I’ve gone to counseling for it.
I’ve taken medicine for it.
But there’s a huge difference in depression and postpartum depression.
Moms are made to love their kids.
But what if you feel nothing towards them?
What if you even dislike them?
When I had my third child I honestly didn’t like her, at all, but refused to tell anyone because what kind of mom doesn’t like their kid?
It was a huge show.
It was months of trying to make myself love this tiny thing that sucked all the energy out of me.
If you know her you know she is the sweetest, easiest, most mellow child, so me not liking her made no sense.
I didn’t feel bad when she’d cry.
I’d sit outside her door bawling out of irritation because she just wouldn’t stop crying.
I’d cry about how she took so much time from my other kids.
She had a seizure and I remember my dad asking me if I was okay and I couldn’t even answer because how could I tell him yeah I’m perfectly fine I just want to go home but I can’t because this kid is in the hospital.
I watched her scream when they put a needle in her hand and my dad patted my back when he saw my eyes swell with tears and I couldn’t explain that I wasn’t about to cry because I felt bad for her. I was on the verge of tears because my child’s in pain and I feel nothing. Just numbness. (This isn’t like me I cry every single time my kids get shots)
I finally got help.
I had people tell me I’m an awful mother for not feeling any emotion towards my baby.
And I really believed it and hated myself for even asking for help.
I asked for help and the thoughts I had for months were verified.
Yes. You’re a terrible mother.
Yes. You’re failing your kids.
Yes. You’re alone in feeling this way.
Yes. You’re the problem.
She was born the end of July. It wasn’t until October that I felt somewhat okay.
I’ll never forget the day I finally looked at her and felt love towards her.
We were setting up the Christmas tree in October to help “make the depression leave”
And I looked at her little face and she smiled back and there it was. That was it. I finally felt that motherly love.
The antidepressants had kicked in. I had explained to my family how I felt. I could finally talk about it. I was okay. We were okay.
The best way I can descibe what depression feels like is breathing but drowning.
Like every good moment changes to grey.
Like an elephant is sitting on your chest.
Like night time is the best time because the darkness feels the safest.
My family has been nagging me about it this time around and watching for red flags because they saw how bad I got last time.
Aspen, my littlest, has now been in NICU a month.
She’s not home and my hormones are still out of wack, but the fear of also disliking her is still there.
I’m extremely cautious this time because if I’m sinking into another round of ppd I want to know and “fix it” immediately.
I was talking to my dear friend in the middle of the night the other night.
I was tired. I was extremely sad. And was feeling so alone. (If you have depression you know you could be in a room full of people and it still be lonely and grey)
She texted me this;
Aspen is just as precious as the other 3. You know that. It’s just hard for you to see that because you’re grieving. And that’s okay. You have given Aspen life, a name, a place to stay, encouragement, clothes, and 3 awesome siblings. You don’t have to feel for Aspen right now: you are enough. She has her mom and her dad. What more could she ask for?
You don’t have to feel for Aspen right now: you are enough.
If you are struggling with PPD, get help. You are enough. Take care of YOU. That’s what your child needs.