Monday Confessional #2

What has this become, a picture website? you may well be asking. Well, yes. That's what happens when your mother-in-law visits for a week and you'd rather be hanging out with her than tyyyyyping wooooords. Also, when your neck goes out causing you to SERIOUSLY ponder in the middle of the night whether or not you're nearing death because your neck hurts THAT BAD.

Anyway, I'm all doped up on Advil now and back to our regularly scheduled programming.

On to Monday's Confession:

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When Savannah was a baby I would lie to Chris and make up dates with friends that didn't exist, so he would think I was okay.

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Yes, I had imaginary friends at 24.

I haven't written much about my postpartum depression. Mainly because I've struggled with depression ever since and when I feel up to writing about it, I'm fearful of reliving it and thus, slipping back into it.

When I quit my job six weeks after I gave birth, I felt some trepidation. The few weeks I had spent at home were not at all what I had expected. The sleepless nights, the fragile needy little person, the leaking breasts, the days that turned into nights that turned into days that turned into nights without anything ever changing. The sheer "constant-ness" of it all was mind numbing.

I loved this little baby more than anything. I stared at her rosebud mouth while she slept. I ran my fingers through her little curls while she nursed and cried at her beauty. I researched the best of every product on the internet. I read every parenting book I could get my hands on.

And the more I read, the worse I felt. I wasn't happy and resourceful. I was anxious. I was tense. I was dark. I was sad. And everything I read said my baby could sense this. I knew no matter what I did, if I wasn't HAPPY she could sense it and we would both be MISERABLE FOREVER.

I had to be perfect for us to survive.

I tried so hard. Too hard. The more I tried, the more I was convinced I was failing. My milk supply was drying up. I couldn't relax to "letdown". I had scars across my chest from her clawing at me in frustration and colicky pain every night from 5:00 - 10:00 because she couldn't nurse. I wouldn't let myself consume alcohol, caffeine, sugar, dairy, soy, citrus, tomatoes, nitrates, TFA's, carbonation, or tannic acid. I ate cheerios with water. I cooked, pureed, and froze my own baby food. I took vitamins. I exercised every day - I ran, did yoga, Pilates, and strength training. I started a gift basket business and an Ebay business. I went to Gymboree Playgroups.

I never sat still.

I was fiercely determined to make sense of this new "baby raising thing" and outrun the darkness that was bleeding throughout my soul; slowly filling me up with sadness.

I remember the day I broke.

It was feeding time. Every time we would sit down to nurse, I would begin "talking myself down". I tried to calm my nerves for what I knew we were in for. She sucked. Nothing came. She continued like a trooper. Nothing. I knew I had exactly one minute before she would fall apart. I laid my head back and tried to relax. I imagined Hawaii. I imagined a massage. I imagined my quiet desk at the goddamn job I left.

The minute came and went. She threw her head back, red-faced, balled her little hands into fists and geared up for the screaming. I rocked her. I whispered soothingly into her ear. I walked her around our apartment for a few minutes. Then sat down to try again. Nothing.

My baby was hungry and I couldn't feed her. After three tries, she was hysterical. I was hysterical. I laid her down in her crib. And then I raced out to the balcony and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

I screamed "Help me!". Over and over again.

I screamed into the silence of the empty apartment complex. I wanted someone to hear me. Anyone. And take me away from here. From this life.

I could hear Savannah's wails, muffled by the closed door. I knew she was crying for food. I continued to scream.

When no one responded, I went back inside. Savannah had worked herself up into a full-on choking hysteria.

She was hungry. I was starving my baby.

I stormed into her nursery, grabbed her out of her crib, and took her into the kitchen. Where I reached into the far corner of the pantry and pulled out the sample formula the hospital had sent me home with. I mixed up a bottle, sat on the kitchen floor and sobbed my eyes out. I was a failure. I had failed her. She was ingesting hormones and additives and sugar. I had failed.

Savannah guzzled the formula eagerly. And then slept for hours.

I laid on the kitchen floor crying until Chris came home. When I heard his key in the door, I jumped up and said I had plans to meet a friend for coffee. I drove around the city for hours pondering my loneliness; my solitude. I realized then that all I needed was for someone to hear me. For just one friend.

I only wish I had known about blogs then.

Comments

[theresa]

What an amazing story and your honesty blows me away. Thanks for sharing this...I learn so much from reading blogs, and I too wish blogs were around when I was a young mother. I know you are helping lots of other women out there.

[Elizabeth]

Lena, I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone. You were doing the best you could for Savannah, you know that, right? Reading this made me feel like hugging you really tight.

