Sissy Rose
M
y first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage, so when I fell pregnant again with my now 2 year old daughter I was over the moon with joy. Although I was terribly sick during the first trimester, I still loved every second of it and made sure to do ‘all the right things’. I will always remember attending birth classes, and how at the end of the last session my instructor mentioned that we shouldn’t be worried if we don’t feel an instant connection to our baby - sometimes it can take time, and I thought to myself, ‘What kind of monster doesn’t feel a connection to their baby - how is that even possible?’. Well, it turned out that I became ‘that monster’. The day arrived and I gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby girl. There I was lying in bed, weak, exhausted and in pain. Finally, I was a mother. She was the cutest little baby girl. Yet I felt nothing. The only emotion I felt was anxiety. Had she eaten enough? What if she starved? Is she too hot, too cold, is she breathing? The following day we were discharged, and we called my mother-in-law around to help give her a bath. I couldn’t watch, I ran to the other room. What if she bangs her head or drops her?! I just couldn’t bear the thought. The next few days continued like this, with awful anxious thoughts racing through my head, and then suddenly the darkness hit. I felt dead inside. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. All I could see when looking at my gorgeous daughter was resentment; I didn’t want to care for her. It all came to a breaking point on a Friday afternoon. She was extremely unsettled, so I called my husband home to take over and I went to have a shower. Standing under the jets of steaming water, I broke down. My tears mingled with the spray as I bawled and cried hysterically. My husband ran in, not knowing what was going on or what to do - he had never seen me like this before. He called my mother for help, telling her that I was really not doing well, but she just blamed it on the ‘baby blues’. The following week we flew home to Switzerland for Pesach and I spent the majority of the time in bed, crying, hardly taking care of my own baby and missing most of the meals. When Pesach was over, we flew back to Manchester, and the very next day found me sitting in the doctor’s office, telling him everything that I was feeling and what had been going on. He diagnosed me with severe PPD/A and put me on medication and a course of therapy. Ashamed and embarrassed, my husband and I made sure to keep all of this quiet. I felt like a complete failure - my friends and siblings all had a lot of kids and none of them had gone through this and had to go on medication – why had this happened to me? Over the next few months my depression went from bad to worse, each day was more of a living nightmare than the one before. I felt scared, alone and in such a dark, dark place where I hated every second of my life. I would sit on the couch crying my eyes out. One moment I would be sweating and my heart would be racing, the next moment I would be shivering and trembling with cold. I had a constant knot in my stomach - some days I woke up crying hysterically, asking
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my husband to please not go to work as I couldn’t handle being home ‘alone’. Things slowly started to improve at around 7 months and that’s when I decided that I needed to tell my closest friends what was going on. They did have a hunch that something wasn’t right - I had never joined them for baby classes or met them for lunch. One evening we sat in the car and I told them everything that had been going on. Of course, they weren’t surprised because they knew something hadn’t been right, but they had had no idea to what extent I had been suffering. They didn’t judge me or look at me any less, they just felt sad for me; sad that they hadn’t known and that they hadn’t been able to be there for me at a time when I needed them most. ‘From now on,’ I was told: ‘If you ever feel sad, anxious, alone or down, call straight away and one of us will come over. Even if it’s in the middle of the night we will stay on the phone with you!’ It was such a relief - I finally didn’t have to pretend or put on a show. I wasn’t lonely anymore. And yes, I still felt sad and anxious but I had my wonderful understanding friends who would always be there for me. I did call them up, anxious about things that most moms don’t panic about, but they understood why I was panicking, they calmed me down and helped me. Slowly but surely, I got better. Things became easier and more enjoyable. I actually started to enjoy my daughter’s company - I used to have to force myself to talk to her (it’s important for their development so yes, I actually had to force myself to talk to my own child) but now I love it. I love her, I’m maybe even somewhat obsessed with her. Looking back, I can’t imagine ever not having that instant love and connection with her but I understand now that it wasn’t my fault and I don’t have to be embarrassed about it. I wasn’t well. I didn’t ask for this to happen to me but it did, and I was finally able to take control and get the help I needed. My doctor told me I should consider myself lucky for seeking help relatively early. He has mothers coming to see him a year in, still suffering, and only then realising that something’s not right. Just like when you have a headache you take paracetamol, I had to take medication for my ‘headache’, and I shouldn’t have to be ashamed of it. If only I had told my friends sooner, I wouldn’t have had to go through it alone; they would have sat next to me while I cried and taken me out to cheer me up. The reason I’m sharing this with you is because PPD is spoken about enough in our community. It is still something that most women are ashamed of and keep quiet about and it shouldn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to suffer alone. Talk it out, get the help that you need and deserve. Don’t feel like a failure, because you are not! You are amazing and you WILL get through it. You are the best mummy for your baby even if you think otherwise right now. Your baby loves you! I believe I went through what I went through for a reason and if I can even help just one struggling mother out there then it will have been worth writing my story.
Hang in there Momma, YOU GOT THIS.