There are times in every person’s life when things are stressful,
complicated and far from fun.
Sometimes there is a reason for it, Other times it's happening in our
brain chemistry; But when it becomes a way of life and not just the odd
"down day" it's a problem. I am of course, talking about clinical
depression.
First off I want to say the very worst thing a person can tell a
depressed person is to "cheer up" or "there are so many things
to be thankful for!" etc etc etc. If someone tells a depressed person to
cheer up or "just don't be that way" I hope they throw a few well
aimed punches and maybe a brick. And I hope they hurt.
True depression is an inability to produce serotonin and the depressed
person has about as much control over this as a diabetic has over producing
insulin. Depression is caused through many things. Trauma, isolation, hormonal
just to name a few.
If you are depressed, I understand, I am sorry and I can't promise you
an easy road to recovery. In fact I'm most certain that even years later I am
still on the road myself. But I can promise you what you need. I promise to
just love you anyway.
Now I am going to talk about my depression. Specifically about me.
This has been a long time coming but the stigma needs to be removed and the
only way to do that is to show people exactly how common it is and to remove
ignorance surrounding what to do with a depressed person- people just plain
don't know how to help! So they do things that make it worse and use cliche's
that are maddeningly unhelpful.
I've had a struggle with depression on an almost grand scale since I
can remember. I was a victim of sexual abuse as a child. There was an extra
friendly neighbor. That is all I want to say on it. But that can probably be
the beginning of the time line. I also went through school with chronic,
merciless bullying. I couldn't help being so awkward. I had no confidence and
the other kids could just smell the fear. Eventually I was home-schooled.
But it was manageable, things didn't become really unbearably bad
until I gave birth to my first child. So this post includes a birth story!
*trigger warning, baby didn't die or anything totally awful but it
isn't a terribly happy one so brace yourself or stop reading*
I labored at home really well and in the car I continued to progress,
but as soon as we reached the hospital my fear of hospitals hit me like a ton
of bricks and I shut down labor almost to a complete stand still; contractions
where right on top of each other but I didn't progress from 4cm. I declined the
c-section repeatedly making a deal with the staff that if his heart rate went
bad they could cut me but not a second sooner. Sixty-four hours after
being admitted I began to progress again and I was moved back into a
"birthing suite”. But the midwives
crowded me, the lights where bright and I was asked by the on duty obstetrician
if he could examine me. As soon as he did he declared me 8cm and then despite
this progress and my birth plan saying I didn't want one he did a big stretch
and sweep in the middle of an intense contraction without first asking if he
could. He tore my cervix, then as I was telling him not to he broke my waters
and then left me for the midwives to deal with. I got off the bed and tried to
give myself some privacy but was never left alone for even a second. Feeling
surgically raped and utterly defeated I dropped to my knees on the cold hard
linoleum and didn't move, I couldn't take anymore. I was eventually moved to a
bed for another examination and stayed there on my hands and knees.
After a few hours like this I felt our baby crown, it felt like I was
being ripped in two, but I couldn't make a sound. As soon as his shoulders had
been delivered the midwife attending me PULLED the rest of him out and cut and
clamped the cord and handed the baby to my mother who was a bit confused at
this. The midwife then yanked the severed umbilical cord to "see if the
placenta had detached" it hadn't and this was the most painful thing that
had happened yet; I begged for the needle I had just declined and the after
birth came out very quickly along with about 300ml of blood.
As soon as it was delivered I was thrown into the shower while waiting
family members cuddled our baby. I still had not even really seen him. I felt
weird; kind of like I'd lost a leg and I sat sullenly in the hot water as the
apprentice midwife showered me. (They put me in the shower so I wouldn't bleed
everywhere) over an hour later they helped me dress, put me in a chair and the
family members who had seen my baby before me put him in my arms and said
"here's Edward" We had not decided on his name, but it was already
filled in on the forms, someone else had bathed/cleaned him up and though I was
now holding him he didn't feel like he belonged to Peter and I, he felt like a
substitute. An impostor. I was numb to him and his cries and all the people
congratulating us on a supposedly easy and very clean delivery- I didn't have
so much as a scratch even though he was quite a bit bigger than the average newborn.
On the same day of Edwards birth I got started on e.c. and I got to
breastfeeding him really well, no one had to show me how to do these things and
everyone who saw me took it as a sign I was doing great. People visited and no
one had a clue what was going on in my head, except my friend Melinda who
visited the day after and noticed I was acting like "just another day, oh
and there's that thing in the clear plastic box feel free to hold it"
which is pretty accurate really.
