Things To Remember When You’re A Mom Wrestling With Depression

When I decided to share my story here, I didn’t know where to start. Did I start back at age 17, when I first realized I had depression? When I first wanted to end my life? Or did I fast forward to my first few years of marriage and the emotional struggles I went through then? What about my experience with postpartum after my first child was born? Or did I talk about the now?

I thought long and hard but kept feeling stuck. I felt like I had so much to share with everyone but knew I couldn’t fit it all in one post. But then I joined a support group of moms for postpartum depression and I realized how many others were just reaching for help.

How so many of them were just doing their best as a mom and trying to just BE.

And SURVIVE.

Then it hit me. I knew what I needed to talk about: the real and raw emotions others don’t tend to share after birth. And that sometimes can linger on longer than just those “baby blues”.

*Trigger Alert* This story has some heavy details in it, and may cause triggers for others who suffer from mental illness.

When you think of birth, what do you think about?

Before I had my daughter, I thought it would be something like this: Epidural, push, she’d come out crying and healthy, they would place her directly on my chest so I could have skin to skin, I could nurse her quickly after, and we could go home after 24 hours.

I was in for a rude awakening.

There is something I want you to understand: Birth isn’t always butterflies and roses. Sometimes it doesn’t go just how you planned. And sometimes, it’s not blissful when you take them home. 

She was 2 weeks early- no big deal right? My labor wasn’t bad. I labored for 12 hours and pushed for 2. When she came out, we weren’t given the option to cut the chord- they just did it.

They quickly put her on my stomach so I could see her, but I noticed right away she was completely blue.

She wasn’t crying.

It didn’t fully register with me though, because I was tired and just so happy I wasn’t pregnant anymore! (Pregnancy is not a walk in the park for me, as I throw up the entire 9 months, multiple times a day, and get IV fluids many many times.)

They quickly took her away and while delivering my placenta, they were over working on her, rubbing her chest, trying to get her to breathe. I don’t know how many minutes it was after, but she FINALLY let out a cry.

They took her up to the NICU where she stayed for 5 days. She had high bilirubin levels and some sort of infection. I could only hold her during feeding time. They timed me and only let me nurse her for a certain amount of time, since she needed to be under the lights as much as possible. I had to pump and feed her that through a syringe after to supplement.

When she was finally able to come home 5 days later, I was finally happy. I felt like we were finally going to get into our groove. I had waited 2 years for this baby girl and I felt like this was our time.

That night when it was time for bed, we laid her in her crib. We had decided not to let her sleep in our room because I knew all I would do is watch her breathe and I wouldn’t sleep.

I suffered from anxiety AND depression on a normal basis and my hormones were all over the place so those things were obviously heightened.  

After laying her down, I went to lay in my bed, and started to panic. My husband asked what was wrong, and I went into the worst panic attack I have ever had. I felt like I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe.

I was convinced my baby was going to die- that she would stop breathing and that I would lose her.

My husband got out of bed and physically pushed me out. He made me walk around the house, get a drink, and went and got the baby. He said “look, she’s fine, see?” He told me he was fine bringing her into our room if that was what I wanted but I knew I would be even worse if we brought her in. We settled on saying a prayer and after that, I was able to calm down and get some sleep.

I was anxious those first few weeks. I kept thinking something would happen to her- it was too good to be true.

Postpartum hit. Nursing wasn’t getting better, healing down under was a killer, and I was so tired.

The only thing keeping me going was her happy, beautiful face.

She was mine, and I was hers.

A few months after, I mostly snapped out of my postpartum, but still struggled with my normal depression. I did the best I could though.

When my daughter was 7 months old, we decided we wanted to take my IUD out and try for another. Since it took us 2 years to get my daughter, we figured it would take a while to get our second.

However, that was not the case.

When my daughter was 8 months old, I found out I was pregnant. I was only 2 weeks pregnant and I was already throwing up. This was going to be a LONG pregnancy.

Fast forward to my son’s delivery- I was throwing up nearly the whole labor, which luckily was short. I only pushed a few times and he was out.

But during the first push, they informed me he was posterior and they needed to turn him. They were able to turn him, and he came out quickly. However, when he was out, the chord was wrapped around his neck.

He was lifeless, not breathing, and blue.

They let me cut his chord (my husband doesn’t do blood or medical stuff, he was having a hard enough time being in the room HA!) but immediately after that, they whipped him away. My OB kept telling the nurse to turn on the oxygen for him and she kept saying “it’s not working” so he told her to run and get a new one.

The respiratory team ran in and then he finally started to breathe. His Apgar score was a 1. I asked to hold him, and they said no, and that they were taking him to the NICU. Tears fell from my face; I thought “another birth like Mia’s…I can’t do this.”

My mom, best friend, her husband, my husband, and my photographer were all in the room by now, and I freely let the tears flow.

I was scared and sad.

However, an hour later, my son was able to make a miraculous recovery and start breathing better on his own so they returned him to us. I was SO grateful.

Besides him coming out not breathing, It was a good labor and delivery. My epidural was great, I didn’t tear, I felt amazing. We got home the next day and I felt so good. I stepped right in to being a mom of 2 like it was nothing. My daughter was only 18 months so I had 2 under 2. I felt like super mom! But boy, did it catch up to me!

Breastfeeding, again, was not how I thought it would be. It hurt like nothing else, and I didn’t feel like my son was eating enough. Luckily he was an angel baby, and didn’t show signs of not getting enough food. I just cringed when he wanted to eat though, oh it hurt so bad. I would ball my hands up into a fist every time he latched on- for months!

