I plastered on a smile when I went to work every day. I spent most of the day ignoring my co-workers, skipping breaks, and seeing how many days in a row I could get away without speaking a single word to anyone. I maintained a strict daily schedule to be able to get to work on time, wash laundry, and occasionally get groceries.
Speaking of groceries - for nearly five years, there wasn't a single trip to the grocery store that didn't end with me crying in bed for an hour.
Symptoms of PPD
- Anxiety - Like being either terrified or just numb every time I went out in public with my kid(s).
- Depression - A complete lack of motivation to do anything 90% of the time. Habit was my only friend.
- Mood swings - Crying jags, rage, fierce protectiveness.
- Irritability - Oh, yeah. I broke up with my now hubby because I found out I was pregnant again.
- Loss of interest - In people. In activities. In living.
- Thoughts of harming self or the child - Let me be perfectly clear. The first year, for both kids, this was a DAILY thing. Every single day. Either I wanted to be dead, or I had thoughts of hurting my kid(s). Every. Single. Day.
But How Did I Hide It?
Oh, I'm good. See, I'm the ultimate altruist. When I decided to go through with my pregnancies, I formally accepted the obligation to see these children into adulthood to the best of my ability. I literally made an oath.
Because of that, my feelings on the matter didn't matter. I shut the emotions away and made a schedule to keep us going even when I could barely string two words together without sobbing, and that was that. Score one for dissociation.
Years of being an introvert stuck in customer service jobs taught me how to fake a real-looking smile. Compartmentalization allowed me to enjoy brief moments of interaction in the midst of nearly constant emotional self-abuse.
It probably also helped that my friends never visited and seldom called, so how would they know? My parents helped, but got frustrated, and I simply accepted what was offered, seldom even asking for more.
And I just plain didn't speak about my pain. To anyone. If I spoke to anyone at all.
How Did I Get Through It?
Well, one could argue that I didn't. I still have flashbacks and crying jags over this stuff, which is now close to 8 years gone. I can't talk about it without feeling guilty because 1) I chose to keep my kids, 2) I actually do love my kids, 3) I was never diagnosed, and 4) nothing bad actually happened.
Secondly, I reached out once, to one person, and he responded. After my second was born, I found myself struggling once more. And I realized I missed him. I talked to him online and looked for signs that he'd grown a bit - I really couldn't tell you if he had or if I'd just been hoping - and I offered to let him move in with me.
I have since been slowly working with the pain - shadow work, the never-ending cycle of shadow work. I occasionally find a new detail or depth that I'd missed. And it all comes up again.
Mostly, I just feel disappointed. I feel cheated about my pregnancies, about my birth experiences, about my kids' infancy. Like, I could have enjoyed all of them more, if only...
So What?
So... help new mothers. It doesn't have to be much. Visit for an afternoon. Take her a meal. Hold the baby while she showers. Call. Talk to her about her, not the baby. So many women feel like their identities are overwhelmed by their new role as baby's mom. Visit again.
Even a new mom who doesn't have PPD needs these connections. Someone to listen to them. Someone to help them remember themselves. Someone to care about them.
This is sacred work. This is caring for the newly born Mother. This is mourning the Maiden's passing. This is celebrating life cycles in all their dirty, messy, chaotic, natural state. This is community and priest/essing.
This is Paganism.
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