn't believe in self-love.
Then came Summer. She was 100% planned. But the depression set in before I even had her. I went through two major tragedies, and several life changes through the duration of my pregnancy. When I was three months along with her, my 19 year-old brother in-law committed suicide. This was in June. In September, my husband at the time, moved to Eastern Oregon to take a job and be closer to his family. This is something we had discussed and a decision that wasn't made lightly. I stayed behind to deliver Summer with my OB since I was already so far along, so Isaiah and I moved in with my parents. That November, while we were all getting ready to go to sleep, my parents' house caught fire and we had to escape through windows. I gave birth 12 days later, and moved to be with Tyler two weeks after that.
I don't know the first time I contemplated suicide. I think it started as a sinking feeling, and as I started spiraling and losing control, I felt my life was the only thing I had control over.
I actually began self-harming by starving myself for days.
Living in the middle of a town of 500 people took a toll on me. I tried to be healthy, go on walks, cook, paint, join a mom group, smoking marijuana, I tried everything to try to curb my thoughts. I stopped asking for help because I kept on getting turned down and was tired of the rejection or excuses. It was my responsibility as a parent to watch my kids 24/7. That's the mindset I got brainwashed into. I didn't deserve a break. I didn't need one. I am their mother.
When we finally moved into town, closer to civilization, I had been finally seeing a counselor and taking medication. But at this point, the damage to my marriage had already been done. I don't blame my ex husband for leaving me; I had explosive manic episodes. I scared even myself.
Now that I'm past postpartum stage, and into clinical depression and anxiety, I have it under control and manage well most of the time.
But postpartum mental illness, and mental illness in general is one of those things that I feel people maybe 'think' they talk about, but really they're just joking about it, or breezing by it. No one knows what goes on inside the mind of someone who struggles with mental illness.
"I'm not a good mother."
"My kids would be so much better without the burden of my mental illness."
"I don't want my kids to remember me how I remember some of my childhood."
"I'm not good enough."
"I'm so exhausted."
"Why doesn't anyone ever ask how I'm doing?"
If someone you know has just had a baby, or who struggles with mental illness, here is what you can do:
1. Ask how they're doing.
2. Ask again, how they're really doing.
3. Listen. Don't try to make sense of it. Just listen.
4. Drag their ass out of the house.
5. Or even just show up on their doorstep and sit on their couch and let them cry on your shoulder.
6. Tell them you're not going to judge them.
7. Don't judge them.
8. Ask if they've been taking their medication.
9. Don't bullshit them. Don't pretend to care, just be genuine.
10. Give them a card. Anything to let them know they're being thought of.
11. Don't tell them you didn't suspect it. You usually don't. Just. Listen.
It's so easy for someone with mental illness to freely take the blame of anything. Literally, anything.
Be kind to your fellow humans, especially mothers.
I could get into the nitty gritty of where my fear of abandonment and rejection comes from, but do you really need to know? All my friends need to know is that those fears are very real, and yes I am responsible for my own reactions to situations, but they also know what I'm going through in this present moment. The past doesn't matter, when in the present, I'm in a depressive episode. Or manic episode. Or having anxious or obsessive thoughts.
All I need to know is that they're here for me right now.
A lot of this blog content didn't get discussed over breakfast, but it's all relevant.
We didn't speak for months at a time, and all of this happened in between.
Meanwhile, they were each fighting their own battles. And we knew none the better.
Open up the dialogue.
Depression exists. Postpartum mental illness exists. Anxiety exists. OCD exists. Paranoia exists. Psychosis exists. Schizophrenia exists. Bipolar disorder exists.
And that's okay.
"If we share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can't survive."
-Brene' Brown
One of them is a mother, the other is child free in a long distance marriage.
All three of us have dealt with mental illness in one way or another. We've all posted about it on social media, made light of it. But we had never really sat down and talked about it.
I had never really talked about it with someone who completely understood where I was coming from.
I literally disappeared for months, maybe even years, from my friends' lives. I struggle so hard with the fear of abandonment and as I was in my victim mode, I always felt most alone when I would see pictures of them out doing something, when I was inside caring for my children.
