It was a warm Monday afternoon. I sat with a dear friend, enjoying Trader Joe’s salads at lunch time, talking about life, marriages, our babies, business and such. At some point, our conversation turned to postpartum depression. Over the course of the next few moments, we dug deep, and finally realized how much the other had suffered following our last pregnancies. Each of us, having no idea of the pain that the other was in. How can this be? How can it be that I love her, and she loves me, and yet we did not know? How can we, as a society, still improperly educate mothers about what post part depression really looks like?

Just two days later, another close friend of mine shared a public admission, if you will, about her own struggle with PPD and it hit me: we have to talk about this. More people have to talk about this.

I have to talk about this.

I have to use my platform, my readership, my social media reach to help even just one mother that may need it. So here it is…the ugly that I never wanted to share…but I’m sharing it anyway. 

I though that PPD would look something like this: me, sitting next to a rainy window with a sad look on my face, and a lovely baby in the corner that I just couldn’t bring myself to feed. I thought that I would cry often. That I would miss out on work, or my favorite activities. I’d also wear an ugly sweater all the time and never brush my hair…or teeth for that matter. My kids would be late to school and their homework wouldn’t be done. I would never have sex with my husband and I would gain at least 30 pounds from the vicious cycle of cry, eat, cry, eat, cry, eat…

This is what the TV commercials for antidepressants taught me. This is what my OBGYN taught me. This is what society told me PPD looked like so surely, I didn’t have it. Well, they were wrong. Here’s what it looked like for me…

I stopped sleeping. I couldn’t sit still. I became obsessed with my body and physical appearance (a whooooolllle blog series on that one…someday…maybe…). I became hyper organized. I monitored every bite of food I put into my mouth. I checked every lock on the house, multiple times per day. I wouldn’t let anyone watch my baby because they might shake her. I frantically taught my older two children how to unbuckle the new baby, because you know, we were going to get in a wreck, Mommy would be dead and they would have to save the baby from the burning car. I wouldn’t let my older two children swim without me personally watching them because they would drown (they are both skilled swimmers). People would speak to me and I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I couldn’t form sentences or make decisions. I physically couldn’t get words out of my mouth. I had heart palpitations. I started losing my hair. I was angry about everything but I kept smiling when we were in public. I would shut down and stop speaking to Scott. I couldn’t walk into my own home without feeling heaviness in my chest. I just knew that people were judging my work, my body, every post, every note I sang in church, every outfit I wore ETC Physical clutter in the house sent me into a panic. I would lock myself in the bathroom so that I could just breathe. I would walk around the house aimlessly and then frantically start throwing things away. I was convinced that CPS was going to take my baby away because I had a home birth. I was convinced that CPS was going to take my baby away because Ava had bruised knees (and a thousand other irrational reasons). I didn’t take my baby on a walk through the neighborhood because I just knew a large dog would maul us to death. I was terrified every time someone knocked on the door. I stopped answering my cell phone. All 3 of my children would be yelling/screaming/asking/speaking to me at once and I could hardly breath. I knew I wasn’t cut out for this. I thought Scott and the kids might be better off without me. I couldn’t leave my house alone with the baby because what if, what if, what if….

PPD doesn’t look the same for any two mothers. I didn’t recognize the symptoms for months. Scott and I sought professional counseling, I went on an antidepressant for a short time, and we worked hard as a family to get back on track. I stopped spending my mornings at the gym (which for me, was a very unhealthy place) and have slowly, over the last year, let myself come back up to my body’s natural weight. I’m mindful of my sleep. I use essential oils for hormonal balance and stress relief. I work hard to keep my workload manageable and I ask for help when I need it.

PPD and anxiety were very real, and very scary for me. I was unprepared and caught off guard. It didn’t look like what I thought it would look like. Remember that.

If you’re hurting, please tell someone. Tell you husband, your sister, your best friend, your DR, tell me. I told you all, so now you can tell me, as well. I’m rooting for you, momma.