My journey through post-partum depression and anxiety began when my second daughter, Nora was born. My older daughter, Iva, was 3 years old. I hadn’t experienced any depression or anxiety following her birth, but my delivery with her heavily influenced my experiences with Nora.

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Iva’s birth was scary; she was born with a true knot in her cord and the cord wrapped around her neck three times, as well as her foot. She didn’t breath for about 30 seconds after she was born. I remember seeing how purple she was, looking over at the nurses suctioning her, and seeing her draw a shaky breath and start screaming while turning a beautiful shade of pink. It was a very scary 30 seconds. But she was fine after that. She did great in the hospital, and we were sent home after a couple days as brand new parents, with no clue what we were doing. I went back to work after 6 weeks, because we were preparing to move across the country for my husband to start dental school. We moved when Iva was 4 months old.

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Looking back, all of that seems like a perfect cocktail for post-partum depression, but I thrived. I was excited to have an adventure and I was starting a new exciting job in Ohio on a challenging critical care unit. Things were great; my husband enjoyed school and I enjoyed working and making new friends. We waited almost three years before we decided to have another baby. I know now, that my hesitancy in becoming pregnant again was the beginning of my anxiety. The labor I experienced with Iva was traumatic, and I don’t think I fully processed what had happened. I was nervous the majority of my second pregnancy. I was so worried that something was going to happen to her. With Iva, one of the perks of the clinic we went to was a monthly ultrasound. I only had one with Nora, and that was really hard. My heart would pound if I had the realization that I hadn’t felt her move for a while, so I would drink some juice or eat something sugary in an effort to have her move. I was constantly on edge. It was also a very difficult pregnancy.  I gained about 65 pounds. I’m a fairly active person, but I was always exhausted. I was working 12-hour night shifts and felt so drained of energy. It was a really hard 9 months.

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We had done hypno-birth classes with Iva, and decided to try it again with Nora. I got an epidural with Iva’s birth, but I only got the initial shot of numbing medication. She was born about 8 minutes after the anesthesiologist put the meds in my back, so I never even got hooked up to the pump. I really wanted to try and birth Nora naturally, which also meant trying not to get induced. Iva was born exactly a week after her due date via an induction. Nora came 10 days late also via induction. They scheduled an evening induction, which was really not ideal. I started laboring at 9 pm and she was born about 3 in the morning, which meant no sleep. The labor was hard. They gave me a lot of IV fluids. I remember after she was born, I could barely smile because my lips and face felt so swollen. The doctor was not the one I had been seeing; it was another one from the clinic. I felt very rushed by her. I ended up getting another epidural, this time I received more medication and couldn’t feel my legs for about 2 hours. Right after she was born, I asked to be sat up. I immediately felt light-headed and passed out. I remember hearing someone shout, “Her pressure is low!” I was hemorrhaging. They had to give me medication in my leg and even more fluids. My blood counts the next morning were extremely low; they wanted to give me a blood transfusion. I declined, but wondered later if I should have gotten one. For about 2-3 weeks following the birth, I couldn’t walk up my stairs without stopping halfway to catch my breath. It was just so hard.

 

My husband served in a youth calling in our church. The week after Nora was born, the Boy Scouts he worked with had a high adventure camp scheduled. I knew that if he didn’t go, they would have to cancel the trip. I needed him with me, but I also knew how much the boys needed that trip. I told him to go, that the members of our church would help look after me. In hindsight, he should never have gone. I was such an emotional mess those first few weeks. I did have amazing help, and for that I am grateful. Friends would take Iva in the morning, and keep her all day so I only had to take care of Nora. She would come back and we would eat dinner and I would keep her for the night until someone else came and got her the next day. But I was still on edge. I felt so scared ALL. THE. TIME. I thought I was going to die or that Nora was going to die. I think I was right on the verge of having post-partum psychosis. Looking back, I’m so grateful it didn’t get that bad. But it was so very close. Because of the epidural, I started having migraines. I had never had a migraine before, so I didn’t know what was happening. I honestly thought I was going to die. I would put Nora down in her crib; take Tylenol and ibuprofen, and just curl up with my head under a pillow because the light hurt. I had spiraling thoughts that I was going go to sleep and never wake up. And that Iva would wake up in the morning to me dead and her baby sister crying and no one would ever know.

