Note: This blog is not intended to be a self-help guide or a replacement for professional help, but rather a story of hope and healing. I will link perinatal mental health resources at the bottom of each post.
Part 2 of 3
I returned to my previous therapist who knew me well and
even had some experience working on a maternity ward, but in hindsight she was
not equipped to handle my situation. She told me to breastfeed more often
because it supposedly helps with anxiety and to eat more nutritious food,
especially organic. The expectation that a new mom raising a newborn should
focus on her nutrition and diet is completely unrealistic and spoiler alert -
it didn’t happen. The breastfeeding did nothing for me except create more anxiety
and conflict between myself and my husband because we had no idea how much our
daughter was consuming.
I felt like I was running a marathon without any
training. I finally got an appointment with a psychiatrist and I remember
frantically doing the forms on my phone while driving to my dentist appointment
because if the forms were not submitted in time, I would lose my appointment
slot. When I got to the dentist, he told me I didn’t look very sleep-deprived
and was taking good care of my teeth. You would think that was a compliment,
but I felt guilty. I should be more sleep-deprived and get up more during the
night for my daughter. Also, why am I putting myself first before my baby and
taking care of my teeth? What a terrible mom! As I left the office, the other
dentist asked to see a picture of my daughter, a moment I had been dreading. I
felt so much shame for how I shitty I felt. For having no connection with my
daughter and feeling like she’s an inconvenience. How can I show people
pictures and act like everything is okay when I clearly was not cut out to be a
mom?
I wish I had known then that these were intrusive
thoughts and they were not my own. It wouldn’t make them go away, but at least
I could somehow separate the two because all I knew was that I hated how I was
feeling and would do almost anything to make it stop. I practically lived on
Reddit’s New Parent sub thread, looking for other people who hated this as much
as I did. I read countless stories from parents who made it out of the trenches
saying that it would get better. Unfortunately, there were also stories about
how bad it could get or how at however many months, the child was still barely
sleeping. I remember one person who got so little sleep that they started
hallucinating while holding the baby. All of this combined triggered my
obsession about sleep. I was convinced that if I didn’t get enough sleep that I
was going to go crazy or pass out while I was holding the baby.
I saw each day as one 24 hour loop, divided into 3 hour
increments. It was like a wheel that never stopped spinning. Feed at this time,
pump at this time, walk in circles trying to soothe the baby. My daily routine
felt irrelevant. I felt relevant. What’s the point of eating, sleeping, bathing
when we just had to start over again and do the same thing the next day? I
existed only to keep the baby alive.
I got a psychiatrist who put me back on Cymbalta, but I
had to start at the lowest dose and slowly titrate up. We’ve come a long way in
the world of antidepressants, but we have a long way to go. When everyday feels
like torture and you no longer want to live, it’s daunting to be told that it
will take a few weeks before you feel symptom relief. What’s worse, I learned
that in some cases, the medication can worsen your symptoms. One of my lowest
points was about a week into restarting the Cymbalta. I woke up in the middle
of the night with a sense of panic. I felt my whole body tightening and I knew
immediately it was a panic attack. It only lasted about 10 seconds, but I
remember thinking that if it keeps happening, I will end my life.
I told my therapist who gave me yoga poses to do that
will relax the body when a panic attack comes. She asked me the questions from
the Edinburgh Scale and I scored just one point from the highest possible
score. She told me to reach out to my psychiatrist and OB/GYN immediately. My
therapist also helped me get connected to a few mom support groups in the area
as well as Postpartum Support International’s virtual support group for people
with perinatal mental health disorders.
My sister-in-law took me to Nando’s to get me out of the
house. While I sat at the table looking at the menu, I thought “what’s the
point? I’m not going to be here much longer anyway.” I had not experienced a
panic attack since 7th grade and now that the door to panic attacks had
re-opened, I thought it would never close. I felt so vulnerable, so empty. I
felt detached from my body. I looked at other moms strolling causally with
their children and wondered how did they do it? How do they make it look so easy?
On the way back, my sister-in-law commented about how she needed a new coat and
I felt so jealous that this was her biggest worry at the moment. I truly
believed I was stuck in this horror forever.
The next few weeks passed by gruelingly slow. People
would tell me “can you believe your baby is already 3 months?” “No,” I would
respond. For me it felt like it had been 3 years. When it was getting close to
Christmas, my husband and I took our daughter to the mall for some Christmas
shopping. On the car ride there, I felt a sense of panic rush over me to the point where I had to repeatedly tell myself "you're safe" just to ground myself.
The crowds of shoppers, the festive lights, and holiday music was a complete juxtaposition to what I felt inside. I felt like an imposter. My husband insisted on taking a family photo with Santa. I didn't understand the point of celebrating, but I forced a smile. Even though I have mixed feelings when I look at the photo now, I am glad we kept a semblance of normalcy.
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