Managing Postpartum Mood Disorders - Not a One-Size-Fits-All Option

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I have a cute and comfortable nightshirt that my mom sent me. It is bright and pink and the tag on the back reads "one-size-fits-all." And, it is about two sizes too large for me. I still wear it...like I said, it's comfy, but despite the claims on its label...it is not for everyone.

When it comes to treating Postpartum Mood Disorders (and other types of mood disorders not related to pregnancy for that matter), there is not a simple one-cure-for-all option.  Every person is different in both appearance and personality and everyone walks a different journey. What worked for me may not work for you. Or all of what worked for me, may work for you...or perhaps just some of it will work for you. Please keep this in mind when you read the list below of methods that helped me cope and heal from Postpartum Depression, Postpartum OCD, and Postpartum Anxiety Disorders.

Also note that I am a PPMD survivor, but I am not a medical professional or a clinical counselor. Please only take the following as an opinion.

• Medication – At first I was resistant to the idea of taking medication. I nursed and was afraid it would hurt my baby; and the idea alone of medication made me feel like a weakling. But, the more I learned about the chemical causes and effects of PPMD, I realized that I needed the medication to help me during this period and I worked with. There are side effects to taking some medications. I worked with a psychiatrist to help me find the proper type and dosage for me. At one point, my dosage was actually too high. Once the medication was regulated, I began to feel better. Not cured. Just well enough to cope and take the next steps. The types of medication vary and I recommend that it is monitored by a psychiatrist. Last year with a doctor's supervision I weaned off my medication. All went well for quite some time, but I noticed that about a week before each of my menstrual cycles I felt as though I was having mini bouts of PPD. My anger and irritation was back at levels I only knew soon after my children were born. Under a doctor's counsel I opted to take an antidepressant just 15 days a month. It has helped tremendously.

• Christian Counseling – If you read my earlier segments about PPMD, you know that medication alone did little to help me. I went that route with my first bout. Christian counseling had a tremendous impact on my life. Led by Biblical principles, my counselor never doubted my PPMD. In fact my first Christian counselor is the one who diagnosed me as suffering from a form of OCD brought on from pregnancy. She understood how the hormones wreaked havoc on my system. She also knew how to find some of the core issues that troubled me and we dealt with those issues. For me, guilt, feelings of inadequacy, my false perception of my value to Christ, perfectionism, and fear reigned supreme.

• Diet/Lifestyle Changes – If you love your Starbucks like I do, I’m about to deal you a punch to the kisser. Or should I write pallet? Eliminating caffeine from my diet was crucial. Not all women have to do this, but as I kept my mood chart (see below), I noticed a direct correlation between agitation and caffeine. My demeanor changed for the better once I weaned myself from java and my beloved fountain Pepsi, which I didn't even consume all that often. Two years later, I do have 1-2 cups of coffee a day....but even now there are some days when that is too much.

Increasing my intake of Omega 3 fatty acids, and adding an additional vitamin supplement designed to help my body better absorb my antidepressant also added balance and relief. More sunshine and exercising helped me as well. Honestly, I’m not much for structured work outs. But the days I dance with my kids, go swimming, or take extra long walks are usually “good” days.

• Support Groups – Talking to other women who were also experiencing PPD was medicine for my weary heart. A support group provided me a safe place to open up about my issues without anyone looking at me as if I grew an extra head out of my armpit.

• Praying Scripture – There were so many days when I felt as though I just did not have enough of me to benefit anyone. I began the habit of praying scripture over my life and loved ones. A friend of mine sent me a few scripture cards from a Beth Moore Bible study. For example I prayed that the Lord would love my family through me (I Cor. 13). It not only deepened my relationship with God, but it helped sink in the point that I was not in control of my life. I was not responsible for the happiness of everyone else. I was to strive for excellence, but not perfection and lean on the understanding that God is more than enough for me and my family.

• Keeping a Mood Chart –I chose to see a psychiatrist to manage my medicinal treatment because I felt it important to trust a biochemistry expert with my chemical imbalance. I wanted to get better and was willing to listen to his advice. However, I was not resigned to being a guinea pig. I knew that there could be side effects with medication and also knew that finding the right medications can be more of an art than a science. When my psychiatrist hypothesized that I could be bi-polar and suggested a few medications to try, I put on the breaks. I was not in denial. If I was bi-polar, I wanted to know about it and treat it. However, I wasn’t ready to try medications for a maybe diagnosis. My doctor suggested that I start a mood chart. My mood chart indicated that my mood swings at that period of time were situational. Once I kept track of what was causing me the most stress, I was able to work through those issues in therapy sessions. My honest assessments also gave my doctor the confidence to say “you are not bipolar.”

• Listening to my Body -- My recovery pace quickened when I let go of misplaced feelings of guilt and shame and listened to what my body needed. In addition to suffering from PPMD, I have a condition known as Raynaud's Phenomenon. This condition made breast feeding my babies unbearably painful. I met with lactation specialists and even took prescription medicine, but the pain did not lessen. I decided to stop breastfeeding my son when he was six-months-old. And I struggled with that decision. I wanted to press onward and bare the pain so that he could consume the healthiest diet possible. But a mommy with PPMD and chronic pain is not a healthy mommy. And that is not the healthiest option for the baby. I know what I wrote is controversial, but it is a decision that I do not regret.

I also listened to other things my body was telling me. I rested when my children were resting, even if that meant leaving dirty dishes in my sink. During the worst of the OCD I could not do this, but as the medication kicked in I was able to force myself to rest. The benefits were staggering.

• Support Plan – PPMD can overwhelm a life. I needed to get to a place where I could accept help not only from the medical community, but from my own family and friends. My doctor required me to make a plan to ease back into my life. My plan included my husband helping out with some additional chores, cleaning only one room a day, and having sometime to my self to read, pray, and write.

• A Support System – I am so blessed to have had and still have wonderful people in my life who love me and helped me through this time. My family helped me tremendously when I went to stay with them, but since they live far from me, I also asked help from my friends. Asking for help was not and still is not easy for me, but help is something we all need from time to time. Whenever I asked for help, people came to my aid and often before I asked, they came to me. After my recovery, so many people actually thanked me for allowing the to assist my family during that time. Helping others is a blessing. 

