My Journey With Maternal Mental Illness-Part 1

For the past week I’ve had a new blog post that I have been sitting on, not being able to get myself to hit publish. I believe there is a huge fear when it comes to being vulnerable and I have found myself lately feeling just that, afraid and vulnerable. Vulnerable to the fact that I am opening myself up and my deepest thoughts up to the world and that is absolutely terrifying! But after this weekend, I realize more than ever, that that is exactly what I am supposed to do.

So in honor of Maternal Mental Health  Awareness Month, I am sharing my story.

So here it goes….

It has been 1 year since I began this journey with maternal mental illness. I say maternal mental illness because I not only have experienced postpartum depression, but I have also experienced postpartum anxiety and postpartum ocd. You don’t hear a lot of about PPA and PPOCD but it exists and it’s just as terrifying as PPD. I didn’t realize at first what was going on with me. I just know that when boogie was 4 months old, I lost that peace and joy that I had with being a wife and a mom. I found myself sucked into this groundhogs day type of life where I was doing the same thing every day and it honestly, sucked the life out of me. I remember early on before my diagnosis that I felt numb. I would find myself, at times, spacing out while driving boogie to my in-laws or monkey to school. I remember having thoughts that if I crashed (not on purpose) and didn’t survive, meh, it’d be fine. But then I would look in the rearview mirror and see my beautiful children and snap back into reality that if I crashed, they would be hurt too.

Over the course of the next month I found myself feeling more and more disconnected from my husband and kids. I loved them but I didn’t want to be with them. I felt that marriage and motherhood wasn’t for me, there must have been some mistake! I made a mistake and I wanted out. I started considering divorce and leaving my kids with my husband and starting over, by myself. I confided in one of my best friends who convinced me that something wasn’t right and I needed to talk to someone because she knew that wasn’t me. She knew something was really wrong. I finally brought myself to make an appointment with my therapist and after talking with her about my thoughts and feelings, she diagnosed me with postpartum depression. I was confused when she told me because boogie was 5 months at the time. Women only get PPD right after birth, right? Wrong. Maternal mental illness happens in 1 in 5 women and can happen anytime within the first year, possibly two years. I walked out of the office relieved with my diagnosis and hopeful that it would just go away. I had battled depression on and off since I was 14, so I figured it would stop and I would go on being me, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

What transpired over the next few months was a darkness and nastiness that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I felt drained, alone, hopeless and many times, I had no drive to carry on. I battled deep, severe depression, had constant anxiety and panic attacks, suffered from terrifying intrusive thoughts to the point where some days, I would sit on the couch all day and hold boogie, afraid that any move I made could cause harm to her. I was spiraling out of control and I didn’t know what was going on and most of all, I didn’t know where God was. Why would He leave me when I am in my darkest moments? Why wasn’t He there to make me better? Why was I struggling?

In late June I suffered a severe panic attack and found myself in a psychiatrist’s office after my therapist made me an emergency appointment. What I thought I was going to receive was a prescription for a low dosage antidepressant and what I walked out with (after a 15 minute evaluation) was a diagnosis of bipolar type 2 and a new, but heavy medication. Confused and lost, I called my husband who advised that I get a second opinion before taking any medication. I was so scared and confused. I never experienced manic episodes, didn’t fit the criteria of someone with bipolar. It made me feel even worse than I already did. How could I have missed it? How could anyone have missed it? Thankfully, I was able to get in with my primary doctor who agreed with my therapist’s original diagnosis of PPD and NOT bipolar 2. I had almost taken medication for schizophrenia and bipolar 1 and am so thankful I got a second opinion. I started on a low dose antidepressant and after a couple weeks, I started feeling great! It was wonderful to feel happy and in love with life. But it didn’t last and it all came crashing down when in August, I was hospitalized in a psychiatric unit for suicide ideation. I will never forget that night.

I came home from work and sat on the couch. Monkey was to my left, my hubs was to my right and I was holding boogie. We were watching Modern Family (one of our absolute favorites!) and like a light switch, I handed boogie to my husband and went into our room. I remember laying on my bed and just had this emptiness that I had never felt before. I remember having thoughts that they would be okay if I wasn’t there. Hubs would get my life insurance money, he could pay off our remaining debt, get a bigger house and they would be okay. I obviously was a terrible wife and mother. I couldn’t keep up with the house, I struggled to balance working full time, taking care of a house, my kids, my dogs, my husband and his needs, my needs. I just wasn’t good enough. But I also realized that I didn’t want to die. My brain was having a war within itself and I just wanted it to end. I texted my hubs (as not to cause alarm to monkey) that something wasn’t right. I believe I called or texted my best friend (I don’t fully remember) but she ended up at my house too. After hubs consulted over the phone with my doctor, we ended up at the ER. The first hospital wasn’t equipped to handle my case and that just frightened me more. Was I really that bad? The 2nd ER we ended up at, admitted me and I spent the next 4 days in a locked down psychiatric unit and it was one of the worst experiences of my life.

I couldn’t see or talk to hubs, I was still breastfeeding but couldn’t see boogie. I had to pump in a shared bathroom and have staff watch since there were cords involved with my pump. I was surrounded with other patients, some experiencing severe, intense levels of psychosis. I was scared, felt alone and terrified and the only thing the psychiatrist did (after trying to put me on a medication that was NOT safe for breastfeeding) was double the dosage of my current medication and send me on my way. Now I know that the suicidal thoughts I was having was due to the medication and my body’s reaction to it. (I’m a rare case but I’m extremely sensitive to medication, which has been a learning process.) My hubs was amazing. He gave me one of his zip up hoodies sprayed with his cologne (I couldn’t have my jacket with the strings, they wanted to cut them out of my jacket and no way was I letting them cut my Michael Kors jacket!!) and pictures of him and the kids. He also had brought my Bible and I spent a lot of time reading my Bible and praying. I wanted to know why I was there, what was God doing with me and why was I going through this? Now I have to say, despite the mental and emotional trauma I experienced, the nursing staff was amazing! They talked to me, encouraged me and challenged me in my faith.  I will never forget one of the nurses asking me, “What is a young Christian woman doing in a place like this?” to which I replied, “I have no idea. I wish I knew.” and he told me, “You’re going through this for a reason and one day, God will show you and you will understand.”