Now, seven years later, it may be a good time for me to acknowledge that postpartum depression isn’t just a buzzword. Trust me, it’s a thing.
I know, I know, we live in an era of self-diagnosis. “I’m gluten intolerant!” “Cool, I have a narcissistic personality disorder! Let’s grab coffee!” Well, my turn. I think I found the correct label to (partially) explain why I felt so low in the months following Mark’s birth, and beyond.
Depression is often romanticized but in real life, it’s not that glamorous. Much like addicts, sad people are hard to understand, live with and fix. Now imagine being depressed and being a new mom—zero sympathy, maximum guilt. You’re expected to be a tired, blissfully happy version of your old self. What the hell is wrong with you! You have a cute baby! Think of your little one!
And this is what I struggle to explain. I was genuinely happy to become a mom. Mark was a wanted child and I got the best kid ever.
Yet I really, really wanted to disappear.
I didn’t like being pregnant. This is another socially unacceptable thing to say but I know plenty of women are in the same boat. Pregnancy is uncomfortable and weird—you experience daily body changes you barely have time to adjust to, it feels like going through puberty all over again, lying on a table with your legs spread out becomes second nature and so does providing urine samples, blood and counting weeks.
I felt much better after Mark was born. I was overjoyed, relieved to see he was cute and healthy, convinced I had a new mission, a family and that we would be just fine.
But soon after, hopelessness settled in. The first few weeks were a blur. We were exhausted, it was just the two of us taking turns with Mark. I had started parenthood with a bad sleep deficit—I never got the chance to rest after birth, the nurse was waking me up every two hours to feed Mark and I hadn’t slept the night before since I was in labour (duh!).
Mark was born on October 12 and until Christmas, we were in survival mode, never sleeping more than three hours in a row. I don’t remember much of the first few months. In my memories, I was cold all the time and it was dark all the time. Putting Mark to sleep was impossible. We were arguing a lot. I was always stressed out, I couldn’t relax.
Yet it seems that the world was still turning. I was working, I have plenty of invoices to prove it. Baby Mark was hitting the milestones. I have pictures too, and somehow, I’m smiling.
When I read articles from 2012 to 2016, I realize there were happy moments. Sometimes, I was fine. Most of the time, I wasn’t. There’s a picture Feng took where you can see Mark playing with fall leaves. I’m in the background, leaning on a tree. I remember that day. I was crying because I had bought bread earlier with Mark and I had put the fresh loaf in the basket under the stroller. Then we had folded the stroller, forgetting the bread, and it was all squished. And I was crying over that, even though the bread was okay after all and I could always buy another loaf—I had failed, once again. I was constantly failing—as a person, as a mother, at life.
When Mark turned one, I did try to seek help. I contacted a counselling service. It took forever to get a call back and eventually I was told there was a long waiting list. I reached out to the closest community centre but I learned that even though it was just a twenty-minute walk from home, my neighbourhood was served by another centre much further. “Is your baby safe?” the staff asked when I inquired about help options. “Of course! I’ll never harm him!” Please, ask me if I’m safe right and if I’d harm myself, I begged mentally. But no one ever asked. I stopped seeking help. Too difficult.
When Feng’s parents started to babysit once a week, I’d take a couple of hours off to go to Chapters alone. I’d buy a coffee then grab a stack of parenting magazines. I’d look at perfect mothers, wondering why I couldn’t be like them. I’d go cry in the bathroom then I’d come back and try to absorb precious advice. Problem, solution. If this then that. I’d go home confident that now I could totally be a perfect mother, an accomplished professional, and a lovely, balanced human being. It would last for a few days at most—a sleepless night, two meals skipped, three arguments with Feng, and twenty mysterious babies-being-babies episodes later and I was back to feeling like a failure.
Anxiety and hopelessness aren’t new feelings to me—I’ve been in a dark place before but never for that long. My siblings and I realized a few years ago this may be our weakness. It runs in the family.
But looking back, even without a genetic predisposition, plenty of environmental factors could have triggered depression—very little support, the delusional idea I was strong enough to handle everything, cultural differences and expectations we hadn’t ironed out, two clueless parents isolated, overwhelmed and overworked.
Everytime it started to get better, we were experiencing a setback. Mark finally started daycare at two when we came back from China, but the centre declared bankruptcy overnight a month later. The second daycare also closed unexpectedly. Then Mark caught every single bug known to mankind at the third daycare so one of us was always passed out in bed.
