We are the voices of postpartum depression, can you hear us?

This week is Mental Health Awareness Week, though we were all made painfully aware of one of the darkest, least understood, most hidden mental illnesses of them all, postpartum depression, last week when it was revealed that Miriam Carey, the woman shot to death by police in D.C. was suffering from it. 

As the media all too often does, once her struggles were brought to light, they seemed content to lay blame at the feet of her condition alone, without bothering to learn more about her or what her motives may have been. Instead, a hand was waved dismissively, an explanation decreed, and this woman was gone without an answer.

Today, I share with you the stories of women who have struggled with postpartum depression. Tomorrow, I will tell you my story. We do this for Miriam, and for every other woman out there who battles this beast inside their minds. 

With love and respect, their stories. 
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Intrusive thoughts are defined as; unwelcome involuntary thoughts, images, or unpleasant ideas that may become obsessions, are upsetting or distressing, and can be difficult to manage or eliminate.

The first 6 weeks of my daughter’s life were both utter bliss and agony. The bliss is obvious, as we've all felt it in some stage of our child’s infancy. Not always at the beginning. The agony stemmed from the constant image of putting a pillow over her sweet little face. You see, I was sleep deprived, young, and scared. 

She cried all the time. Only I didn't realize it then, that she was an easy baby. Or would be, compared to my son years down the road. You have to understand something about intrusive thoughts. They are not welcome. Just because these thoughts pop into yours or someone else’s head, DOES NOT MEAN you want to do those things. 

I didn't want to smother my baby. But the thoughts would not go away. I was so tired. When I was at my six week check up, I mentioned this to my ob/gyn. I asked for some sleep pills. Instead I was treated like a homicidal freak. This is how the mental healthcare system failed me. A nurse stayed in the room with my daughter and I until my husband could come to get her. 

Then she was taken from the room. They took away any sharp things I had. They took the pin in my hair that I used to make an effort when leaving the house that day. They told me I would not be going home. I was given the choice of a voluntary 24 hour hold. I didn't want to go. They told me if they had to force me, that it would be three days. 

All the exhaustion and anxiety was ramped up by this. Not helped. The worst thing you can do to an anxious person who think they are a burden is to make their situation more anxious and make them feel more like a burden. We had no local family. My husband was in school full time. There was no one there to replace me to care for our daughter. A classmate of his traded off with him while I was gone those 24 hours to make sure someone was with her at all times. She was 6 weeks old.

Not one person in these 24 hours told me that I was not alone in having intrusive thoughts. No one told me I was experiencing post partum depression. Seven years ago, PPD was still largely misunderstood and stigmatized. They felt they had saved lives. They could not have been further from the truth. I was treated like a criminal. When I left that hospital, I told myself to suck it up. I told myself not to ever ask for help ever again. I never went back to that ob that betrayed me. Whose solution was to lock me up, rather than to talk to me about what I was feeling. I never spoke to the psychiatrist they referred me to.

I managed. We thrived. It was behind us. We never spoke about it. I was literally terrified to have another child. What if I felt this way again? Would someone try to take away anymore children I had?

Time passed. I met women who also experienced PPD. Some had the same situations I did. Some did not. I was able to put a name to what I felt. I felt relieved that others had these thoughts plague them, though they did not wish to act on them. I wasn't alone. Post partum depression still doesn't have the resources needed, but it’s better than it was. 

I’m not longer afraid of the mental health system. I found a network of doctors who helped me understand what I was dealing with and what should have been done to help me. They helped me through a second pregnancy. All the while watching for the tell tale symptoms. I never felt like a criminal. Never felt like less of a human. Never made to feel like an awful mother. I was not spared a second time. But this time I was prepared and surrounded by the best support system you could find. I wasn't joking when I thought I had it hard the first time. I didn't even know. A dangerous labor, emergency c-section, botched circumcision, having to make the choice to spend time training my son with a weak latch, or anxiety medication and then the subsequent fights with formula allergies. It was hard. We had bonding and attachment issues. We dug our way from the bottom up. It’s not pretty or fun. But it’s real. 

I just want Moms to know they are not alone. So many of us have been there and so many more will follow. Finding support is so important. I want others to know that this is something that needs our attention. It’s not just going to go away.

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Postpartum Depression: Where to begin...I was due with my 3rd child on September 30, 2001. When Sept 11th happened I was way pregnant, and I begun questioning what kind of world would I be bringing this child into and then whether I even wanted to. I had my daughter on Oct 2, and I went through a horrid depression afterwards.

At first I thought it was just the blues, but then I didn't want to get out of bed. When she would cry I wanted to just let her scream. I should mention she was an AMAZING baby, by far easiest of my 4 girls, but I just wanted to scream at her to stop screaming and run away. I would take her to the Dr for check-ups and my Dr would say "Kimberly, I really think you should consider counseling or medication to help you through this." but I was afraid of the stigma attached to depression. I grew up with a mother who was mentally unstable and I NEVER wanted to be like her. Six months passed of me laying in bed all day. I would get up long enough to feed the baby and take care of her basic needs and then I would mope around the house. My house was a disaster. Then, I decided I wanted to die. The world would have been a better place without me in it. I didn't work so in my messed up head I wasn't contributing to society, and I had no desire to be a housewife plus I sucked at it....

When I started thinking those thoughts I thought maybe I needed help so I gave in and went to the Dr. I hadn't told anyone how I was feeling. My family just chalked up my total anhedonia to being an exhausted new mom. My husband still has no idea how badly I struggled. But I knew I needed help. I went to the Dr and she put me on Zoloft. I took it for about a year and then weaned off with my Dr's assistance.

I needed help, but I was ashamed. I didn't want to be contrived as weak. I didn't want people to think I was a failure as a mother. I knew the country and hundreds of people just lost their loved ones, and I had a healthy baby that I was simply not grateful for. The stigma of depression is riddled with guilt. Looking back I know that is exactly what kept me from asking for help. I am glad I finally asked....I missed the joy of having a newborn baby and time I can never get back. If I were having any more children and I had a problem, I would definitely do something earlier and prevent the misery I experienced.
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I’m a survivor.