This is Part 1 of my story. I'm choosing to share in two parts because I've had two very different postpartum experiences - and yet both shared the struggle though postpartum depression.
"I entered motherhood feeling inadequate."
I've mentioned this before, but motherhood was something I always knew that I wanted. There wasn't any question in my mind. It was something I was meant to do. And, fortunately, my path to motherhood was uncomplicated. I did not struggle with fertility. I found out I was pregnant within 3 months of coming off of birth control. And my first pregnancy was uncomplicated.
Yet, I entered motherhood feeling inadequate. The "natural" birth I had envisioned with my first baby didn't happen. I fought through 3 days of prodromal labour (aka pre-labour) and went back and fourth to the hospital 5 times. The first time I went, I expected to be sent home. My contractions were steady and had been happening for over 8 hours, but weren't that painful in my mind. And I was right - I was barely 2cm dilated to they sent me home and told me to get some sleep and they'd probably see me the next day. They were right, I was back the next day, definitely in more discomfort but not much progress to show for it. Each time I left the maternity triage I was a little more defeated. When I finally agreed to have Morpheine (around the 4th visit I think) for the pain so I could go home to rest, I was beginning to doubt myself. On the 5th visit I was finally admitted because I had reached the magic number of 5cm dilated. Shortly after I got set up in the delivery room, my water broke and the pain quadrupled. I tried every medical intervention for the pain. I endured 30 hours of active labour, after the 3 days of prodigal labour, before agreeing to have an epidural 2 hours after my water broke. Why? I don't really know. Maybe I thought having an epidural would mean I was weak. Maybe the epidural meant that I wasn't cut out for this kind of pain. The instant the words "I want an epidural" came out of my mouth, I felt like I had failed. After 10 more hours of labour and finally fully dilating, I pushed for an hour until I was told to stop because my baby was in distress and that the OB team was being called in. I knew that the OB team meant that things were getting serious. All I could think was "I don't want a c-section." I was scared. I was exhausted. And again, I felt like I was failing. The OB team assessed my baby's position and found that he was getting stuck because his head was tilted to his shoulder and not tucked chin to his chest. This was causing his heart rate to spike and drop drastically. They felt the best option do deliver him safely was to use forceps and if I couldn't get him out in 1-2 pushes, I was having an emergency cesarean section. Panic set in. My epidural was topped up. Forceps were placed. And the room was suddenly full of nurses and doctors ready to move in whatever direction was needed in the next few minutes. I pushed once with every ounce of my strength as the OB pulled with the forceps and he didn't come out. Panic again. I knew I only had one more chance. The OB told me to push one more time and I mustered up anything I had left and pushed again. When the OB told me his head was out I almost didn't believe her. My baby was safe and I didn't have to have a c-seciton.
He was placed on my chest momentarily and then immediately whisked away for assessment without me even having a chance to protest. I felt like I was robbed of that initial skin-to-skin chance to bond with my son. And once again I felt like I failed.
This wasn't the beautiful "natural" labour I had imagined. I tried every other possible intervention to manage pain before electing to have an epidural. This left me feeling inadequate as I entered motherhood - and even though I had a healthy baby boy and I was spared having major surgery I felt like I had let myself down.
The feelings of failure didn't stop after labour and birth.
"I was utterly devastated. In my eyes, formula equalled failure as a mother."
Breastfeeding was a beast for me. I struggled through the first 4 days on my own wondering how this thing that was supposed to be so "natural" and "instinctual" was SO hard. My son never seemed satisfied. He would fall asleep feeding after 45-60min and then wake up screaming 30min later and this cycle continued on repeat day and night. Finally, on the 4th night of not sleeping more than 30min at a time we tried formula. I was utterly devastated. In my eyes, formula equalled failure as a mother. Formula meant giving my son something that wasn't natural and that I was letting him down. But that first 60mL of formula also equalled sleep. I was so torn.
So started my mission to find anything and EVERYTHING possible to support my milk supply so that I could stop giving him formula. I tried pumping after every feed. I tried a pumping schedule that had me up in the middle of the night when my baby wasn't even awake. I tried herbal supplements. I tried lactation cookies and galactagogue foods. I tried teas. I eventually tried Domperidone. Nothing that I tried provided me with enough milk supply to satisfy my son. Every time I gave him a bottle of formula, I apologized that I had to give him this "poison" full of unnatural ingredients and that I couldn't provide enough of the "liquid gold" I though he deserved.
