I know I probably have talked about this on my blog before, but I remember before I got pregnant, how excited I was to go through pregnancy. With the exception of one friend, everyone told me how great it was, how wonderful they felt, and on, and on, and on…. And then when I finally did get pregnant and things didn’t go the way I thought they would, I felt deceived. The funny thing was, I was SO determined to be honest with myself that whenever anyone asked I told them the truth. And once it poured out of my mouth, I found myself having in depth conversations with people about how awful it really was sometimes, and how hard it was to tell people that.
Once Nora was here, I thought things would get so much better. And they did in some ways. But we had another huge problem that I think people (okay, women) are afraid to talk about. And once again, I decided that I was going to be honest with myself and others. I haven’t talked about it much, or at all, on here, but we had HUGE problems nursing. I thought babies just came out knowing how to eat! How wrong I was in that assumption. But do you know what happened? Once I started talking about it and being honest about it, I found that quite a few women had the same problem. The same women who told me how great it was to nurse and how easy it was were reminded of the things they had forgotten. Time passes and I think we forget how hard things are so that we’ll go through it all again.
So the thing I’m wondering, is if I can be so honest with people who ask about nursing and pregnancy, then why can’t I be honest in other aspects of my life? Why are there certain things that are so taboo to talk about? Why do certain things have such a negative image?
So I feel a little bit like I’m at an AA meeting, but here it goes. I have postpartum depression. Whew. There, I said it. Much harder to say than I thought it would be. No one really knows outright (although I’m sure some people have suspected). I haven’t even told my mom or sisters (sorry mom and sisters!). I think that I have been nervous for people to know. There is such a stigma of failure that comes with PPD sometimes. Why can’t I be one of those perfect moms that have babies and 2 weeks later are balancing their lives better than they were before? Do those moms even really exist or are they just fakes who break down at home when no one is looking? Why did nursing not work for me, did I not try hard enough? Why can’t I keep up on laundry, keep a clean house, pump four times a day and get all of my work done and still spend quality time with Nora and Garrett, not to mention Bella? Lots of “whys” run through my head on a pretty daily basis.
I was officially diagnosed when Nora was about three months old. I remember going to the appointment already on edge, because I pretty much knew what was going to happen. I knew what she was going to say, and I didn’t want to face it because I felt like I was failing. Failing at being a wife and a mother. And when she told me, I cried. But the crying wasn’t anything new… I was so embarrassed. In my gut I knew it was there, but I just thought I’d get over it. But life doesn’t always work that way. The last three months have been an even bigger adjustment. I’m trying to manage this sickness (because that’s exactly what it is) naturally and on my own. Some days I succeed, others I don’t. But I’m making it through.
I’m not putting this out there to get pity. I don’t need to be coddled, or constantly checked on. I really am doing okay. I put this out there so that I’m being honest. Honest with myself and honest with others. And maybe if I’m being honest than it will open up the opportunity for someone else who is struggling to know that there is someone they can talk to who has been through the same thing. Who understands the pain and anguish that they are going through. Because it can be that bad. I wish sometimes that I had been honest earlier, because then maybe I would have found someone who I could have leaned on who had been through the same things. And maybe I still will. But if anything happens from this bout of honesty, I hope it’s that I can help someone else.
Six months have passed since my life changed dramatically. Six months have passed where I have lived for another human being. Six months of tears and laughter trying to get my life back in balance. It’s getting there. And even though these last 6 months have been hard emotionally for me, they were worth it. Because these last 6 months have taught me that I can do hard things. That even on the days when the house isn’t clean I am a good mom to Nora. That I can still be a good wife and not have dinner on the table. And that I can still be a good person and not be perfect.
And on that note, here is a picture of one person who has made these 6 months so incredibly worth it.
