At this point in my life, I’ve lived with depression longer than not. It’s been a constant companion of mine since my adolescent years. I used to believe I had a willpower over depression. That I could spring into action or thought and overcome if I really wanted to. The day came when I realized how powerless I truly am and that was the beginning of my recovery.
Unfortunately, my recovery started long after I became a mother. I wish I could say I was recovered before getting married and having children, it would have saved me and my family a lot of heartache, but that is not the case. Life does not work that way, we often don’t choose our moment(s) of rock bottom, it chooses us. My first rock bottom or moment of truth came after the birth of my second child. This was my second round of post-partum depression, and it wasn’t letting up. But first, let’s rewind. My pregnancy with my son was mostly normal but my delivery was not. I was ready for a second child and was determined to be fit, active, and healthy. I had some discomfort but nothing unusual. By the second month I was having suicidal thoughts, and my mood was all over the place. The doctor chalked it up to hormones, but I was worried. What If I go through with these thoughts? I ultimately switched doctors but nothing much changed. I didn’t go on medication. I ended up toughing it out. By the second trimester I was more stable and had less suicidal thoughts, so I thought I was okay. I’ll talk more in-depth about my delivery, my birth trauma later, but let’s just say it wasn’t all smooth and beautiful like I’d hoped. I knew within a few weeks after my delivery that I had post-partum depression. I took it in stride, I was determined to be on top of it this time. I went to the doctor first thing and then came my first difficult decision, getting prescribed a safe medication so I could continue breastfeeding. Something else was happening too though, I was in pain all over my body. This led to more and more doctor appointments but less and less answers.
My depression wasn’t clearing up and I honestly felt like shit. My body ached, I had headaches, I wasn’t sleeping, had unexplained inflammation, and unexplained pelvic pain. My doctor then handed me information for higher level of care, an outpatient treatment center. Now that I’ve worked at such a facility, I know exactly what was happening. My care had moved beyond her help, and I needed something more intensive. When going through the assessment at the facility, the psychiatrist responded that I have severe depression. This I knew, but in my mind, I was functioning okay all things considered. Was I really that bad off? I mean I felt bad, but nothing I couldn’t ultimately control, right? I thought I could will myself into betterment and I was in denial that I was actually powerless over my mental health.
At this point I was a high functioning depressed mother. I changed the diapers, kept the kids cleaned, took them on walks, read them stories, I did all the things, but I was miserable inside. I kept faking smiles to them and felt numb. I was going through the motions of everything in life and was completely disconnected from my emotions and my body. All I felt was pain or numbness. I remember sitting in the rocking chair breastfeeding my son in a complete dissociative state, time and time again. All that being said, I chose not to follow through with the outpatient facility, I chose instead to do my own research, tighten the bootstraps, and get ready to push through it with all my might. I could do this, right?