Finding a local MOPs group or MOMS club is a wonderful way to gain a support system. I had just moved to a new city and state while suffering with PPMD....women from the local MOPS group who barely knew me pitched in to help me complete daily tasks such as preparing meals, grocery shopping, and light housework. After I recovered, I was able to bless other women in this way.

The combination of elements listed above were invaluable to me. Again, what worked for me, may not work for you. And fighting PPMD takes time. However, it is a battle that can be won. And one in which there is more than a solo solider.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God. He is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. Selah. Psalm 62:5-8 (NIV)

A Little Nervous

Sharing about my  battles with Postpartum Mood Disorders felt like the natural thing to do right after my recovery two years ago. A passion for instilling hope in others who suffered compelled me to share my message without giving much thought to how others may have perceived me.

Now that those days seem far behind me (even though, it was not that long ago) sharing my story has become more challenging, and I cannot pin point the reason why.

I think one reason is fear.
When I shared my story in the past it was either with people who already knew me before or during my battles started, or it was with members of the blogging community. But as my family and I continue to move from city to city and state to state (as it seems will be a continued pattern for us) and I meet people for the first time, I tend to shy away from having them know that part of me.

Introducing myself as "Angela, the woman who suffered such a severe case of PPMD that her psychiatrist seriously considered committing her to mental health hospital" isn't necessarily a healthy conversation starter. And then I too worry about being labeled as unstable...of having my present condition judged by my past.

Another reason is the temptation to bury that part of me. 
Stating that I was "not myself" during my seasons with PPMD would be a monumental understatement. It was a time filled with pain, irrational choices, confusion, anger, and frustration. Revisiting that place feels somewhat similar to visiting a loved ones grave. I know that when I go there....something...someone is missing. And a dull sensation of agony covers me.

Yet even though sharing my story now makes me nervous, I still think it is important to tell others about my difficult journey because...

I was not alone
 


PPMD is a real medical condition that is often misunderstood

and


There is HOPE for those who suffer from PPMD

In order for me to share the hope I know and to help others learn more about PPMD, I need to share my story. So this week, I will be sharing more resources about PPMD here and my full story will be posted on (In)Courage tomorrow morning.

She Speaks - The Beginning of Becoming

Prologue:

Last fall, my friend Julie asked me if I would consider attending the next She Speaks Conference to be held July 31 – Aug 2, 2009. The She Speaks conference is an annual event for Christian speakers, writers, ministry leaders, and bloggers; and is sponsored by Proverbs 31 Ministries, headed by Lysa Terkuerst.

I told Julie that I would love the opportunity to attend and would begin praying for a way to make it. I also explained that with our finances severely limited, my chances for attending would be slim.

Recently, I learned that Proverbs 31 Ministries is holding a writing contest in which the winner would receive a conference scholarship. Immediately, I wanted to enter. So, I prayed. Then, I talked to my husband. Prayed again...and asked others to pray for me. Finally, I sat down to write. The process was tough. As I wrote, I also fought fear and those pesky “what ifs.” I kept telling myself that the competition was fierce (it is), and that if I did win, there would be a chance that those who chose me would end up regretting the decision--I've always feared that I come across better on paper and monitor than I do in person. I took a few deep breaths, shushed away those negative thoughts, and kept on writing.

I do not know if God intends for me to win the scholarship or if this is even my year to attend, but I do know that He wanted me to complete the process. My entry is below.

The Beginning of Becoming

Recently, I watched a science fiction television series in which a major character grappled with her identity--literally. She and others questioned whether she was truly human. At one point, out of sheer frustration, fear, and confusion, she tearfully screamed, “What Am I?” My eyes moistened and my heart thumped as I witnessed the character's inner turmoil. As outlandish as it may seem, I understood.

Twenty-months ago, a broken, abashed, and frightened version of me tugged at my disheveled hair and faced my reflection. I barely recognized myself in my bedroom mirror. The physical attributes remained the same as in years past, but my eyes...they appeared hollow. Loosening the grip on my hair, I allowed my hands to slowly slide down my face and rest just below my chin. I stood quiet and looked at myself. Although my legs and heart trembled, I felt as though I were frozen. With tears meeting my fingertips, I silently, agonizingly, cried out, “God help me. What am I? What have I become? Am I a mother or a monster?”

While many of the events surrounding my nervous breakdown are now blurred and distant, I remember the dark moments like that one. Moments when the failure sweeping through my soul left me feeling vacant. I questioned my humanity. In the throes of Postpartum Mood Disorders, on top of adjusting to a cross-country move, I was too weak and disillusioned to battle the lies that had assaulted me for decades and had come at me again with Herculean force. Perfectionism, along with feelings of worthlessness, inferiority, and displaced anger pummeled me; I waved the white flag of defeat.

Therapy sessions with a Christian counselor were one aspect that led to my recovery. As I spilled my thoughts...the dark, the garbled, and the hopeful, my counselor helped me learn how to replace lies with truth. I had already known Jesus for decades, but I didn't truly believe Him. I believed in Him. And I believed what He said about other people, but somehow I thought I was an exception...that Christ loved me, but a little less than He did others.

When I emerged from that dank trench of dejection and desperation, I felt like a hibernating mammal that had awoken during a glorious spring morning. It was my clean slate, so to speak–my midlife do-over. I had escaped perfectionism's prison and embraced the opportunity to become who Christ intended me to be. And, I am still becoming.

For me, part of becoming is sharing with others where I have been, where I am now, and where I am going on this journey to be more like Jesus. Writing has always been part of who I am, but, after I became a mom, I buried that piece of me. After my breakdown, I felt the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart and telling me that it was time again for me to write, even if I didn't have a large audience. Even if I wasn’t paid. I just needed to write.

