The Aftermath

Sometimes it was 2 o’clock in the morning, sometimes it was 5 o’clock in the morning, sometimes it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon, sometimes it was 9 o’clock at night.

Whatever the time was, I found myself awake and conscious. Everyday. Every week. Every month. I was either feeding the hungry baby or washing his cloths or changing his diaper or walking with the crying baby. I did nothing but took care of him because he was a new born, then he was an infant, then he was a baby and then he was a toddler. I was the same person, his mother…,,dedicated to motherhood, accountable to relationship, responsible for his upbringing. I forgot myself. I forgot my identity. I forgot who I was, what I loved, how I looked. I forgot about the time, days, weeks and months.

 

I cried when he cried, I laughed when he laughed. I picked up him when he was hungry. I ran to him when he needed anything. I became a different person. I was only his mother.

 

When I felt tired I cursed myself “you can’t feel tired, you are a mother”. When I cried, I scolded myself “why are you crying, he is your baby.” The postpartum drained me from in and out.

 

I didn’t talk to my primary care physician or to my gynecologist. I didn’t talk to anyone about my loneliness. I didn’t ask for help for my physical or mental health. For two and half years I didn’t tell anyone that I needed help.

 

Whenever I felt overwhelmed I thought it’s my problem, everyone is so happy with their babies. I scrolled down to the Facebook pictures only to find that everyone is happy with their infants or babies or toddlers or whatever their age was! “Why can’t you be happy? Why are you so depressed all the time? You always wanted a baby, now what?” I cursed myself, I blamed myself. I cried, at night, in the afternoon, in the shower, in sleep.

 

I denied I could have postpartum depression and then anxiety. In my first few visits the nurse asked me “do you ever have a feeling of hurting yourself?” I paused every time before answering her “no!” I didn’t tell her “I am already hurt. Can’t you see that? Don’t you understand I need help? Can you tell me what should I do?”

 

In January 2018, after two and half years of the birth of our son, I have been diagnosed with postpartum anxiety and clinical depression. Along with the sadness of loosing my dad and our first child in two consecutive years, the postpartum took a troll on me. The first day I told my primary care physician that I need help, I cried for 30 minutes. She was so patient to listen! I will always remain grateful to her for her time and empathy. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” She held my hand. The world didn’t have COVID that time and she was kind enough to hold my hands. “I have asked you so many times, why didn’t you tell me anything?” She was definitely sad and surprised. But she gathered herself quickly “I am glad you talked to me today. I am glad you understood that you can’t do this alone. Thank you for sharing. We will make plans from this point. I’ll refer you to psychiatrist and counselor. You need both.” I needed a lot of things that time. Family, friends, support, connection, empathy, right people and a good break from my daily chores. I was so damn tired! I was exhausted. Those, who never went through depression will never understand how life sucking this can be! Even those who goes through it, will not understand the other one.

 

I am still so thankful for that day. Thankful that I talked to my doctor and sought for help. Thankful because I understood I couldn’t do this alone, I needed support. And thanks to my doctor that she listened to me so patiently and did everything in her scope to help me. She retired last year and undoubtedly I miss her.

 

When I started to share my struggle as a new mom, I came across so many stories of same feelings, same struggles that it shocked me! One of them would post pictures of her baby almost everyday in Facebook describing only good things about her motherhood. “You can’t talk about your postpartum in social media” she frowned. I was staring at her with questions “Why? Why can’t I talk about my depression in social media? People talk about terminal illness, people talk about happiness and success…..then why can’t depression be shared, why the feelings of sadness can’t be discussed?” I still have questions when someone start telling me their stories “I am telling you only because …..”

 

The overwhelming feelings from postpartum anxiety doesn’t make me a bad mom, bad person or bad partner. I am NOT any of those. My love for my child, for myself or for my family can’t be judged on the basis of some hormonal fluctuation. I had no control over what was happening that time. After giving birth, my hormone levels dropped in a significant amount in just 24 hours which caused sadness, loneliness, hopelessness and worthlessness. If there is anything, I am accountable for, that is, I didn’t consult my doctor earlier.