Today is a hard day for me. Absolutely no reason why it should be different from any other, but I do take comfort knowing that these days are typically followed by one less painful.
Here's the main thing: I don't feel like doing anything. Not even the things I really enjoy doing. I find myself sitting in my rocking chair, daydreaming, aching, staring. One of my favorite pastimes is doing "school work" with my kids - showing them things, reading them books, explaining things to them, helping them. On my "bad" days, however, I can't get started. It's good that there are fun & interesting things all over our home for them, so they are always busy.
I keep praying and trusting, but I feel nothing. I don't know what to say to my husband. Do I hide all of this? Do I try to act 'normal'? If I tell him how I feel, will he think that I don't like my life? Because I love it so very much. I'm just going through this time of trial, waiting for it to end.
9/30/2008
9/18/2008
Learning to Knit
My ppd began during my pregnancy. I learned through my research that it often does.
I continued to care for my 3 other children, but all the spaces of time in-between diapers and meals and loads of laundry were hard to get through. Mostly, I felt numb. Excruciatingly numb.
I was walking through Hobby Lobby one day, and when I passed the knitting needles, I decided to give it a try. I bought some yarn and a beginner's booklet. And I began to knit. I didn't have a project in mind, I just kept making those knots over and over and over. And I let the minutes pass.
I continued to care for my 3 other children, but all the spaces of time in-between diapers and meals and loads of laundry were hard to get through. Mostly, I felt numb. Excruciatingly numb.
I was walking through Hobby Lobby one day, and when I passed the knitting needles, I decided to give it a try. I bought some yarn and a beginner's booklet. And I began to knit. I didn't have a project in mind, I just kept making those knots over and over and over. And I let the minutes pass.
What it feels like
I am unmotivated to do anything. I feel completely empty inside, numb. Disconnected. I am on the verge of tears, always.
When I was pregnant, this led me to spend more and more of my days lying in bed. Sure, I'd get up to take care of the kids when they needed me, and if company was coming over I'd clean up. But mostly, I just stayed in bed. Oh, and I had intense and unrelenting sugar cravings. I told my OB that I was spending my days in bed, eating cake & ice cream.
Since the baby was born, I spend hours rocking her. 4 young children around doesn't permit me much time in bed anymore, but I still do a whole lot of nothing, here and there.
Beginning an SSRI helped beyond words, although the first few days it made me feel like a nauseated zombie.
I was warned that at some point after the birth, my PPD might intensify. And that's where I'm at today. The SSRI seems to have "quit" working. I need to get my dosage increased. I don't expect this "phase" of the disease to last long, but no doubt it's here. I feel back at square one, with more responsibilities on my plate than ever before, and this beautiful 2-mo-old smiling at me, cooing, and looking straight into my eyes.
My husband quips, "come on, buckle up."
I'm thinking, "I can't."
When I was pregnant, this led me to spend more and more of my days lying in bed. Sure, I'd get up to take care of the kids when they needed me, and if company was coming over I'd clean up. But mostly, I just stayed in bed. Oh, and I had intense and unrelenting sugar cravings. I told my OB that I was spending my days in bed, eating cake & ice cream.
Since the baby was born, I spend hours rocking her. 4 young children around doesn't permit me much time in bed anymore, but I still do a whole lot of nothing, here and there.
Beginning an SSRI helped beyond words, although the first few days it made me feel like a nauseated zombie.
I was warned that at some point after the birth, my PPD might intensify. And that's where I'm at today. The SSRI seems to have "quit" working. I need to get my dosage increased. I don't expect this "phase" of the disease to last long, but no doubt it's here. I feel back at square one, with more responsibilities on my plate than ever before, and this beautiful 2-mo-old smiling at me, cooing, and looking straight into my eyes.
My husband quips, "come on, buckle up."
I'm thinking, "I can't."
Why so quiet?
I admit I like to talk. If you asked my husband, he'd probably tell you that I talk too freely about everything. I'm a very "open" person. Except when it comes to one thing only: my PPD.
Why? Why haven't I told anyone except for my husband and a small handful of close friends?
Maybe women in the next generation will live in a society more educated about ppd, and there won't be such a stigma attached to it. My generation knows about PPD, but still has misconceptions.
I don't have PPD psychosis.
I'm not ungrateful for my baby.
I'm not a bad mom.
And lastly, I don't want people to feel like they have to hover around me.
I am a devout Catholic woman, and I associate with a lot of moms who have (or want) a LOT of children. They gush about what a beautiful thing it is to be pregnant, to go through labor, and to care for that newborn child. I understand all that. And that's the whole irony of PPD: what's supposed to bring about the greatest of joys actually brings about feelings of anguish.
I've written often before about how life "this side of Heaven" is full of contradictions and dissonance. One of the greatest mysteries of the Christian faith is why Christ's redemption of the world did not result in a return to Eden for all of us. His redemption brought about the possibility of salvation. It didn't change the fact that our inheritance is to journey through a fallen and disordered world.
The chemical imbalances that women sometimes suffer during pregnancy and postpartum are a part of this disorder. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but God has permitted it to happen. Our role is to trust that we can carry this burden, relying on His strength, until He chooses to lift it from us completely. Like Corrie ten Boom wrote, "the deeper our darkness, He is deeper still..."
Why? Why haven't I told anyone except for my husband and a small handful of close friends?
Maybe women in the next generation will live in a society more educated about ppd, and there won't be such a stigma attached to it. My generation knows about PPD, but still has misconceptions.
I don't have PPD psychosis.
I'm not ungrateful for my baby.
I'm not a bad mom.
And lastly, I don't want people to feel like they have to hover around me.
I am a devout Catholic woman, and I associate with a lot of moms who have (or want) a LOT of children. They gush about what a beautiful thing it is to be pregnant, to go through labor, and to care for that newborn child. I understand all that. And that's the whole irony of PPD: what's supposed to bring about the greatest of joys actually brings about feelings of anguish.
I've written often before about how life "this side of Heaven" is full of contradictions and dissonance. One of the greatest mysteries of the Christian faith is why Christ's redemption of the world did not result in a return to Eden for all of us. His redemption brought about the possibility of salvation. It didn't change the fact that our inheritance is to journey through a fallen and disordered world.
The chemical imbalances that women sometimes suffer during pregnancy and postpartum are a part of this disorder. It wasn't supposed to be this way, but God has permitted it to happen. Our role is to trust that we can carry this burden, relying on His strength, until He chooses to lift it from us completely. Like Corrie ten Boom wrote, "the deeper our darkness, He is deeper still..."
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