More than a year later, the impetus of my writing has not changed. I write openly and sincerely about every experience that God calls me to share, even the ones that showcase my flaws. Actually, mostly about the ones that showcase my flaws; because, it is in those moments when God's strength magnifies. I write to help others know that they are not alone...not in this world, and not in the mistakes they make, or in the circumstances that crash upon them without warning. I write because truth is too beautiful to not share. And, I write because it is through the writing process that I experience some of my most precious moments with my Savior.

Attending the She Speaks Conference would be an opportunity for growth. I would obtain information to help me to hone my craft. And, I would be learning from women who are not only at the top of their game, but who go to their knees and humble themselves before the King of Kings; because, He is what they most desire. I don't merely want to learn to write better, I could take classes anywhere if that were my only goal. I want to learn how to use my gifts and talents to better serve my Creator.

Twenty-months ago, I questioned my identity and who I was. Now, I know. I am not a monster. I am a flawed but forgiven child of God. I am a writer who sits in front of a computer screen and types words not only about Jesus, but also for Jesus, and because of Jesus. I want to allow Him to stretch me even when it hurts. My desire is not to become a Christian writer...it is to become a woman of unshakable faith who writes, not for her own fame, but to bring glory to the King Eternal.

A Custom Give Away and Letter To Me Before I Became A Mom

Read this post all the way through to find out how you can win a bookmark like the one pictured above.

Dear Thirty-Year-Old Me,

In two weeks, you will finally meet that precious baby girl nestled inside you. Yes, your instinct is correct, she will arrive a week early even though the consensus from your family and friends is that all baby girls come late. I know that the barrage unsolicited advice weighs heavy on your heart elevating seemingly inextinguishable levels of fear. People mean well. And the reason why there is so much differing advice from so many is simply because one way does not work for everyone.

You are familiar with the term Postpartum Depression (PPD), but you don't quite understand what it means. Not many people do and the name alone perpetuates confusion. In reality, PPD is just one type of a Perinatal Mood Disorder, and pregnant women can be effected as well. You are one of those pregnant women, and you aren't feeling depressed, but you are experiencing extreme anxiety and at the same time are being held captive by thoughts that do not seem to be a part of you.

Let me make a few things perfectly clear. You are not crazy. You are not a monster. And you are not alone. You. Are. Not. Alone. Please talk to your midwife about your symptoms. She won't try to take your baby, she won't doubt your love for your baby, and she won't label you an unfit mother. She will want to help you. She will understand. And as much as it pains me to write this, there won't be many who will understand you...not in 2004. But there is support available for you. And one day, you will lend your voice to offer comfort to those who will walk in your shoes.

So when your pink and sweet little girl comes into the world, be gentle with yourself. Do not let shame keep you from taking the medication you need to get well. Love that little baby with the best of your ability, but quickly accept the truth that you cannot be everything to her. It's not your job to be...that job belongs to her Creator, the Almighty God. And He, dear one, chose you to be her mother. Please read that line again and again until it sinks deep into your marrow. You were chosen. And since He does not make mistakes, trust that He will be with you as you mother. Unclasp the fists that clench guilt and fear, and cling to the hem of Christ's garment. He will give you His strength, His love, His patience, and His resolve. And because of Him, you will make it.

With love,

The mother of a five-year-old spunky girl and an almost two-year-old mellow fellow

(AKA – You at age 35)

Ephesians 1:16-20 (New Living Translation)

I have not stopped thanking God for you. I pray for you constantly, asking God, the glorious Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, to give you spiritual wisdom and insight so that you might grow in your knowledge of God. I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called—his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance. I also pray that you will understand the incredible greatness of God’s power for us who believe him. This is the same mighty

power that raised Christ from the dead and seated him in the place of honor at God’s right hand in the heavenly realms.

HOW TO WIN ONE OF THESE:

Thank you for reading my series of letters. As you know, in each letter I encouraged my younger self to spend more time in God's word. That is why today, Amy Humphrey from U*R* Unique is giving a way a free custom made bookmark to one of you. Here is how you can win.

For 1 entry – leave a comment on this post

Would you like more than one chance? I thought so.... Now, this is going to require you to comment more than once....not because I'm in desperate need for big comment numbers, but because it's the easiest way my math deficient brain knows how to do this. I will have a number randomly drawn when the contest is over. So if the number is 47, the person who left comment 47 will be the winner.

To make commenting easy for you, I am allowing anonymous comments and taking away the word verification system....JUST FOR THIS CONTEST. If you do leave an annon. comment, be sure to leave your blog link or an e-mail address or else I cannot let you know if you win.

For more chances to win, leave me comment for each of the things you do or have done. If 100 or more comments are entered, I will purchase an additional bookmark from Amy and there will be 2 winners instead of one.

• Commented on the advice letter to 15yr old me

• Commented on the advice letter to 20yr old me

• Commented on the advice letter to 25 yr old me

• Visit Amy's site and tell me the name of your favorite item

• Purchase something from Amy's site and leave me 5 additional comments

• Participate in Kristen's SWAK carnival
  

• Twitter this post
  

• Link to this post on your Facebook or Myspace page (I make it very easy for you to do this)

• Write your own advice letters to yourself
  

• Post your picture on my non traditional blogroll
  

• Subscribe to this blog, and of course, let me know that you have done so in the comment section

• Add the Becoming Me button to your site

• Finally, write a post about this contest linking to this post

Phew..that's a lot of chances. This contest is open until 8 p.m. On Sunday, Feb. 15^th. Winner(s) will be announced on Monday, February 16^th. You do not need to have a blog to be eligible to win.

Measuring Motherhood with a Broken Ruler – My Journey Through PPD – Part 5

Straight talk. That’s my theme for this final segment in my personal series about PPD. I’m devoting this time to sharing with you how I got the help I needed. Before I do so, please understand that PPD manifests itself differently in different women. You or someone you know may be experiencing all or none of the same symptoms that I experienced. However, if you have even the smallest inkling that you need help, please confide in someone you trust. The resource links on my side bar are a good place to start. You can even e-mail me personally and I will put you in touch with someone who helped me during my struggle.