When my son turned 4 months old, something devastating happened in my life.

I pushed myself away from everyone I knew, and became deeply depressed. I had been pregnant or a new mom for basically the last 2 years- and my pregnancies weren’t a walk in the park. I was always complaining and I realized I didn’t know who I was anymore.

By being pregnant and becoming a mother, I lost who I was, and was someone who I didn’t recognize.

I was devastated.

I second guessed my marriage- had I been negative to my husband? My family? Did they want me around? What about my daughter? Did she even love me still? It was such a bad cycle that really put me in a dark place that I could not crawl out.

I had to prove to people that I was moving on and was okay, so I became really good at hiding my postpartum depression. I pretended I loved being a mom to 2, although I was drowning and honestly didn’t know how to make it through the day with them.

But from the outside looking in, I wanted others to think life was bliss.

When my son turned 9 months old, I finally realized how bad things were.

It was May 3, 2014. I was at my niece’s house to celebrate her birthday, eat lunch and spend time together as family. I do not remember why I was so emotional and upset that day, but I started the day off in a bad place.

After a small argument with my brother in law, I left the house without taking my phone or telling anyone where I was going. I left my two kids back at the house with my husband thinking he would be fine to watch them.

I just kept walking, not knowing where I was going, but seemed to be walking with purpose. I was sobbing and with each step I made my heart felt more and more heavy.

Negative thoughts about myself kept creeping in.

I found myself between a church and a canal. I sat on some grass, hoping that being by the church would help give me comfort… but that is not what happened.

I physically felt as though Satan came over me, and was feeding me thoughts. I remember telling myself,  “You are nothing. You are worthless. You are not loved. Your family doesn’t need you, they would be better off without you. They would be happier without you- not dealing with your mental issues. You don’t have friends. You should end your life. “

Almost without thinking, I stood up, and slowly walked to the canal road, and stood above the bridge.

I knew the water was shallow enough, and the rocks were big and sharp enough that if I jumped, I would probably break my neck and die. And it would be a while before someone found me because no one knew where I went.

I got closer to the edge of the bridge.. scared and shaking, but the thought repeated in my mind again, “Your family will be better off without you…”

Then, as quickly as I had felt Satan come over me, I felt a spiritual presence grab a hold of me.

I collapsed on the road and looked around. Had I really almost ended my life?

My kids NEEDED me. My husband NEEDED me. I NEEDED them. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. And I wanted to live happily. I cried yet again, and told myself I would go get the help I need.

I walked back to the house, and when I got there, my husband reacted with an angry sentence- “Where have you been?! I have been calling you!” I looked at him, surprised to hear him react that way, since he is not the kind to get angry.

I told him I didn’t have my phone on me, and asked him what was going on. He told me that while I was gone wherever I went, my daughter Mia had run away, and they thought she was with me. They couldn’t get a hold of me though, so they had to run around the neighborhood looking for her. She happened to be playing in someones backyard a few houses down. I (of course) cried again, and felt terrible.

I started to tell him where I was and what had just happened and he told me he didn’t care to hear the story right now, and to never do that again. I knew he was just scared, and I didn’t blame him. I knew that within time, he would understand and I could talk to him about my experience, but I understood his anger.

I did get the help I needed after that. I got on different medication and started to go to counseling.

I felt I was finally starting to heal.

I got to a pretty good place, but the depression has always been there, as I know it probably always will be.

Recently, I was diagnosed with ADHD, PTSD, and Bipolar Type 2 Disorder. All those on top of Anxiety and Depression I have already been diagnosed with. That’s a long list of mental illness’. 

It seems overwhelming, and scary, and I won’t lie, I can’t help but wish sometimes that they would all go away.

However, I have come to accept that despite those things being a part of me, they are not ME.

They do not define me as a mother.

I can still be a happy mother, who loves life.

It’s okay if my children see that life is less than perfect at times. What kind of mother would I be if I taught them any differently? Definitely not a realistic one.  

I have all of the tools I need to maintain my mental illness. I now go to therapy once a week, a psychiatrist once a month, I take medication to help me, I meditate, I journal, I have a spiritual outlet, and I have a support system.

I am NOT AFRAID.

I will not be alone anymore. I cannot be.

My kids need me.

And guess what- YOUR KIDS NEED YOU.

If you are reading this and feel any of these same feelings, please, you are not alone.

We can do this together. Let’s end the stigma. It’s okay to not be okay!

One of my favorite quotes is “It’s okay to be a glowstick. Sometimes you have to break before you can shine.”

I can tell you that I have broken. Time and time again. And I will continue to break. But right after those breaks, I have shined. I shine so much. For I am a happy mother, who loves life.

Now, just a little more than 3 years since the bridge incident happened, we live in a different state, I’ve made some of the best friends I could have ever asked for, and I have come to the realization that I can help others by sharing my story.

It’s so hard to be vulnerable like this, but I know if I can help but ONE person, it was all worth it.

Be a person who wants to live.

Be the person you were intended to be. The good, and bad.

Love is not without the happy AND sad.

You are of infinite worth.

Danielle is the owner of Today's the Best Day. She strives to provide creative and uplifting content in order to enrich the parenting experience for women everywhere. Danielle hopes to help you and your family to make every day the best day!

August 1, 2017 by Danielle Davis | 1 Comment