Letters of Light
Beautiful soul reading this, let me say one thing first of all;
This will pass.
You will not feel like a stranger in your own life forever. You will not feel your hands shake and your mind race by the smallest of upsets for the rest of your life. You will not feel anger at your husband and rage at your body and shame in your mind every day from here on out. You will not look at your baby and burst into tears, because of the overwhelming disconnect you feel, for the rest of your life. All of this will pass, so hold on.
I have been there. Having lived with depression most of my life I thought I would be prepared for postpartum if it hit me. I had three beautiful babies and I got hit twice. Hard. I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t ready when I couldn’t stop crying. I wasn’t ready when I screamed at my husband. I wasn’t ready when I hid in the bathroom and contemplated shaving off my hair, as if somehow that would make me feel better. And I wasn’t ready when I broke down in the doctor’s office, sobbing and begging for help. I wasn’t ready for him to shake his head, sigh, and say, “Go home. Get some rest. Exercise more.” All of it caught me off guard.
If I had been ready I would have told more people. I would have demanded a second opinion, I would have relied on someone else’s strength and love to carry me until my own came back. I would have known it would not last forever (although 4 months…6 months…18 months is a very long time to suffer, it is not forever). If I was ready I wouldn’t have been so hard on myself, so bitterly angry and guilty that I wasn’t the like the skinny happy moms on TV and in the parenting magazines. If I had known I would have fought it. I would have given myself space to ache and time to find strength, instead of trying to pretend I was fine. I would have had everyone around me fight it, and together we could have done it.
So, if you are reading this, when you get done do yourself a favor. Tell at least 10 people close to you that you need help. You are worth the time. You are worth the honesty. You are a wonderful person. You will not feel like this for the rest of your life. Trust me. Make an appointment, then another one, then another one. Tell you story again and again, until you find the reassurance you need. Take time for your recovery, as you would for any other type of injury, but don’t give up. Because this will pass and you are strong enough to conquer it- it will just be a whole lot better for yourself if you let others around you be part of your army.
I beat it.
You will too.