When The Professor and I chose the names for our babies, we kept those names top secret until the babes were born. We had many reasons for doing this but the impetus for out secrecy was the fact that everyone had an opinion and we didn’t want to hear those opinions. As a mother, I learned that opinions do not stop with baby names. Strangers continually give me advice on how to care for my little ones. It’s the same with PPD. There are many opinions. I don’t want to force mine on anyone, but I will share not only what I did, but what thought process I used for getting the help I needed.

As a Christian, the most common response I heard from others is “You just need to pray through this Angela. God will help you. You don’t need medicine, you just need the Word. Pray through it.”

At first I felt like a failure as a Christian, like I didn’t have the faith I needed to get better. And then, a new perspective came to me and I honestly believe that it came through prayer. I decided that I was going to deal with my PPD in the same manner I would deal with learning I had cancer. And that is what I would encourage anyone to do. After all, PPD is a form of cancer that strikes motherhood. Beliefs vary. There are people who do believe that medical intervention is not necessary and that prayer and natural remedies are all that is needed to rid a body of an illness. I believe that there are advantages of medicine and that it is God’s gift to those of us who He placed in this period of time.

How would I react if I learned I had cancer? I would fight it by researching medications, changing my diet if recommended, soliciting the advice from trained medical professionals, seeking support from others, and most importantly, I would pray and listen to my Father’s voice. And that is what I did during my last battle with PPD. Friends, I don’t feel comfortable sharing my every action during that painful period last Fall, but when you are told by a psychiatrist to choose one of two options or he is going to send people to your door to take you to a mental hospital, you know that it’s serious. And in a moment like that there is no guide more suitable than the Good Shepherd.

It can be said that I did “pray through” my PPD. I prayed for clarity, for wisdom, and for the right solutions. God, as always was faithful. In addition to prayer, the following is what helped me escape the jaws of Post Partum Mood Disorders.

Medication – At first I was resistant, but the more I learned about the chemical causes and effects of PPD, I realized that I needed the medication to help me during this period. There are side effects to taking some medications. I worked with a psychiatrist to help me find the proper type and dosage for me. At one point, my dosage was actually too high. Once the medication was regulated, I began to feel better. Not cured. Just well enough to cope and take the next steps.

Christian Counseling – If you read my earlier segments, you know that medication alone did little to help me. Christian counseling had a tremendous impact on my life. Led by Biblical principles, my counselor never doubted my PPD. She understood how the hormones wreaked havoc on my system. She also knew how to find some of the core issues that troubled me and we dealt with those issues. For me, guilt, feelings of inadequacy, my false perception of my value to Christ, perfectionism, and fear reigned supreme.

Diet/Lifestyle Changes – If you love your Starbucks like I do, I’m about to deal you a punch to the kisser. Or should I write pallet? Eliminating caffeine from my diet was crucial. Not all women have to do this, but as I kept my mood chart (see below), I noticed a direct correlation between agitation and caffeine. My demeanor changed for the better once I weaned myself from java. A few weeks ago, I had a fully loaded mocha. I thought I could handle it. While I didn’t unravel, my mood changed, I felt hyper, and easily annoyed. Increasing my intake of Omega 3 fatty acids, and adding an additional vitamin supplement designed to help my body better absorb my antidepressant also added balance and relief. More sunshine and exercising helped me as well. Honestly, I’m not much for structured work outs. But the days I dance with my kids, go swimming, or take extra long walks are usually “good” days.

Support Groups – Talking to other women who were also experiencing PPD was medicine for my weary heart. A support group provided me a safe place to open up about my issues without anyone looking at me as if I grew an extra head out of my armpit.

Praying Scripture – There were so many days when I felt as though I just did not have enough of me to benefit anyone. I began the habit of praying scripture over my life and loved ones. A friend of mine sent me a few scripture cards from a Beth Moore Bible study. For example I prayed that the Lord would love my family through me (I Cor. 13). It not only deepened my relationship with God, but it helped sink in the point that I was not in control of my life. I was not responsible for the happiness of everyone else. I was to strive for excellence, but not perfection and lean on the understanding that God is more than enough for me and my family.

Keeping a Mood Chart –I chose to see a psychiatrist to manage my medicinal treatment because I felt it important to trust a biochemistry expert with my chemical imbalance. I wanted to get better and was willing to listen to his advice. However, I was not resigned to being a guinea pig. I knew that there could be side effects with medication and also knew that finding the right medications can be more of an art than a science. When my psychiatrist hypothesized that I could be bi-polar and suggested a few medications to try, I put on the breaks. I was not in denial. If I was bi-polar, I wanted to know about it and treat it. However, I wasn’t ready to try medications for a maybe diagnosis. My doctor suggested that I take a mood chart. My mood chart indicated that my mood swings at that period of time were situational. Once I kept track of what was causing me the most stress, I was able to work through those issues in therapy sessions. My honest assessments also gave my doctor the confidence to say “you are not bipolar.”

Support Plan –PPD can overwhelm a life. I needed to get to a place where I could accept help not only from the medical community, but from my own family and friends. My doctor required me to make a plan to ease back into my life. My plan included my husband helping out with some additional chores, cleaning only one room a day, and having sometime to my self to read, pray, and write.

Again, what worked for me, may not work for you. And fighting PPD takes time. As Katherine Stone said, there is no “magic pill” for PPD. However, it is a battle that can be won. And one in which there is more than a solo solider. I have been “PPD Symptom Free” since December 2007.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God. He is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge. Selah. Psalm 62:5-8 (NIV)

Measuring Motherhood with a Broken Ruler - My Journey Through PPD Part 4

Second Baby, Second Battle

Sixteen-months after Pumpkindoodle’s birth, I thought that Postparum Depression had left the building. After all, I wasn’t postpartum anymore. My baby was a toddler. I weaned myself off the antidepressants and looked forward to rediscovering my “old self.” The intrusive thoughts had subsided, but feelings of fear and a need for control gripped me. My patience wore thin, my home never felt clean enough, and anger seeped into my heart. I loved my daughter. I cannot write that enough. But I resigned myself to the thought that I just wasn’t cut out for motherhood and would have to just muddle through the toddler years…perhaps all her life.