I had been so walked all over that I didn't even make the effort to
say no to anyone who wanted to hold the fussy little creature in the
"box" I sat and breastfed, I cared for his needs and I waited to feel
something. We took Edward home on his third day of life and I continued to wait
and pretend that I loved him, I was a good actress, no one noticed anything other
than Melinda who said nothing until I shared my feelings with her. I simply
waited, desperate to actually feel something, ANYTHING.
I should note that the depression I had felt when I was a teenager had
been nothing BUT feelings. It was a relief to have finally shut down. Such a
relief I didn't recognize it for what it was for a long time.
But not being overwhelmingly happy about my baby did bother me. I knew
it could take a while so I gave myself six weeks as I had read somewhere that
it takes about that long to get used to things. When he was six weeks old and
nothing had changed I gave myself another six weeks. Then I got guilty and
angry at myself. Or as angry as a person can be who isn't feeling much. I tried
not to be depressed, but the effort of pretending was exhausting and I became
worse.
Almost four months Later I still didn't even like Edward let alone
love him. I knew I needed help. I was really concerned and guilt ridden as I
called our community mid-wife Roxanne I was half choking, calling her for help
was the hardest thing I think I had done at the time. I told her "I need
help, I don't love my baby." she came over immediately, put her arms
around me while I stood numb, cold and unfeeling. Some people say "I wish
I was able to not care" and I was one of those people in my teens, but
what I had realized in this moment was that there is a huge difference between
"not caring" and "not being ABLE to care"
We worked closely for a long time and continue to do so today. She
didn't do anything specific, she just listened, invited me for cups of tea,
asked before she touched my baby, gave me space when I needed it and respected
my wishes, boundaries and gave ideas for coping with people who usually walked
all over me. She gave me the courage to tell them where to go or back off too,
since after his birth I'd had so many people wanting to help- really, their
intentions were good but I was already so traumatized by what had happened that
constantly trying to remove my baby from me when I was so desperately trying to
form an attachment was the worst thing they could have done because we, my baby
and I gave up trying to bond at all!
This had lead to Edward developing a bit of attachment disorder, he
was happy enough mostly but would go through stretches were he would cry, be
irritable and would turn his head away from me- a stress reaction, whenever I
held him, because he was reading that I wasn't exactly sympathetic to him, we
were still breastfeeding (and continued beyond 2 years) but never once did I
experience that supposedly ecstatic joy of a baby having some milk and then
smiling up at me with a big cheeky, milky grin. Nope he was all business. Feed
me then put me down lady!
He was way beyond "just a independent spirit”. This wasn't
normal. In his earliest days I couldn't rock him to sleep- he'd scream and turn
purple, I couldn't hold him in my arms- he wanted the sling between us.
From 5 days old he slept all night in his bassinet with a pacifier. He
was an EC champ. but there wasn't much of a relationship. I did my very best to
meet all his needs, to smile at him and talk to him, I wore him and played with
him as much as I could. perhaps it was because he was still so young that I
didn't feel as though he liked me. I hope so, because that means I didn't screw
him up. Only myself. Slowly, with help this began to change. He still slept on
his own- his preference, and put all of his pees and poops in the potty but he
started to seek interaction with me.
At six months old I looked at Edward and felt a tiny bit of happiness
and while it wasn't love it was a step in that direction. By 10 months old I
really did love him but not the way I thought I would, it was more like an
adopted child than my own flesh and blood. (NOT to diminish adoption at all,
just relating that it was more like getting an older baby and having to get to
know them and the baby and myself both having separate baggage, it was
wonderful to finally "meet" him) by this stage he had a total
fixation on my hair and letting him hold it was a great way for him to find
comfort in me.
Then not very long after I'd managed to form a relationship with
Eddie, I found out that I was pregnant again.
I was terrified! I couldn't bear the idea of another hospital birth,
the idea of not bonding with my baby or even liking them. I couldn't stand for
this! I WOULDN'T! I decided to be pro-active about it.
Thanks to the help of Rox and many a discussion we came up with some plans for Nicholas'
birth. First of all, I was not going to be in the "luck of the draw"
system getting whomever was on shift to deliver my baby. I was delivering with
Roxanne. No matter where and no matter when. She did all my prenatal care
except for the obligatory 2 visits with the OB. My "birth plan" was
not the detailed one that had been completely ignored with Edwards birth. In
fact it was VERY simple.
