As a complete control freak, the thought of letting anything go, including the guards around my heart, gives me instant anxiety. You would never know, well…because, control. That’s complicated. So, for months after my baby was born, I suffered in silence, alone, in dark rooms, and dark places of my mind. We would stay put because the thought of even buckling him into the car sent me down a black hole.
Avoiding life led to blocking most of it out. Best not to know what I was missing than to miss anything at all. Because, again, control. But what I learned is that trying to control an uncontrollable disease doesn’t work.
I remember the day so crystal clear—my husband and I were fighting, a daily occurrence at this point, but why? He served me well, gave me all the things, was off work to drive me to my breast augmentation, for the love of God. But the fighting, the fighting was internal and overwhelming and misguided and nothing I could control. I looked at him that day, in my broken down state, and told him I hope I died. I said it. I wanted to die. I want to go under the knife and never come back. I meant all four words, at my core.
The reality of my words are as raw today and the scars I woke up with. And, you know what, I did die that day. It was the edge, the end of myself, all I could stand, my rock bottom. I woke up, weary and knowing I needed help. Doesn’t this seem to be the only way change is ever created, a death to our existing selves? Was true for me then and stands true for me today.
With literal tears, and baby in tow, I scraped myself off the couch and marched my way through the lobby of my OBG’s office, barely holding it together. I was THAT mom. The one who wanted it all to be perfect and happy and joyful. The one who struggled and compared and barely got by. The one who, in all my glory and control, lost my the battle against postpartum depression. It was equal parts walk of shame and victory at the finish line.
For 10 months, I suffered in silence. I suffered from denial and shame and the facade of control. I suffered from postpartum depression. For 10 months, my marriage was shook, my life was on literal pause, and my ‘want to’ was taken. My ‘want to’ be present, ‘want to’ live, ‘want to’ be alive. But, truth.
The truth will always set you free and when denying your story hurts worse than your story itself, you own it.
My story is this: I had postpartum depression. I let the disease steal 10 months of my life, my marriage, and my motherhood. I did this because of control and denial and shame. Living in this dark places is where our enemy wants us to stay. But, the truth; the truth will always set you free.
If you or someone you know is suffering, there’s a way out. There’s an approach that will work, a life beneath the pain, and truth waiting to be told. I suffered in silence but now know more. I’ve walked the plank and I waited too long. You don’t have to. Please, learn from me and let go of yourself. The less time you spend on the road of suffering, the shorter time you’ll spend coming back. Reach out, comment below, email us, or click + pass on the list of resources available at the bottom of this post.