Again, I kept these guilt-wracking thoughts to myself. I remembered my miscarriage with Little O and chastised myself for regretting motherhood, “You should be so thankful God gifted you with a healthy baby,” I thought. I felt a failure…as a mother and a child of God.

A few months later, we moved to Corpus Christi, and my life changed for the better. Anger still beckoned and I still felt helpless pitted against my daughter’s strong will, but our circle of friends broadened and I didn’t feel quite as alone or misunderstood. The ladies of our church small group became my dearest friends and we shared both the treasures and burdens of life. My faith in and understanding of Christ deepened. A year later, The Professor and I decided to try for baby number two and shortly there after, little Pickle was conceived.

The first seven months of my pregnancy with Pickle were trying physically, but not so much hormonally. Yet toward the beginning of month eight, I noticed some behavioral changes and immediately recognized them as PPD. At that point, I didn’t know the different forms of PPD. I just knew that I was terrified of getting my hand stuck in our garbage disposal, developed a phobia of bugs, and began having nightmares again about Pumpkindoodle’s near drowning a year earlier. Every time we walked by the pool at our apartment complex, my lungs trapped inhaled air. I felt dizzy with fear. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw my daughter floating facedown in a pool of water.

Sleep had little problem finding me, but it didn’t keep me for long. I’d lie awake in bed for hours after a mid night bathroom call. I was tired, broken, and scared breathless. Pumpkindoodle was in the midst of the “terrible threes” and I was unraveling. I didn’t know how I could possibly raise a new baby.

I knew I needed help, but I didn’t know how badly I needed it until God spared me from a head-on collision with a tractor-trailer. While driving to a routine OB appointment, the 18-wheeler veered into my lane of traffic. I swerved and he served and we missed each other by an angel’s wing. You would think that my reaction would have been joy. Instead I felt regret. For a brief moment I thought that it would have been better if that truck wiped me off the face of the earth. Remembering that I was carrying precious cargo and that the end of my life would mean the end of his, that regret turned into guilt and remorse. I began to weep. I wept as I walked into my doctor’s office and wept as I told her that I needed help. She immediately prescribed medication deemed safe during pregnancy and encouraged me to seek therapy.

I began seeing a Christian counselor who diagnosed me with a Prenatal/Postpartum Mood disorder…three to be exact: Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Anxiety disorder. The medication, therapy, prayer, and support from family and friends helped tremendously. I felt as though I had licked PPD for once and for all. And then some additional life-changing events occurred.

Pickle arrived three weeks early, my beloved PapPap suffered a stroke that forever changed our relationship, and my husband learned that his job in Texas would not continue. We would be moving once again. This time, back to the East Coast.

The move was brutal. Pumpkindoodle despaired about moving away from her friends and so did I. I didn’t know how I would make it without them. I was part of a babysitting co-op as well, which helped me tremendously. How was I going to handle all this change?

After moving, I continued my medication, added Omega 3 supplements to my diet, exercised more, and made friends almost immediately. I did everything “right” yet so much was wrong. I began to spiral out of control. Without going to deep into detail, I will write that I no longer recognized myself. I was constantly on edge. My coping skills were minimal, my nerves shattered, and my peace all but destroyed. I didn’t know how to pray, how to mother or how to love.

During this time, I began seeing a psychiatrist to help monitor my medication and also found a secular counselor who offered me breathing tips. The counseling fell flat. The medication was taking a long time to work and I, for lack of a better term cracked under the pressure. After tearfully confiding in my doctor, he told my husband and I that I had two options: immediate hospitalization or to go away and allow family to take care of me and my children. We opted for plan B. And I remember very little of it.

After returning, things steadied some what, yet there were still days that rivaled a roller coaster ride. I found a Christian counselor through my church and began seeing her weekly. When my psychiatrist, during a telephone call, suggested that I may be Bipolar, I fell to my knees. “Lord, please give me clarity, please deliver me, please deliver me.” Instead of taking experimental medication for bipolar disorder, I kept a mood chart and learned that many of my mood swings were situational. That was a major discovery.

The medications helped steady the hormones, now I needed to work on the emotional and spiritual issues. Both my psychiatrist and counselor agreed that I was not bipolar and that my medication was actually too strong for me. The doctor lowered the dosage and my counselor and I worked through some major struggles and since December of last year, I have been symptom free. Praise God.

In my next and final segment of this series, I will discuss some more aspects of my treatment. If you have questions about symptoms and types of Postnatal Mood Disorders, please refer to the information in my side bar. Feel free to e-mail me as well and I can help you find an expert to help you.

God, listen to me shout, bend an ear to my prayer. When I'm far from anywhere, down to my last gasp, I call out, "Guide me up High Rock Mountain!" You've always given me breathing room, a place to get away from it all, A lifetime pass to your safe-house, an open invitation as your guest. You've always taken me seriously, God, made me welcome among those who know and love you.

Psalm 61:1-4 (The Message)

Measuring Motherhood with a Broken Ruler, My Journey Through PPD- Volume 3

(This is part three in my series about my struggle with Postpartum mood disorders. There will be a few more parts to the series. If you or someone you know may be experiencing PPD, please check out the resources on my side bar. I used the picture to the left to demonstrate that PPD cannot usually be diagnosed based on how someone looks. Part One. Part Two.)


Early this morning, my sweet four-year-old daughter embarked on an adventure to grandma’s house. She’ll be staying with her Nannie for an entire week. Both my lips and my heart quivered as I kissed her goodbye. And, although I am looking forward to some one-on-one time with Pickle and time alone (my little guy still naps twice a day), I’m going to miss my delightful Pumpkindoodle.

A few years ago, however, my response would have been different. I did not enjoy motherhood until recently. In fact, I had many days when I wanted to run away. As much as I loved my daughter, I felt burdened both by her demands and my inadequacies. I’m not certain how to measure the role PPD played in my drama, but it was significant.