I was going through the day, through the motions but I was still feeling useless and hopeless.
This is where I’m supposed to describe the epiphany I had at one point and what did the trick. Unfortunately, there was no such moment and I have no idea how I got better. Probably time. Primal survival instinct. Mark grew up. I learned from my mistakes.
And little by little, I started feeling hopeful, generally happy, and enthusiastic. I realized I had projects and dreams I was excited about. I was feeling feelings. I learned a thing or two along the way as well—what triggers anxiety for me, what makes me happy, what keeps me going.
This post is hard to write and maybe to read as well. But I’m still putting it out there because there’s hope.
If you stumble upon this because right now, life is hard for whatever reason, just hold on. Seek help, find support, express yourself, talk about it but do not give up. It will get better and you will come out of it stronger. Hold on, just hold on. If you need to close your eyes for a minute and escape, do it—but remember you’re not alone and you’re not done yet. Hold on, just hold on.
It will make sense at one point. You’ve made it this far and you will make it through.
I believe in you.
I lurk in some former North American religionist blogs, and one can see how belittling of women religion can be. But as we talked last week, misogyny is still rampant in our societies, largely due to religions. A woman won’t be considered a “real woman” if she doesn’t want children, or if she doesn’t enjoy every minute of her motherhood.
That is part of the emotional labor women have to go through, which takes a toll on well being.
Like you said, I felt the weight of societal expectations and for me, it hurt. I was happy to become a mother and this was our decision, not a duty. However, parenthood isn’t like in a movie and it’s toxic to spread impossible-to-meet expectations. And on the same note, falling in love and living with a significant other is a hell of a lot harder and trickier than what society claims. We’re humans, not machines.
I had a postpartum depression after the birth of second one and it took me a long time to admit it. Both the doctor who followed me during my pregnancy and my family doctor asked me if I was doing okay and I kept telling that everything was fine. I eventually got better but I feel like a little fragility will always remain. And since I have blur memories of the first year of my second daughter, I have a true guilt. Thanks for writing this post.
It’s funny how good we are at pretending everything is just fine. I remember your articles about your second pregnancy, birth and aftermath very well and you sounded perfectly happy and in control. Which is probably what you wanted to be… I’m sorry you had to go through that as well. And for all it’s worth, I can’t imagine why you would feel guilty. Look at them both… you did a great job. I bet she doesn’t remember her first year either 😆
Oh, voilà donc l’article dont tu m’avais parlé…
Je comprends tellement chacun de tes mots, même si je n’ai pas vécu les choses de la même manière, au même moment (j’étais heureuse quand j’ai eu mon premier enfant, épuisée pendant des mois, la vie n’était pas vraiment facile, mais j’étais heureuse. D’ailleurs je me demande souvent quand ça a basculé, mais c’est difficile à dire…)
C’est vraiment impressionnant que tu aies fini par t’en sortir seule. Merci pour la jolie note d’espoir 🙂
We all have different triggers I guess and it’s a real mindfuck to analyze what happened in the first place. It’s only looking back that I can kind of unravel the thread and pinpoint when it started, why it probably started, etc. Yet I’m willing to bet that it could just as well have never happened.
I really wish I had practical advice to give you but I don’t even know how I got better. The only thing I can say is that I truly believe there’s a up after a down.
thank you for this post. I’m at the lowest point myself ^_^ that I cried ON my desk, not on bathroom
Well, it may be a good thing after all… because if you’re not okay, you shouldn’t be hiding. Is anyone taking care of you and helping?
Bravo for your courage to write this post & thank you from all the people who need to read this.
It was very touching to read it. I’m glad you got through this. I’m glad to know about this.
Take care.
Thank you 🙂
Je suis extrêmement touchée par ce que tu écris parce que j’ai vécu la même chose ou quasiment après la naissance de mon 2e enfant (autant désiré et voulu que le 1er) et j’ai mis presque 2 ans à sortir de cet état dépressif. Pourtant j’étais loin d’être isolée, j’avais un boulot qui me plaisait, un patron cool qui a accepté mon temps partiel, une nounou top, des grands-parents pas trop loin, et aucun souci financier … le maillon faible était le papa, assez focalisé sur sa carrière et peu compréhensif … au point que nous avions des disputes quotidiennes pour des broutilles.