I remember people asking my husband how he liked being a father and he would always say how much fun it was and how much he loved it. And in the back of my head I didn't get it. It wasn't fun. Sitting in a chair crying while trying to breastfeed and having my baby hit me because he was mad that there wasn't enough milk coming out wasn't fun. Watching other moms easily breastfeed in public while I fed my baby a bottle of formula wasn't fun.
I remember sitting on my couch one night after crying over something that I can't even remember now - I was drinking my Mother's Milk tea and staring at the TV that wasn't even on and wondering if having a baby had been a mistake. That maybe I wasn't cut out for motherhood. I also think this is about the time when I started questioning my mental health. I cried a lot over everything and anything. I was struggling to get out of bed in the morning - and not specifically because of sleep deprivation, it was more that every time my son cried in the morning when he woke up, I felt resentment.
I would plan things like coffee dates or go to the library programs thinking that getting out of the house or seeing a friend would "fix" my mood and help me feel like myself again but I would always come home feeling empty and disappointed.
"I UGLY CRIED on the floor as soon as I finished the workout. Like sobbing, chest heaving, snotty crying."
My breaking point happened during a workout (quite fitting for what I do as a coach huh?). I remember this workout vividly. I cried before starting the workout. I cried mid-workout over something simple like not being able to balance or hold form during an exercise. I UGLY CRIED on the floor as soon as I finished the workout. Like sobbing, chest heaving, snotty crying.
It was after this breakdown that I went to my doctor for the first time to talk about Postpartum Depression. Making that phone call to book the appointment felt defeating. Like I had failed (notice a theme here?). But I knew that I needed help. At my doctor's office she diagnosed me with Postpartum Depression and mild Postpartum Anxiety, we spoke about options. At this time I didn't want to try medication (because I didn't think it was that bad and in my mind medication = failure) and I wanted to try other modalities first.
I tried 3 things - sleep training for my son, counselling for me and going back to doing something that I loved (teaching fitness).
My son was about 6 months old when we hired the sleep consultant to help with sleep (because sleep = health). It did help. Getting more consistent sleep allowed me to think a bit more clearly but it did not fix the feelings of emptiness and being unfulfilled.
My doctor connected me with an in-clinic counsellor who I saw once (and didn't really connect with or find helpful). She told me I should try to be more compassionate with myself which made no sense to me because I could barely talk nicely to myself. So I didn't go back.
The thing that helped me the most was going back to teaching people to move their bodies. I applied to volunteer at our local YMCA to teach a class. I started teaching a class once a week - and what was even better was that it was a Mom & Baby class that allowed me to share my experience AND feel like I was helping an important demographic that I could make an impact on.
I went back to work at my full-time job as a manager of a corporate fitness centre when my son was 13 months old. The transition was hard, BUT I actually found it helpful to be "more than a mom". I started getting back into my groove with workouts, I was feeling strong in my body and started teaching more classes.
Ten weeks later my husband was hospitalized with an autoimmune disease called Guillian Barre Syndrome that temporarily paralyzed him. This tanked me. He was in the hospital for almost 7 weeks re-learning to walk, use cutlery and brush his teeth again.
I wouldn't have survived this time without the help and support of both of our families. I definitely wasn't thriving, I was holding on by a thread. That thread broke on Christmas Eve when I opened up the Amazon package that contained the "Santa present" for my son to put it together and found out it was missing parts and I had to exchange it. I cratered and couldn't be consoled.
In January 2018 I went to my doctor again and decided it was time to try medication for my depression because the things I had tried before no longer helped. I made an appointment with a psychologist with my husband's Employee and Family Assistance program. I remember telling her that I was TERRIFIED of being pregnant again because I knew there was a good chance that I'd be faced with Postpartum Depression again. After my two free sessions with the psychologist, I switched to seeing a counsellor with a free program called Access Mental Health through Alberta Health Services. I did about 6-8 sessions with the counsellor over a few months and between talk therapy and medication I started to feel better. The medication helped me function so that I could address the depression.
The week that I started with the counsellor was also the week that I found out that I was pregnant...
There is so much self inflicted pressure we put on ourselves based on how we believe we need to show up as a mother in today’s society that it can be suffocating. The need for a "perfect natural birth." The stigmas around breastfeeding and "breast is best" bullshit. The social pressures of "having it all together."
When did we make motherhood so complicated?