It's been seven and a half months since I started taking
antidepressants for my postpartum depression. With the advice of my
doctor, I am now completely off the meds, and have been for about two
weeks (I went through a weaning off process that took 4 weeks).
Thankfully, so far, I have not had a depressive episode. In fact, I was
extremely blessed that the small dosage I was on completely stopped all
symptoms of my depression. I didn't have to mess with dosages or
experiment with brands, and I've been symptom free. I truly have been
lucky in this battle.
While I'm not entirely sure I'm in the clear yet, I am optimistic about it. My doctor believes that my odds are very good that the depression will completely go away and not return. I want to believe him, but only time will tell. Since my PPD had a gradual onset, with symptoms appearing slowly at first in intensity and frequency, I won't let my guard down just yet.
I have learned a lot from this trial, and I wanted to document some of my experience. First, and scariest, was learning how completely my depression altered my perception of reality. I couldn't just have a messy house, because I was convinced that anyone who saw it would think I was an absolute slob, and that I would be talked about as "that" person whose house is so nasty that no one wants to go inside or let their children play with my children. I couldn't be out in public with misbehaving kids, because I felt that everyone was watching and criticizing every little misbehavior. On top of that, any non-perfect response from me to their misbehavior would be interpreted as child abuse and I would be reported to the authorities. I couldn't just go to church, because all I could see was our imperfections--my less-than-stellar appearance, my children being too loud, my boys' shirts not perfectly white, and so on--and feel like we were not wanted there. None of these thoughts and feelings were justified--my neighbors and ward members are fantastic, and no one ever said a nasty thing to me at the grocery store or anywhere else. But this was how I saw life, and it was completely the result of my illness.
In addition, I began to see how suicide can actually, truly be seen as a solution to someone suffering from depression. Toward the end (before I finally started taking the meds), I honestly believed my children and husband would have been better off without me, and if I could have found a way to simply disappear from their lives, I would have. It scares me now to think how much I tried to find the perfect suicide--one where they wouldn't have to suffer by finding my lifeless body somewhere. This is what ultimately convinced me to take the medication. I was scaring myself with these thoughts, and I knew this was not at all like me. But, because of my experience, I feel like I have much more compassion for those with mental illness, including those who eventually commit suicide. I understand how these individuals may truly not have been responsible for their decisions, and am confident that a loving Heavenly Father will be able to extend grace to those individuals.
I've also learned the importance of not keeping these feelings to myself. As I began to confide in others, and after publishing my post about my diagnosis, I felt such an outpouring of love and concern from friends, family, neighbors, and acquaintances. I got several messages and emails from people I thought I knew well that had also had PPD, and I had never known. I heard their stories, what their symptoms were, and about their recovery (or not). I wish I had known that I could have turned to these people beforehand, and that I could have had people helping me before my symptoms had gotten so out of control. I'm glad I published my post about PPD, and I've tried to continue talking about it. I don't want someone else to feel like they don't know anyone who's gone through PPD. If you are reading this and feel like you are the only one, please contact me. I'd love to listen and, if you want, talk about my experience. I'd love to offer you hope that there are people who love you and want to help you through this, no matter how long it lasts. I want you to know that you are not broken, or crazy, or permanently damaged. And, above all, there is no shame in seeking medical help. Please, get help before you do something you (or your family) will regret.
I've also learned that sometimes it's okay not to do everything. Sometimes it's okay not to volunteer in your kids' school, and be their coaches, and have an immaculate house, and play three instruments, and have perfect hair and wear make-up, and be on time to church with perfectly behaving kids. Some days, it was all I could handle to make it through church without breaking into tears and leaving early. Some days, I was lucky if I showered before picking up carpool. Some days, it was a success to get out of bed. And I learned to be grateful for what I could do, rather than focusing on the millions of things I didn't do. I've tried hard to encourage others to see this as well--to help us all stop focusing on our perceived imperfections and comparing ourselves to others, but to be grateful for what we can do and to reach for a goal that's reasonable for my situation at that time.