•
Keep the OB away from me unless I need a cesarean section
•
NO TALKING around me- I need quiet.
•
NO TOUCHING ME without first asking specifically and then ONLY do what
you have asked for nothing more.
•
NO TOUCHING MY BABY at all. He is mine.
•
VISITORS to wait at least 2 hours before they can see us.
•
Baby not to leave mother once born
I had wanted to have my baby at home but there were constrictions with
this and Peter was not overly thrilled with that idea and so eventually I
conceded and agreed to a hospital birth on the condition that I had at least
two hours alone with my new baby. NO VISITORS. And most importantly, no
touching me. I felt I could do this because Rox knew me and the situation, she
would be my advocate where as before I had none.
But I got my non-hospital birth wish anyway! because Nicholas was born
in the car park. We never made it. And I am so happy we didn't. As soon as he
was born I held him, he breastfed immediately. He never left my arms until I
was settled into my bed by Rox and I was so exhausted she wrapped him up and
placed him in the baby bed so I could sleep. When we woke up I fed him again
and was able to concentrate on getting to know him. Relatives did come by, but
no one else. It wasn't until the day after that I started accepting visitors.
On day three I did begin to feel down. BUT because we were already aware of
what could happen to me and so communication on how I was feeling was
important. I did NOT develop depression. Though I felt a little guilty about
Edward still but I reminded myself that I hadn't allowed it to happen again and
Edward and I had bonded well though it had taken much longer.
I was SO relieved that I adored my newborn. And my relationship with
Edward was helped too because I was happy, he could be too.
I have tried anti-depressants but they make me too sleepy and some
actually made it worse so I try instead to manage my environment and avoid
triggers being dropped on me by surprise.. and my nutrition is of utmost importance,
If I eat well then I feel better. But the most important thing I have ever
found for helping manage depression is ACTIONS and being able to be in CONTROL of
myself and my experiences; it takes a mammoth effort to do so.
Part of the soloution (a major part of the solution) was taking the
time to figure out my triggers so we could avoid them. Besides the fact that
what had happened to me as a child was horrible, what my extra friendly
neighbor also had done was control me; Then when I was in the incredibly
vulnerable state of giving birth the pattern had repeated by my wishes being
ignored and the OB controlling what happened then leaving me in excruciating
pain after he was "done" with me for others to pick up the pieces. (a
trigger we could avoid!)
For someone who needs to be in control of the situation labor really
isn't a good situation to be in because everything is involuntary. You cannot
control labor.
But, recognizing this I regained control by deciding to and committing
to doing whatever my body wanted to do. I actually anticipated each and every
contraction, chased them, felt them and got ready for the next wave. I didn't
try to slow it down rather I beat it. Raced ahead and in the moments I felt out
of control I spoke to myself "I am a
leaf caught in a river current. I cannot control where the river takes me, the
river is too powerful. But I don't HAVE to control it. It is okay to just go
with it. I want this to get heavy, heavy means it's happening. It's almost
over."
I couldn't control labor but I could control my mind. So that is what
I did. And in controlling my mind and the way I viewed what was happening. I
was able to relax even though I was in the car hurtling towards the hospital in
a less than comfortable position, strapped into the passenger seat.
Labor was not painful, overwhelming at times. But painless. And I only
had to get out of the car to have Nicholas birth himself. I felt his feet push
at the top of my belly and then he was here.
The actions I took was to ensure I was not a victim and continuity of
care was the key to this. My being in control of the situation was paramount. But
I also used a one to one Midwife service that meant that I had a strong
relationship with my care provider. I cannot recommend having a primary care
provider enough. We were on a first name basis and had discussed in great
detail all the options available and MY wishes no matter what they were, were
respected and adhered to. I felt emotionally secure. I was kept physically
secure. Roxanne took care of almost everything, was there at any time I needed
her and while we were also close friends when she was being my midwife- she was
very professional.
And I felt empowered.
If you are struggling with depression please find help. Find someone who will listen and not judge and
who will take the time to find your own unique triggers so you can reflect on
them, own them and take back control of whatever they are. Find the patterns
and change them. They may be the only thing you can control and the road is
long and often hard, but it's yours and you can do it. You're the only one who
can.