[Janet]

That was heartfelt and wonderful. Thank you. I was there too. I wish I would have known you. We could have helped each other. I understand those feelings. You are not alone in this.

[Vycki]

Made me want to cry, and give you a great big hug. I am a new mom and I feel so grateful for blogs and yours is one of my favorites. I also understand (more than I care to) the fear of rousing depression from a dormant state and really appreciate the courage it took to write that. Now I'm going to go eat the entire tray of cookies I just made.

[mothergoosemouse]

Lena, that's heartbreaking. I'm so sorry you went through such a difficult time. I know it well myself, and I echo your wish that we'd have known about blogs - and this community - back then.

[Marcia]

I want to bookmark this for whenever I have my own baby. So I can read it then, and remember that I'm not alone.

[Michelle]

Wow...thanks for sharing this. So few moms are able to admit to these kind of dark days but I suspect that most have them. I'm sorry it was hard. But I'm glad you made it through.

I fear having these days myself when I finally realize my dream of adopting a baby girl. I'm afraid that I've dreamed of it for so long that when it doesn't meet my expectations (and how could it possibly?) I will experience some sort of post adoption depression. Thanks you.

[jen]

Wow, I read stories like this and I can't even imagine. But if it does happen to me one day, at least I know I am not the only one.

[Teri M.]

Oh, sweetie. I'm so glad that you finally did find blogs - now other moms who have similar experiences won't feel alone. Seeing your beautiful, healthy, happy child is proof that you are and always were a terrific mom.

[borneochica]

Holy crap! That is almost exactly my story, except for the exercising and gift basket part. I only finally got help when nursing fell apart for me, too, and in the exact. same. way. I've known other moms with ppd--hello! therapy and group therapy and group group therapy; oh and lovely drugs--but you're the first person whose story has so mirrored mine. It was a horror, I know. But we survived. And are that much better for it.

Thanks for sharing.

[Guwi]

I have the good fortune not to have experienced PPD, but I have some friends who have. It seems it's so misunderstood by people who have never gone through it--thanks for being so open and frank in sharing your experience, and I'm glad you got through it!

[Frema]

I think the fact that you digested CHEERIOS AND WATER for Savannah says even more about your love for her than your attempts at breastfeeding. You are one brave woman.

[Reader]

I remember that loneliness. After my baby died I tried to be so put together, I guess I played it right. I wanted a friend so bad, but I pushed everyone away. I still don't have any of them back, but it's been a year. I feel pathetic that my only conversations with women outside of my 50-year-old coworkers and my mom are with people I'll never meet. But part of me is so glad I at least have them.
I'm glad you got through it, Lena.

[Amanda]

Lena, I love your honesty. I also wish I knew about blogs when I had my daughter 4 years ago. I was a first time stressed out worrying mom over every.little.thing.

But the thing I love most about blogs is honesty. True feelings from real people. No magazine article telling you how you should feel, or what to do. Many are the true sides of motherhood - which isn't the perfect nursery, or adorable clothing, or the kid that sleeps 15 hours the day you bring it home from the hospital. True motherhood has it's ups & downs, and feelings emerge that you never planned for.

I am so grateful for the moms that post the "real" stuff. It helps those currently going through it, and moms who've come through those feelings offer real insight.

Thanks for sharing Lena. It has made a difference.

[emily]

it sounds like an amazingly difficult time of your life; i'm so sad that you struggled alone. i am glad you've found blogs, and hope that happiness is coming easier now, and that the darkness is receding.

[Dustin]

this post is fitting today....
we're sharing info at the same time, how cute.

...and pitiful, arent we ;)

[Chantal]

I did have people to talk to and I felt so alone anyway. PPD is a mean bitch and she screws with your mind.

Brave. Very brave post.

[Kat]

Lena, you're incredibly brave for opening up and talking about your PPD. I'm so sorry you felt you had to go through it alone. But just raising awareness through posts like affords other mothers the opportunity to realize that they're not alone, that other people are experiencing the same feelings and frustrations. You're amazing.

[stayathomemotherdom]

God, that solitude sucks...doesn't it. I don't want to go back to that place, either.

[Stefanie]

Wow! This is so strange. I just posted about breast feeding tonight before reading your blog. My experience was very similar (I did't recount my own which would have been a better posting. I just talked about the judgement around it). No one tells you that the shit's HARD! I was extremely post partum too. Not Brooke Shields post partum but exactly what you described. That's why we must must go have lunch! Let's make a date!