I lift my thankful heart: My journey through PPD

This morning, I shared part of my testimony with the women at the weekly Bible study I attend. God graciously but firmly laid it on my heart that this is what I was to share. I've decided to post it here to provide transparency, encouragement and hope. 

“Praise the Lord, my soul

And forget not all his benefits-

Who forgives all your sins

And heals all your diseases

Who redeems your life from the pit

And crowns you with love and compassion,

Who satisfies your desires with good things

So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” (Psalm 103:1-5)

This was the part of the Psalm that stood out to me when I read it this past fall; I had been asked to share my testimony as it related to that Scripture. A couple of years ago, my husband and I were asked what the greatest crisis we had faced in our marriage was, and I was hard-pressed to name one. Of course we have our own disagreements and arguments, and we have to handle fatigue and child-rearing and career decisions, among other stressors. It was just that we hadn’t yet dealt with an acute crisis. In 2012, our crisis was upon us. 

On October 27^th, 2011, I gave birth to our second daughter, Maeve Catherine. From the start, she was difficult to soothe, and she was colicky for the first several months of her life. At the same time, I entered the darkest period of my life to date, during which I had postpartum depression.

It came on gradually, as the fatigue of caring for a newborn and a toddler set in. Maeve was prone to screaming fits, so I tended to stay home rather than go out and see people. I got really frustrated really easily and couldn’t dig myself out of my anger. I was irritable and snapped a lot, especially at my children. Other times, I wouldn’t be able to stop crying. I’d have intense mood swings where, in the space of fifteen minutes, I could go from feeling that life was great and only getting better, to feeling like parenthood was a relentless downward spiral. I had certain thoughts that would repeat in my head: “Every day is a little bit worse.” “Maeve is draining the joy from our home.” “No one is coming to help me.” My then-two-year-old, Daphne, started asking me “Mummy, are you happy with me?” My husband knew for sure that something was very wrong when I texted him one night when he was at Bible study, and said that I hated Maeve and wondered if we had made a mistake in having her. 

On a Wednesday morning last winter, I drove to W2W, crying all the way. I checked the girls in to child care (in truth, that was the only reason I had come, to get a break from my kids) and slowly made my way to the gym. Tears were still falling down my face as a friend looked up from her table and rushed over to me. We went into the parents’ room across the hall and I told her about what had been happening. She gently suggested that I go talk to one of the pastors, and Pastor Daniel was free at that time. He was so compassionate and gracious during our meeting, and suggested that I follow up with my family doctor and a Christian counsellor. 

I want to be clear as I explain my journey through PPD: each experience of mental illness is different, and there is no specific set of steps that you can take to guarantee a return to normalcy. In fact, I experienced a recurrence when I thought I was over it, which I’ll speak about in a bit, and I may have further recurrences in the future, as well as an increased likelihood of clinical depression. This is just how it went for me. 

I was blessed in that no one ever suggested to me that my depression was due to weak faith or a lack of prayer. But being the judgmental person that I am, I thought I could “earn” my way out. I read the Bible more consistently than I ever had, I was at church as frequently as ever, and I was even a backup table leader at W2W. Eventually though, I came to realize that my problem was medical and needed to be treated as such. There were many treatment options available, and I hesitantly tried a few: exercise (hard to do in the winter), omega-3 fish oil (gross), keeping my commitments and expectations minimal, and seeking practical help with household chores and child care. Medication was also a possibility, but I was concerned about it getting into my breast milk, and I wasn’t sure how I’d know when I was better and when to stop taking it. Rob could see that my weak attempts weren’t working, and we had a huge fight about it. I tried to explain that I was tired, so tired at the end of the day that I had no energy to put towards fighting depression. I suggested that maybe this is who I was now. He said that if he were in my place, he would do whatever it took to get better. I chalked that up to personality differences. He insisted that this was not me, and begged me to fight. Finally, he said that if I could not or would not fight, he would fight for me. Through his passion to see me get better, I saw the love God has for me.

One of the hardest things for me about PPD is that not everyone gets it, literally. I was used to doing a lot, and doing it well. When I was sidelined by PPD, I wondered what my problem was, why I couldn’t seem to manage my two children when other people were raising as many or more, while keeping a clean house and providing healthy homemade meals (I assumed). Why was I affected by PPD? Why wasn’t everyone? In a room this size, with this many moms in it, I am sure that several women listening have had PPD, or maybe even have it now. To those of you journeying through that dark valley, can I encourage you that the way you feel today is not the way you will feel forever? God can lead you through it, provide healing and restore joy to your life. If you feel like you cannot talk to anyone else about it, please come and talk to me. You wouldn’t believe how many women you know have been where you are today.

God provided for me in so many ways during that dark time. One unusual thing that ended up working for me was acupuncture, and because my dad is an acupuncturist as well as a chiropractor, this treatment was free. My husband was able to take paternity leave to help look after me and the girls. Family also stepped in to give us relief. Friends prayed for us and offered us practical help. By the summer, my depression had subsided significantly. I had been meaning to see a counsellor, but I saw enough improvement to decide against it. I was still very cautious and not willing to declare that I was out of the woods until I was done breastfeeding (by which time my hormones would have settled down more). 

Just after Maeve’s first birthday, I wrote in my journal that I felt like I had my old life back, or at least my old self, adjusted to my new life. I was spending time with friends again rather than avoiding them, and I felt like I had hit my stride in caring for my family and my home (although it is always messy). I was feeling optimistic about the future again. About a month later, I felt myself slipping back into depression. I honestly thought that I had somehow jinxed myself by saying I was better, and this was what I got: regular-type depression. The girls and I had been through the first round of cold and flu bugs of the season, both girls were having behavioural issues, and I was burnt out caring for them. I still had my mom and sister coming around to help on evenings when Rob couldn’t be there. So again, I wondered why I couldn’t handle things. And this time, I didn’t wait for things to get or stay worse before making an appointment with a Christian counsellor. I also cried out to God in prayer, asking him to get me to the other side of this, again. 

The counsellor I met with is one who specializes in PPD. She listened while I talked, and advised that what I had now was probably a continuation of PPD rather than depression or bipolar disorder (which one of my grandmothers has, in addition to PPD in her past). My counsellor told me that onset of PPD can be anywhere in the first year of your baby’s life, and there’s no set time that it lasts. 

These days, I am feeling optimistic again. I’m finished with my acupuncture treatments and counselling for now. I don’t enjoy revisiting the dark times of my depression, but remembering how it felt to lose my mental wellness makes me all the more thankful to have it restored. And to the God who healed my disease, and who redeemed my life from the pit of depression, I lift my thankful heart.