Get Me Out Of Here! My Journey with Postpartum Depression/Anxiety Post-Weaning By Tatiana O’Hanlon
Anxiety is a long game, there’s no quick fix or magic pill. There are good days, normal days, and bad days. There is progress and there are setbacks. Sometimes you are staring at your beautiful baby boy so in love, and it creeps in telling you he is not safe, that you are a bad mom, and you will never be able to get through it. Charlie Brown said it best, “I think I’m afraid of being happy because whenever I get too happy, something bad always happens.”
While I have struggled and worked hard to manage my anxiety most of my adult life, I definitely was not ready for a curveball that was about to be thrown my way. Mother’s Day (the irony) was the day I ended breastfeeding my 15 month-old son. We had experienced months of anguish, bliss and trials. Breastfeeding did not come as easy or as naturally as I expected it would and we almost stopped at four months due to latching issues, thrush and my overall declining mental health. I pushed through because that is what I was being told, and eventually it got better.
During the first few months of the COVID pandemic, we were living with my in-laws, and the morning after Mother’s Day, my mother-in-law put on the Mary Poppins soundtrack as she liked to do when she cleaned. I suddenly found myself bawling while listening to it. Mary Poppins has always been a favorite of mine, but it has never moved me to tears like that. Later that day I found myself extremely jealous of my son drinking from a bottle and not from me, and that night the insomnia and panic attacks kicked in. I was awake the entire night with every panic attack symptom in the book.
The next morning I went into the kitchen exhausted, mentally and physically drained, and sat on the floor crying. I knew there must be something medically wrong with me. This continued for several days until I finally went to see a doctor. Based on the blood work the doctor ordered, he concluded a thyroid issue was to blame. I started a thyroid medication and prayed I would get some relief. But the panic attack symptoms (looking back I can now identify that they were in fact that) continued as well as the extreme insomnia, crying and fear of everything. A door would slam outside and I would jump; a car would drive by and I feared there would be a drive-by shooting. I was in constant fear of death, going crazy, and leaving my son alone in this world.
I didn’t feel that the doctor had diagnosed me correctly, so I decided to seek a second opinion. It took this new doctor exactly five minutes to diagnose me with postpartum depression and anxiety, which his own wife had been through. I will be forever grateful to him for the correct diagnosis. He sent me home with a prescription for an antidepressant and some sleeping medication for my insomnia. While I was hopeful the medication would help, the next three days would be the hardest of my life. I took my first dose of the antidepressant and ended up in a mania and a restlessness that seemed the only cure would be to run a marathon. I felt so afraid to sit still, so I walked and walked all day until I could take my sleep meds and sleep. There was a deep ache in my chest that never went away, I was barely eating, and the anxious thoughts were relentless.
I spent the entire next day crying on the floor in a fetal position and begging God to take this suffering away from me. I didn’t see how I would survive this. While I was not suicidal, I vividly remember sitting in the bathtub that evening thinking about and understanding why people take their own lives. It was the darkest place I have ever been, and a hell I hope I never have to return to.
During those nights as I was struggling to cope with all that was going on, I would whisper to my baby boy, “Momma is going to get better. Momma will take care of you. There’s no need to worry.” Even as I write this, it makes me choke up because I didn’t believe what I was saying and I knew it was going to be a long, hard journey.
After a couple of days of agony, I finally realized I might be having some side effects from this specific antidepressant and that I should ask to switch. With my new prescription in hand, I had some hope but I still needed a lot of convincing to take it after what I had just been through. I knew what I needed to do but I had anxiety about the medication that would make my anxiety go away, go figure!
If you have experience with antidepressants, then you know the irony of it all is that it can take up to 4 weeks to feel the benefits of the medication. I counted down each day and I prayed, pleaded and begged God each morning that I would wake up from this nightmare. I was also grappling with my faith, my purpose in life and the hope that things would not always be this way. It was a very slow and painful process and at one point I lost all hope that this medication would work and that I would ever be better.
One night when the panic attacks were unbearable, I repeated “Jesus, I trust in You” for hours on end. But here’s the problem: I trusted Him but I also hated Him for making me go through this. It was not only a reckoning with my mind but one with my soul as well.
I couldn’t see Jesus during my struggles; it seemed like He wasn’t watching over me and holding my hand as I lay fetal position on the floor, or as I cried during my twice-daily walks, or when my loving husband and in-laws took care of my little boy when I couldn’t and it broke my heart to be so helpless. I didn’t see Him in the postpartum depression group I joined, or in all the hurting mothers, the doctors that took care of me or the therapist that held my hand through it. It consumed me beyond explanation.
Before my experience with PPD/PPA, I was very anti-medication. I did not trust pills, and preferred to strong-arm my way through my anxiety. I saw medication as a sign of weakness until I had to rely on it to ultimately save my life. I grew up in a home where mental illness was not often discussed and was something that could be prayed away. It has taken a long time for my parents to understand my diagnosis and to accept that I go to counseling and take medication for it. I truly believe I made it through this experience not just from the medication, but just as much credit goes to my doctor, friends that had gone through it, my PPD/PPA support group, brave bloggers sharing their experiences, my therapist, my family and baby boy. It was a multifaceted recovery.
Even after being on antidepressants for a year, I continue to go to counseling and use the tools I have learned there to help keep my anxiety at bay. There are definitely some nights where I fear the panic attacks and insomnia will return.
But God is truly the Great Physician and He sent angels to heal my body, mind and soul. He also was able to redeem my suffering by allowing me to help other moms through their PPD/PPA. Even through writing this article He has allowed me to come to terms with my struggles, and hopefully by sharing my story I will be able to help someone else that is going through it. It has taken me a year to finally talk about my experiences and I hope sharing my story helps other moms like myself who are desperate to understand what was going on, and to know that there is hope and healing. I remember searching the internet for stories about PPD/PPA after weaning and there was not much information out there. Many women get it shortly after birth, so I thought I was in the clear since my son was 15 months, but I want you to know it can happen at any time.
Do not ignore the warning signs; if you feel off and are struggling, get help and find resources. It does not make you less of a mom, weak or selfish. Your child needs a healthy mother and you need to take care of yourself for them.
Additionally, if you struggle with anxiety or depression, tell your doctor about it when you are pregnant. In my PPA support group they showed a slide with nine risk factors for PPD/PPA. I had seven of the nine. Don’t let the survey at the six week postpartum checkup be your only gauge. Do your research, equip yourself, get support, therapy, and even medication. My hope is that there will be more discussion about this, and the conversation will turn into better screening, better resources and less maternal suicides. Research suggests the leading cause of maternal death during the first year is suicide. This is unacceptable.
We have come a long way in talking about motherhood in a social sphere, and awareness should be in the forefront. I call upon the medical professionals; one appointment at six weeks is not enough, moms deserve better. I call upon the social media moms and friends and family members; share your struggles of motherhood, not just your curated lives.
If you think you have or been diagnosed with PPD/PPA visit https://www.postpartum.net/, and join a PPD/PPA support group. I am still in contact with a mom I met there and we still check on each other regularly.
Finally, my sincerest prayer for you is that God will heal whatever pain, suffering, mental illness, physical illness, or struggle you are going through. He is there holding your hand and He will carry you through it like he does in Psalm 24:4:
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.”