So, while this is a trial I hope to never go through again, and while I will never wish this on anyone else, I can see the blessings that have come to me through this, and for that I am grateful.
While I'm not entirely sure I'm in the clear yet, I am optimistic about it. My doctor believes that my odds are very good that the depression will completely go away and not return. I want to believe him, but only time will tell. Since my PPD had a gradual onset, with symptoms appearing slowly at first in intensity and frequency, I won't let my guard down just yet.
I have learned a lot from this trial, and I wanted to document some of my experience. First, and scariest, was learning how completely my depression altered my perception of reality. I couldn't just have a messy house, because I was convinced that anyone who saw it would think I was an absolute slob, and that I would be talked about as "that" person whose house is so nasty that no one wants to go inside or let their children play with my children. I couldn't be out in public with misbehaving kids, because I felt that everyone was watching and criticizing every little misbehavior. On top of that, any non-perfect response from me to their misbehavior would be interpreted as child abuse and I would be reported to the authorities. I couldn't just go to church, because all I could see was our imperfections--my less-than-stellar appearance, my children being too loud, my boys' shirts not perfectly white, and so on--and feel like we were not wanted there. None of these thoughts and feelings were justified--my neighbors and ward members are fantastic, and no one ever said a nasty thing to me at the grocery store or anywhere else. But this was how I saw life, and it was completely the result of my illness.
In addition, I began to see how suicide can actually, truly be seen as a solution to someone suffering from depression. Toward the end (before I finally started taking the meds), I honestly believed my children and husband would have been better off without me, and if I could have found a way to simply disappear from their lives, I would have. It scares me now to think how much I tried to find the perfect suicide--one where they wouldn't have to suffer by finding my lifeless body somewhere. This is what ultimately convinced me to take the medication. I was scaring myself with these thoughts, and I knew this was not at all like me. But, because of my experience, I feel like I have much more compassion for those with mental illness, including those who eventually commit suicide. I understand how these individuals may truly not have been responsible for their decisions, and am confident that a loving Heavenly Father will be able to extend grace to those individuals.
I've also learned the importance of not keeping these feelings to myself. As I began to confide in others, and after publishing my post about my diagnosis, I felt such an outpouring of love and concern from friends, family, neighbors, and acquaintances. I got several messages and emails from people I thought I knew well that had also had PPD, and I had never known. I heard their stories, what their symptoms were, and about their recovery (or not). I wish I had known that I could have turned to these people beforehand, and that I could have had people helping me before my symptoms had gotten so out of control. I'm glad I published my post about PPD, and I've tried to continue talking about it. I don't want someone else to feel like they don't know anyone who's gone through PPD. If you are reading this and feel like you are the only one, please contact me. I'd love to listen and, if you want, talk about my experience. I'd love to offer you hope that there are people who love you and want to help you through this, no matter how long it lasts. I want you to know that you are not broken, or crazy, or permanently damaged. And, above all, there is no shame in seeking medical help. Please, get help before you do something you (or your family) will regret.
I've also learned that sometimes it's okay not to do everything. Sometimes it's okay not to volunteer in your kids' school, and be their coaches, and have an immaculate house, and play three instruments, and have perfect hair and wear make-up, and be on time to church with perfectly behaving kids. Some days, it was all I could handle to make it through church without breaking into tears and leaving early. Some days, I was lucky if I showered before picking up carpool. Some days, it was a success to get out of bed. And I learned to be grateful for what I could do, rather than focusing on the millions of things I didn't do. I've tried hard to encourage others to see this as well--to help us all stop focusing on our perceived imperfections and comparing ourselves to others, but to be grateful for what we can do and to reach for a goal that's reasonable for my situation at that time.
So, while this is a trial I hope to never go through again, and while I will never wish this on anyone else, I can see the blessings that have come to me through this, and for that I am grateful.