 

Those were the kinds of thoughts I had constantly. We got a babysitter one night so we could go to our temple (I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints), and while I was in the temple, I started to have panicking thoughts that my sweet newborn was home and dead. I remember thinking, “I am in a place that is supposed to give me peace, this is not right.” I wish I would have gotten help then. But I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I just knew I was always scared. The on-edge feeling never went away. I was constantly mad at my husband and angry all the time. I quit my job to become a stay at home mom, and that added to the pressure. I thought I needed to have the house clean, dinner cooked every night, as well as exercise and be cute and showered to have had a “successful day.” I felt like I was failing.

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I struggled through this until Nora was about 9 months old. Derrick and I were fighting more than ever and we were also at a crossroads in our life. He was about to graduate and we were trying to figure out what was next. I went to our Bishop in our church because of all the fighting. I was done. As I explained how I was feeling, my bishop looked at me and said, “Do you think you might have post-partum depression?” I honestly did not know what to say. I just burst into tears. I felt relief, that maybe all I was going through was not my fault. About month 11, I felt like a fog began to lift. I felt like me again. They say it takes about a year for a woman’s hormones to level out following pregnancy and delivery. I am evidence of that.

 

I wish I could say life moved on and it was happy and great and I never had anxiety again, but we decided to have another baby. It was a hard decision. I wanted to be done, my husband wanted more kids. But we decided to get pregnant again; we both wanted to try for a boy. I was bound and determined that my pregnancy and delivery would be different. And it was. I exercised and had a great pregnancy. The weeks before the baby was born were stressful, but the delivery was fantastic. I delivered my beautiful third baby girl, Hanna, naturally with the help of an amazing friend and doula. It was great. I felt great. And I thought I could kick the depression and anxiety on my own with exercise. Unfortunately, mental illness has it’s own agenda.

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We were trying to sell our house and move right after Hanna was born. When she was 4 months old, I found myself a somewhat single mom of three kiddos because my husband had to move across the country to start his new job, while I stayed behind to sell the house. That combined with multiple mastitis episodes, a baby with a major tongue-tie, unplanned weaning from breastfeeding, and some severe cases of influenza (all while my husband was in another state) resulted in my anxiety being so severe, that I wonder how I didn’t spiral completely out of control. Thankfully, I had an amazing support system through neighbors and church members. We made it through.

 

We moved and I thought all was well. I was reaching Hanna’s year mark and I waited for the fog to lift. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. But it never did. The on edge feeling never went away. I would be so stressed, that I would just withdraw. My husband didn’t know what he was going to come home to most nights. Because most nights I would be hiding in my room on my phone while my girls entertained themselves, mostly with TV. I just didn’t have any desire to live my life. Not that I wanted to die, I never had any suicidal thoughts; I just didn’t want to fully live. It was easier to just do nothing. It was a not great period in my life.

 

I am happy to say, that as of about 9 months ago, I am currently on medication to help me manage my anxiety-induced depression. The on-edge feeling is gone and I feel like me again. The fog has lifted, finally. I know the dark place a mind can go when spiraling thoughts begin. Mental illness is no respecter of persons. It is ugly. It is raw. And it is HARD. Ladies, we need each other! There is no way I would have gotten through my post-partum periods without the help of other women. So now I speak out. Get the help. Talk about your scary thoughts. DON’T FIGHT ALONE.

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Also, the pictures above are when I was deep in my anxiety/depression, proving that you never know when someone is struggling.

 

The song that helped me through was “I Need Thee Every Hour