I ended part two of this series with the words, “I need help.” The Professor, did not understand the crushing grip PPD had on my mind and body, but he loved me enough to know something was terribly wrong, and that professional help was mandatory. Unfortunately, in our naivety, I only received just enough help to keep me partially together.

During Pumpkindoodle’s eight-week check up, just one day after my I began exploring the abominable option of ending my life, I confided in her pediatrician that I was not “feeling like my self.” She asked if I wanted to hurt my baby. I replied no, because I didn’t want to hurt my baby. I wanted to tell her about the thoughts of being afraid that I would hurt my baby, but terrified that she’d take my child from me, I kept quiet. She then asked if I wanted to hurt myself and I told her that the thought had crossed my mind. She frowned. “You’re going to need medication.” She gave me a prescription for a low-dose of a popular antidepressant and included a year’s supply of refills.

Thinking I had the magic antidote, I filled the prescription and began taking the small pills. I kept my condition secret. A close friend and neighbor whose baby was just three months older than mine shared with me her PPD experience. I listened intently, but it took me several weeks to tell her about the similarities in our experiences. I thought that my silence would make me a better friend.

The medication eased my symptoms. The anxiety and intrusive thoughts decreased, and I began to feel as though I could survive motherhood. Notice I used the word survive and not enjoy. Enjoying motherhood felt like a myth, an impossibility. Surviving, I thought, was the best I could do. When I followed up with the pediatrician, she told me to give the medication some more time and that I should be feeling completely normal by the time my baby turned one-year-old.

That doctor meant well and she took me seriously, but it is now obvious to me that she was not properly trained regarding pre and post natal mood disorders. At the time, I knew no better and felt too weary to research. I did as told.

So many parts of that first year with my lovely daughter are fragmented memories. If I had to pick just one word to describe myself at that time, the word, without a doubt would be confused. How could feelings of bitterness, anger, and resentment belong to the same woman who fell in love time and time again with her baby girl? And how could this same woman love so deeply, yet seldom want to spend time with the object of that intense emotion? Nothing made sense. I recognized my face in the mirror, but the mind inside was not my own.

Panic attacks also invaded my life, but I didn’t know what they were, and now I shake my head and sigh that I had mistaken them for allergies.. When Pumpkindoodle was four-months-old we moved from Washington, DC, to Tyler, Texas. I noticed that every time I went to the grocery store, or stayed home alone, my breathing was labored. Since I was diagnosed with mild asthma several years prior, I thought that something was triggering my asthma. I hadn’t had an attack in five years, but was certain that the climate change brought it on.

Since motherhood has so many struggles, and PPD wears so many masks, I cannot tell you if my symptoms ever went away. I can write that I did not get the appropriate help during my first round with PPD, which could be why my second round was even harder. I can also write that until this past December, I felt like a complete and utter failure. I didn’t understand why God gave me children, because I was certain that having me as a mother would ruin their lives. Oh, how the truth, the beautiful, beautiful truth has set me free.

To be continued…

…and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness, instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor. Isaiah 61:3

Mother's Act

Dear Friends,

I usually reserve this blog for personal stories and rarely deviate from that form. However, in light of my recent posts about my struggles with PPD, I feel comfortable sharing this information with you about the petition in support of the Mother's Act, also known as the Melanie Blocker Stokes Act.

The bill is designed to promote more Postpartum Depression research and provide additional services for those struggling with Postpartum/Perinatal Mood Disorders.

To read the bill in its entirety, click here. For additional information and updates about the bill and PPD progress, visit Katherine Stone's Blog Postpartum Progress.

Below are some organizations that support the Mother's Act.

O.K. No more PSA's, I promise. I'll be posting some heartfelt stories soon.

• Postpartum Support International
• Association of Women's Health, Obstetric and Neonatal Nurses
• American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists
• Children's Defense Fund
• March of Dimes
• American College of Nurse Midwives
• Suicide Prevention Action Network USA
• Mental Health America
• Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance
• National Alliance on Mental Illness
• National Women's Law Center
• National Partnership for Women & Families
• National Council for Community Behavioral Healthcare
• Association of Maternal and Child Health Programs
• American Psychological Association
• American Psychiatric Association
• Postpartum Resource Center of New York

Measuring Motherhood with a Broken Ruler - My Journey Through PPD - Volume 2

(This is the second segment in my personal series regarding my struggles with Postpartum Depression. Click here for the first segment. Please know that Postpartum Depression is a very real illness that is treatable. The stories I am sharing deal only with my personal experiences. There are many women who experience different symptoms than I had. This post is a bit longer than usual because it includes some additional resources below.)


Better Off Without Me

Some maladies are easily defined. If my arm bleeds, I know that somewhere on it exists an open wound. After quick examination I know if the gash requires a simple bandage or a trip to an ER for stitches. Postpartum Depression is not so easily defined and often presents itself differently in women. The list of possible symptoms easily fills two sections of a basic tri-fold brochure, and ranges from insomnia to fatigue. Even the name can be misleading. I always thought depression accompanied unfathomable sadness and despondency. Those weren’t the feelings that first surfaced during my battles.

Within seconds of whispering “You were so worth it,” and holding my precious infant girl in my arms, I laid mesmerized by her newborn spell. The trance was only broken for a few seconds. I noticed a look of concern on my midwife’s face and felt a needle jab my leg.

“Is something wrong?”

“You’re hemorrhaging. We’re trying to stop the bleeding now. If we cannot, you’ll need to be transported to the ER, but I think we can stop it.”

“Can I keep holding my daughter while you work?”

“Yes. For now.”

I didn’t waste another minute inquiring about myself. I went back to caressing Pumpkindoodle’s scaly cheeks and counting her graceful fingers. Her feistiness evident, my little girl latched to my breast and gulped her first meal without hesitation, or with even much assistance from mommy. I was amazed by her loveliness. She was vibrant. So pink. And I was in love. All the fears I carried the previous months vanished. As my sweet daughter and I locked gazes I chalked the bad feelings of the past up to pregnancy hormones and for a brief moment in time, felt safe. With the bleeding under control and Pumpkindoodle scoring a perfect ten on the APGAR, we were deemed ready for release 12 hours after my baby girl bellowed her first cry.

