For the record, I never had postpartum depression. I gave birth to three beautiful babies and feel lucky to have made it through the subsequent months with little to no feelings of postpartum blues. I do not know firsthand what it is like and I therefore do not pretend to understand the depths and lengths of it. From what I do know by watching others and listening to stories, postpartum depression can be so disabling and painfully cruel. I am truly thankful that I was spared, and I think about that often.
With my youngest at 2.5 years old, I am through the stage of giving birth and the possible side effects of official postpartum depression. However, I have encountered a different kind of depression; one that I like to call my, “post postpartum depression.” And although I have never been diagnosed (and therefore use the term “depression” fairly loosely), I know that I am experiencing something that I had not experienced prior to having children.
My life is full of privilege. I do not need for much that I cannot acquire on my own accord and I am surrounded by family and friends who are happy to help when help is needed. I feel genuinely happy and fulfilled both at home and at work, but am overcome with so many emotions that I sometimes feel unable to breathe. These emotions do not seem to have expiration dates nor onset warnings and sometimes they are so strong that I become frustrated with their existence and their toll on myself and my relationships.
I do believe that these emotions are directly correlated to both the beauty and the struggle that has flooded my body since my life drastically changed five years ago. The transition from an independent woman to a new mother at the age of 33 came with changes that I was not prepared to endure and I found myself shedding bits and pieces of what made me the woman I was. By 35 I had two beautiful girls, and all the time in the world to care for them as a stay at home mom, but was feeling unfulfilled and challenged by the immense turn my life had taken. Now that I’m a working mom, I look back at that time and realize that I had given too much of my life to one single entity (or two) and that the severe fear of dying or losing one of them came directly from my over-involvement with my children and my underdevelopment in other areas of life that could help to carry me through a tragedy.
For almost six years now, I have been able to cry at the drop of a hat and for almost any reason. When my children reach milestones, I cry. When they make beautiful art, I cry. When they say something amazing, I cry. Extra hard. Sometimes I feel like it’s best to get the tears out of the way, so that the act of physically releasing the emotions can help me move on with my day. I have tried to pinpoint times of the month in which the emotions may be worse and possibly tied to my cycle, but I haven’t been successful. They are pretty constant with occasional odd timing and embarrassment to boot.
I do feel like this post postpartum depression is slowly trying to kill me, but I also believe that there is beauty in recognizing what my body and mind have been through – both good and bad. Change is hard and I’m convinced that hormones are tiny manipulative devils. I work hard at being kind to myself during these times and recognizing that perhaps this, too, shall pass. And if not, I will continue to persevere while noting that life is bittersweet and to be felt. Both strongly and wholeheartedly.