The postpartum depression started after I had my son, my eldest. He was born with a complex medical condition. The pregnancy was unplanned. I left the hospital without him and was hooked on painkillers for weeks after I had him. I didn't have a single visitor come to my home after I left the hospital. I was alone, without my baby, without my child's father, without myself. Pump, change diaper, change bandage, what doctor appointment is next? Crap, now he's having a shunt malfunction?
No one knew how to approach me, maybe.
No one knew the signs.
People visited every now and then, or Tyler would take me somewhere.
But I really don't recall many times where I actually went to do something by myself.
I surrounded myself with a lot of people who didn't believe in self-love.
Then came Summer. She was 100% planned. But the depression set in before I even had her. I went through two major tragedies, and several life changes through the duration of my pregnancy. When I was three months along with her, my 19 year-old brother in-law committed suicide. This was in June. In September, my husband at the time, moved to Eastern Oregon to take a job and be closer to his family. This is something we had discussed and a decision that wasn't made lightly. I stayed behind to deliver Summer with my OB since I was already so far along, so Isaiah and I moved in with my parents. That November, while we were all getting ready to go to sleep, my parents' house caught fire and we had to escape through windows. I gave birth 12 days later, and moved to be with Tyler two weeks after that.
I don't know the first time I contemplated suicide. I think it started as a sinking feeling, and as I started spiraling and losing control, I felt my life was the only thing I had control over.
I actually began self-harming by starving myself for days.
Living in the middle of a town of 500 people took a toll on me. I tried to be healthy, go on walks, cook, paint, join a mom group, smoking marijuana, I tried everything to try to curb my thoughts. I stopped asking for help because I kept on getting turned down and was tired of the rejection or excuses. It was my responsibility as a parent to watch my kids 24/7. That's the mindset I got brainwashed into. I didn't deserve a break. I didn't need one. I am their mother.
When we finally moved into town, closer to civilization, I had been finally seeing a counselor and taking medication. But at this point, the damage to my marriage had already been done. I don't blame my ex husband for leaving me; I had explosive manic episodes. I scared even myself.
Now that I'm past postpartum stage, and into clinical depression and anxiety, I have it under control and manage well most of the time.
But postpartum mental illness, and mental illness in general is one of those things that I feel people maybe 'think' they talk about, but really they're just joking about it, or breezing by it. No one knows what goes on inside the mind of someone who struggles with mental illness.
"I'm not a good mother."
"My kids would be so much better without the burden of my mental illness."
"I don't want my kids to remember me how I remember some of my childhood."
"I'm not good enough."
"I'm so exhausted."
"Why doesn't anyone ever ask how I'm doing?"
If someone you know has just had a baby, or who struggles with mental illness, here is what you can do:
1. Ask how they're doing.
2. Ask again, how they're really doing.
3. Listen. Don't try to make sense of it. Just listen.
4. Drag their ass out of the house.
5. Or even just show up on their doorstep and sit on their couch and let them cry on your shoulder.
6. Tell them you're not going to judge them.
7. Don't judge them.
8. Ask if they've been taking their medication.
9. Don't bullshit them. Don't pretend to care, just be genuine.
10. Give them a card. Anything to let them know they're being thought of.
11. Don't tell them you didn't suspect it. You usually don't. Just. Listen.
It's so easy for someone with mental illness to freely take the blame of anything. Literally, anything.
Be kind to your fellow humans, especially mothers.
I could get into the nitty gritty of where my fear of abandonment and rejection comes from, but do you really need to know? All my friends need to know is that those fears are very real, and yes I am responsible for my own reactions to situations, but they also know what I'm going through in this present moment. The past doesn't matter, when in the present, I'm in a depressive episode. Or manic episode. Or having anxious or obsessive thoughts.
All I need to know is that they're here for me right now.
A lot of this blog content didn't get discussed over breakfast, but it's all relevant.
We didn't speak for months at a time, and all of this happened in between.
Meanwhile, they were each fighting their own battles. And we knew none the better.
Open up the dialogue.
Depression exists. Postpartum mental illness exists. Anxiety exists. OCD exists. Paranoia exists. Psychosis exists. Schizophrenia exists. Bipolar disorder exists.
And that's okay.
"If we share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can't survive."
-Brene' Brown
Comments
Post a Comment