The first few weeks of Pumpkindoodle’s life are blurred. I remember feeling as if I were in some sort of walking coma. My body ached with exhaustion and physical pain. My mind sheltered an array of confusing thoughts and contradictory emotions. I cried on moment and felt elated the next. I loved my baby girl and found her aroma addicting; cradling her in my arms as she slept opened a new room in my heart.

Unfortunately, peaceful moments were not commonplace. Riddled with colic, Pumpkindoodle screamed more than she slept. She cried for hours at a time and I felt a failure for it. I thought that a better mother would be able to console her child. Surly I was deficient. My brain was overworked and undernourished. It hadn’t the sleep it needed to properly function and help me discern that my thought process, not my parenting, was faulty.

To write I felt edgy would be like stating that Roberto Benigni felt pleased after winning the Oscar for Life is Beautiful. What an understatement. The walls of our teeny 600 sq ft., one bedroom apartment in the suburbs of Washington D.C., which also doubled as the Professor’s research office, closed in on me. The fact that hundreds of water bugs forced themselves in as our new roommates nudged me closer to the edge of sanity. I obsessed over cleanliness and order, but both were unattainable. I cleaned with bleach only to discover a crew of bugs on the same countertops I cleansed mere minutes earlier.

I had no control. Not over bugs, The Professor’s clutter, my baby’s incessant demands, or even my own thought life. I was irritable, angry, and afraid. The fears that haunted me before her arrival reentered my life, but this time they invaded more than my slumber. Every time I bathed my darling girl I feared drowning her. Whenever we walked near our open stairwell that led to our second story apartment, I’d clutch my baby tight to my chest as I thought “What if I threw her over the railing?” As I nursed her by an open window I imagined myself tossing her high in the air.

I need to pause and make a very clear distinction here. I never wanted to do those things. I knew they were wrong. I desperately loved my baby. This added to my shame and confusion. I didn’t know then what I now know. I didn’t know that the fact that I recognized that those thoughts were wrong meant that I was not insane. I didn’t realize that my hormones were out of control and that I had a very real condition called PPD. Instead I thought I went crazy. I thought that there had to be a monster lurking inside of me. I thought that if I could think those thoughts that I was capable of atrocity.

One afternoon, around week eight of my daughter’s life, The Professor was working late at a neighborhood restaurant. For four solid hours I nursed my infant. Whenever I tried to remove her from my breast she screamed. I circled our small apartment with her in my arms trying each of the 5 S’s technique. Nothing comforted her. The compassion I felt toward her waned. “Why won’t you stop crying,” I shouted? Rage consumed me and I put my baby in her crib and walked out of my apartment.

I stood outside the door grasping the railing and looking at the concrete floor below. Again, thoughts of failure forcefully flogged my consciousness. And then one cadence drummed through my mind. “She’d be better off with no mother, than with you as her mother.” “She’d be better off with no mother, than with you as her mother.” She’d be better off with no mother, than with you as her mother.” Over, and over, and over, again this phrase repeated itself until it was tattooed on my cerebral passages.

I thought about hurling myself over the railing, but thankfully, there were a few logical cells left in my body. Those few rational cells and the voice of the Holy Spirit saved me at that moment. Only I wouldn’t have recognized His voice at that time. I thought He too was disgusted with me. What stopped me from jumping was knowing that my husband would have found me. I loved him too much to place that horrible sight on him. Plus I didn’t want my baby to think this was her fault. No, there had to be a better way.

Pumpkindoodle’s howls could be heard from the hallway. I opened the door to our apartment and tried once more to sooth my baby. Failed again. At this time, she was so angry that she wouldn’t even nurse. I laid her back down and collapsed on the hardwood floor. My body, wracked with grief, sobbed violently. A small puddle formed beneath my swollen eyes as I began to hatch a plan. My mind raced with ways to end my life. Ways that would seem like an accident so that no one would hate me. There were many bridges in the area, there had to be one that I could drive off without hurting anyone else.

As I lay on the floor concocting my plan, the door knob turned and The Professor entered. The poor man didn’t know whom to help first, his wailing daughter or his toiling wife. Scooping me up off the floor and placing me on the couch he asked me what had happened. I could only answer him with three words. “I. Need. Help.”

May your unfailing love be my comfort, according to your promise to your servant. Psalm 119: 76 (NIV)

Below is some additional information about PPD from Postpartum Support International. If you or any new mother that you know may be experiencing these symptoms, please contact a health care professional. PPD is a real and no-fault illness. One does not do anything to cause it, but there is something that can be done to treat it. To help you feel less alone, I have put a * next to the symptoms I experienced.
During pregnancy, hormone levels are increased to assist in creating an environment for the growing infant. In the postpartum period the mother’s body experiences further dramatic changes in hormonal level. Within 24 hours after birth, the progesterone and estrogen levels drop to a level lower than before conception. The body’s reaction to this sudden drop in hormone levels is further intensified by the complex changes the mother’s body undergoes to prepare for milk production. Many other psychosocial stressors such as financial problems, difficult partner relationships, poor health, preterm delivery, and a history of other mood disorders are also thought to increase risk. With the common addition of broken sleep cycles, the stress on the mother’s physical functioning is often overwhelming. Thus, new mothers are at risk for developing a postpartum depression (PPD) or, more correctly, a perinatal mood disorder.


When Is It More Than Just the Blues?

