Famous last words. Despite there being quite a quite an open dialogue surrounding post-natal depression, it’s a scary thing to acknowledge.
Post-natal depression (PND) is a nasty, evil thing affecting each who has it very differently. For some it’s instant and they struggle to bond with their baby, for others it comes later and more gradually.
For me, it came in when TinyHuman was already 8 weeks old. We were having a tough day and it was like I’d just been smacked in the face. I was fine, right up until the moment that I was not.
When trying to explain to the Man how it feels, the best metaphor I could come up with was this:
Every day I wake up and feel as though I’m in the ocean. I’m holding TinyHuman and treading water, keeping our heads up so we’re both able to breathe- and we’re doing okay.
But then out of no where, something starts frantically trying to pull me down. So there I am in the middle of the ocean, sinking, gasping for air, desperately holding TinyHuman above the water.
In every day life this looks a lot like, TinyHuman always wearing clean clothes that were fresh on for the day, always well fed, bathed every night before bed. All of his needs met. While I’m wandering round in the same clothes I put on three days ago, covered in god knows what, only realising I’m hungry when I start to feel faint.
I find myself able to be very open when on the topic of mental health. I’ve supported individuals unwell with their mental health for a long time, and suffered myself for even longer. I’ll always talk openly and honestly about my mental health to anyone who cares to ask. I’ve always found myself able to reach out for help when I’ve needed it, usually from my Mum who then encourages me and pushes me in the right direction.
But something strange happened recently. I was at the doctors for mine and TinyHuman’s post-natal check up, and the doctor asked how I was doing- I found myself saying “I’m fine”. I’m not.
Something inside me made me feel that I had to present as though I was completely okay. I had a profound urge to make them believe that I wasn’t struggling. As though something in me believed that to show I was struggling would prove I was an unfit mother.
Rationally, I know this to be untrue. There is no shame in admitting that I am struggling, and in reality by admitting it to them I’m opening myself up to receiving support. It was as if my brain went “if you tell them that, you’ll be deemed unfit and they’ll take him”. Again, rationally I know this is untrue.
However all of a sudden I had an understanding of why people may feel they need to hide their struggles. So my next big battle is to push those thoughts aside and reach out for the support I need.
I’m not going to sit here and say that isn’t difficult- because it is. Though it is of the utmost importance that I keep fighting. Everyday I wake up battling the depression, I must now allow myself to realise that I am not doing so alone and that I am able to accept support.
Today I reached out for support from my local children’s centre. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it’s absolutely worth a shot.
It is so easy to just allow yourself to spiral, or to be so in denial that you don’t see yourself sinking deeper and deeper. So it’s important to speak to those around you, acknowledge your feelings instead of burying them and do something for you every now and then.
I am more than just my TinyHuman’s buoyancy aid in the middle of the ocean, I deserve to have time to myself where just for a minute I know that someone else is meeting his needs. Therefore I am allowed to meet my own.