Comment je m’en suis sortie ? Comme toi avec le temps … mais aussi l’hospitalisation de ma fille pour un pb de santé assez sérieux vers 20 mois a été un électrochoc qui m’a permis de réaliser ce qui était important et ce qui ne l’était pas.
Encore aujourd’hui je ressens bcp de culpabilité à ne pas avoir su donner à ma fille tout l’amour qu’elle méritait mais avec l’aide d’une psychanalyste, j’ai su mettre des mots sur cet épisode peu glorieux de ma vie, me pardonner (un peu) et surtout en parler à ma fille pour lui expliquer (ce fut très éprouvant mais très libérateur aussi). Je précise qu’elle a aujourd’hui 18 ans et qu’elle est partie faire des études supérieures à l’étranger, c’est une jeune fille épanouie et heureuse !
Ce qui me frappe, dans ton témoignage, c’est la culpabilité que tu dis ressentir. Ça me rappelle ma maman, qui se sent parfois coupable de choses… dont on (“on”, la fratrie) n’a même pas idée et dont on n’est absolument pas traumatisés. Là, je parle en tant qu'”enfant” : les parents, on les prend comme ils sont! Je suis sûre que j’ai vu mes parents stressés, fatigués, etc. par période, mais c’était un fait, c’est tout, j’avais aussi ma vie d’enfant et pis voilà. Je ne me suis jamais sentie pas aimée. Bref, tout ça pour dire que je ne te connais pas plus que ça, mais ça me paraît absolument évident que tu as été une bonne mère (que tu ES une bonne mère, la job est jamais finie!) et que cette culpabilité c’est toi qui la porte, que ta fille ne la sens probablement pas.
Ah, puis c’est aussi intéressant que tu commences par expliquer que tu n’avais aucune raison de te sentir mal… comme s’il fallait un environnement à la Cosette pour avoir le droit d’aller mal. Tu allais mal, c’est tout!
Putain de culpabilité. Je ne connais pas UNE de mes amies qui ne mentionne pas se sentir coupable parce qu’elle n’a pas le temps de passer plus de temps avec les enfants, parce qu’elle se sent dépassée, parce qu’elle n’est pas la mère qu’elle aimerait être… c’est carrément un poncif. Et le sentiment est tellement répandu que je crois maintenant que c’est dans NOTRE tête.
Oui tu as sans doute raison.
Mais on ne m’enlèvera pas de l’idée que dans ses premiers mois ma fille a reçu moins d’amour que son frère aîné et cette pensée reste toujours liée à un grand sentiment de culpabilité même si je sais aujourd’hui que je ne pouvais pas faire plus à ce moment là de ma vie, dans l’état de fragilité qui était le mien j’ai fait de mon mieux.
C’est peut-être un poncif mais c’est ce que je ressens profondément.
Évidemment, j’ai un avis “rationnel” là-dessus, qui ne change rien à cette culpabilité que tu ressens 🙂 C’est facile de dire “t’as qu’à…”!
On fait tous de notre mieux, avec des failles et beaucoup d’amour.
Thanks so much for sharing this – more moms need to hear that they are not alone and that post-partum depression is nothing to be ashamed of. I’m so sad reading about how you tried to reach out for help and found nothing – but not surprised, either. Hopefully more stories like this will be a small hope to other new moms and if awareness is raised, changes will come.
And so glad to hear you are doing better now!
I think awareness is here but our health system just can’t cope with demand… and yes, it sucks.
I felt like giving you a hug reading this! Metal health advocacy is really important to me and providing access to those services is so so important. I’m sorry you had such a hard time finding someone to talk to at the time. Not that it would have solved all of it but it really makes me angry how hard it is to access healthcare here, especially for women and vulnerable people (but hey, my job involves working on that sort of thing).
Mental health issues run in my family too so I made sure to find someone to talk to when I got to Victoria. To have someone to talk to about all the stuff my ex put me through and move forward. But also in case, I get to a point where I can have a kid. So there is someone in my life who knows me, whom I trust and who can give me professional help if I need it. I figure if my family had a history of heart attacks I’d do regular blood tests etc. So I’m treating mental health in the same way.
Anyways, I’m glad you got better in the end, and have a lovely family to show for it! Safe travels
I’ll take that hug!
I think that’s partially why I was so adamant about calling you when you decided to break up (great move!), I was worried about you. I realized you had your shit together but still… I know how it feels to be alone and temporarily confused.