Up to 80% of new mothers cry easily or feel stressed following the birth of a baby. When this happens within the first two weeks following birth, it is called “baby blues.” However, some women experience a deep sadness that doesn’t go away or comes and goes. For other women, these feelings sometimes occur months after childbirth. In any case, it is important to recognize the warning signs. These signs are different for everyone, but include:

*Difficulty sleeping, even when the baby is sleeping
Sleeping too much
*Appetite changes
*Feeling irritable, angry, or nervous
*Feeling exhausted
*Lack of ability to enjoy life as much as in the past
Lack of interest in the baby
Lack of interest in friends and family
*Lack of interest in sex or even being touched
*Feeling guilty or worthless
*Feeling hopeless
*Crying for “no reason”
*Feeling as if you are a bad mother
*Difficulty concentrating or focusing
*Thoughts of harming self or the baby


*Postpartum Anxiety

It is estimated that 8.5 to 11 % of pregnant women will experience moderate to severe symptoms of anxiety or a mixture of anxiety and depression during their pregnancy. Following birth, these symptoms may begin or persist and usually require specific interventions. These women may be troubled by unpleasant thoughts (intrusive thoughts) about harming their babies, or extreme concern about the baby’s health. Shakiness, nausea, and inability to sleep are symptoms that may occur in this disorder.

Along with the anxiety, a mother may experience symptoms of a postpartum panic disorder. Postpartum panic disorder occurs in up to 11 % of new mothers. The three most common fears that occur during a postpartum panic episode are: fear of dying, fear of losing control, and fear of going crazy.


*Postpartum Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

This disorder is one of the most under-recognized and under-treated types of perinatal mood disorders. It occurs in approximately 3 to 5 % of new mothers, yet it can be most alarming for a new mother. The symptoms include intrusive and persistent thoughts or mental images and a sense of horror about the thoughts/images. The thoughts are typically accompanied by behaviors to reduce the overwhelming anxiety that accompanies the thoughts. These compulsive, ritualistic behaviors often include checking baby frequently, obsessively searching for information on the internet/books, etc. For example, a mother may have an irrational fear that she is going to drop the baby down the stairs. Consequently, she may avoid using the stairs or even going near a staircase. These mothers are NOT in danger of harming their infants and are disturbed by these troubling thoughts.


Postpartum Traumatic Stress Disorder

An estimated 1 to 6 % of women will experience a postpartum traumatic stress disorder. The primary symptoms of this disorder include: trauma re-experienced (through dreams, thoughts, etc.), avoidance of stimuli associated with the event (thoughts, feelings, people, places, details of the event, etc.), and persistent arousal (irritability, difficulty sleeping, hypervigilance, and an exaggerated startle response).


Postpartum Psychosis

Occasionally, a woman may have a more severe disorder which is know as postpartum psychosis. There is a 10% infanticide/suicide rate associated with Psychosis and thus immediate treatment is imperative. This disorder occurs in 1 to 4 of every 1000 babies born (Gaynes et al., 2005). For more information, click on the link to postpartum psychosis.


What To Do
All of these feelings are upsetting, so it is important to remember that it is not your fault and that you will feel better. Whether symptoms are mild or severe, with proper treatment, most mothers can quickly recover from PPD or perinatal mood disorder. If you think you or someone you know may have PPD, find someone you know and trust to talk with about how you are feeling. There are healthcare providers and licensed counselors who can help a woman find the treatment that is best for her. This treatment includes finding the right therapy, the right medication, and the right support group.

“The positive aspect of my getting help for PPD is that I am a stronger woman now.” Elizabeth Roebling, NJ.

(Adapted from Speak Up When You Are Down, a postpartum recovery program in New Jersey).

Measuring Motherhood with a Broken Ruler --My Journey through Postpartum Depression

(Author’s note – Sometimes God leads us through struggles and asks that our survival stories be shared for His glory. This is one of those stories. It’s the first in a series about my two journeys with Prenatal and Postpartum Depression (PPD). I am sharing these raw experiences as an offering of hope to those who battle an illness affecting at least 60 percent of new mothers; and to share with you a beautiful victory that was won for me by the paradoxical gentle and mighty hand of God.)

Part 1 - When fear rocks the cradle

Pregnancy creates peculiar oddities in a body and mind. A case of the “What ifs” besieges many expectant mothers. “What if my feet stay this size?” “What if my water breaks while I’m driving?” “What if I’m not cut out for breast feeding?” “What if we don’t paint the nursery in time?” Those common concerns are shared openly. In fact there are Web sites created for expectant mothers to construe cyber chit chat about everything from maternity and layette fashions to birthing a placenta.

I joined a few of those chat rooms and made some friends during my first and second trimesters of pregnancy with Pumpkindoodle. But around the time when I entered the anticipated home stretch I bowed out of my e-groups “too busy,” I typed. I’m too weird for you, is what I felt. My apprehensions transcended normalcy and before my baby girl’s tiny fist grasped my shaky finger, I knew I had already failed her.

My greatest fear was clenched from newspaper headlines, Mother Drowns her Children…Postpartum Depression Blamed. Ironically, I had no idea that the breath-stealing fear invading my conscience and sub conscience mind was a symptom of Prenatal Depression and often a predecessor to PPD. The more I feared losing my mind, the further sanity slipped away.

During months eight and nine my previously insatiable appetite waned. Despite the heavy ropes of fatigue pulling my achy body to bed by 8:30 each evening sleep tarried. And when sleep finally arrived it presented me with traumatic dreams. Dreams of me committing unspeakable acts and being led to my execution.

Privately, I sobbed to the Lord. “I love my baby. I would never do anything to hurt her. I want to be a good mommy. I want to cradle her and play with her and teach her about You. Please don’t let me go crazy God. I am so afraid I’m going to loose my mind. Please God, please don’t ever let me hurt my baby. Please.”

I only shared those fears with God. Not with my husband. Not with my doctor, or with my best friend. No way. They might think me a monster. Instead I wore a pleasant smile and gushed about wanting my sweet girl to arrive as soon as I hit full-term status. In reality I wanted to keep her inside of me. Inside of me where I knew she’d be safe.

When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. Psalm 56:3-4 NIV

Postpartum/Perinatal Depression Resources

Postpartum Depression is not a hopeless illness. There is help available. Below is a list of some resources.

• Postpartum Progress
• Postpartum Support International (PSI)
• The Ruth Rhoden Craven Foundation (The founder, Helena Bradford, has helped me greatly)
  
• Out of the Valley Ministries
• God's Positive Answer Chart
• Postpartum Stress Center
• A Deeper Shade of Blue
• Postpartum Dads