If there is an end to the road, then I guess this is it!

It's been almost three years since the nightmare began for me.  I should have seen it coming, been more aware, known the risk factors, but somehow I didn't and I wasn't.  Since then, I have definitely tried to make "lemons out of the lemonade", though severe PPD is more aptly named something like "hot poison lemon" than a delicious and refreshing beverage like lemonade.

Each and every week, one or more of you write me.  Many at the beginning of your journey, seeking resources and acknowledgment that you are not alone or to blame for your experience.  But, more often than not, you writers are moms who have older infants and toddlers, who desperately want to know just when, exactly, you will get better.  You've moved past the sleep deprivation, become more accustomed to a new reality, yet something still feels off.  Or, perhaps, you are not sure how you'll know when you are better. Or, at least, that you are getting better...that you're out of the woods.

We've talked many times before about how PPD is not universal, it doesn't look or feel the same for everyone, and how it doesn't discriminate.  We know that different treatment options are more acceptable and effective for different people.  That one method or medication may be a perfect fit for one mama and completely ill-matched for another.

I think sometimes we focus so much on the beginning and middle of the journey we fail to realize the importance of the end.  We know that the first steps to healing, which are somewhat universal in nature, are sleep, vitamins and nutrients, sunlight and fresh air, and a support system.  We are great at reminding women to do this and to seek professional treatment to learn what individual next steps are best for them.  But, what about the end of the journey...and is there really an end?  And if there is one, how will you recognize it?  And if you recognize it, will you know in that moment or realize it later, when reflecting upon that moment?

I had an AHA! moment this weekend.  Sure, I've been successfully functioning without medications, sleeping unassisted, and able and energetic enough to care for my family, do my best at work, and even help a few families along the way.  But, there came a point when my focus shifted from beating PPD, to moving past PPD, to eventually not just doing a good job as a mom, but enjoying motherhood.  Embracing my role, finding joy in the present, living in the moment and feeling like I am thriving (instead of simply surviving) in motherhood.  So, you say, how did I know???  Was it divine intervention with a chorus of angels?  Was it a month long string of "good days"?  Was it being given a "super mom" award?  Na.  No.  Nope.

My moment of realization came when I drove my freshly washed and waxed mini-van home from the dealership and as I was driving I found myself smiling inside and out.  I now not only owned a mini-van, but I wanted to own one.  At this moment, 35 months after becoming a mother ripped me apart physically and mentally, I realized that it wasn't about the vehicle.  It was about me.  I want to be a mom.  And this is just a little symbol of my joy and desire in doing so...

Officially a soccer mom (of one),

Does your child's birthday impact your PPD risk or symptoms?

I love Fall.  Over the entire course of my life, if you'd ever asked my about my favorite season, I would have most certainly said Fall.  From the crisp weather, football season, appropriateness of jeans and a sweater (my favorite outfit) to the beautiful leaves that cover the Northeast, and even North Georgia, I LOVE FALL.  I love the colors.  In fact, my wardrobe is designed and organized not just by the weight and length of the sleeves of the items, but by color.  In the Fall, I wear almost exclusively brown, green, orange and red.

One of the things I decided when I started even considering considering having another baby was that if we did ever try to conceive we'd aim for a child with a different sign.  Since y'all know that L's birthday is the same as mine, and I have a particular fondness for Libras, it's got nothing to do with his astrological sign.  However, the warm, but quickly turning into cool days in the latter of September and early October inevitably lead to Winter.  Even in Atlanta, there's no way around it.  It will get cold.  It will get dreary.  And the darkness, early night-time, lack of outdoor fun, and need for extra clothing and "stuff" will be a part of it.

I didn't realize it until much later when I'd climbed out of the hole and stumbled through the fog.  But, L was born at just the time of year when my already fatigued, sleep-deprived self most needed to be outdoors all day, getting much needed fresh air and Vitamin D, and interacting with other people.  Instead, day turned to night at 5pm and everyone began hunkering down in their nests, at just about the same time of year when my c-section had healed, I was allowed to drive, and L was sturdy enough to be out and about.

In the few years I have been immersing myself in PMD research and resources I have never read anything that specifically addresses this theory.  I'm not claiming it's all my own, because Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real form of Depression that has gotten a fair amount of press in the past decade or so.  But, I haven't heard many researchers, or even moms for that matter, talk about the time of year that you conceive or give birth and how that might impact your experience.

God is unequivocally in control, and most of us well know, that even something like conceiving a baby involves more than a mom and a dad coming together in love.  The term "trying to conceive" is kind of a misnomer in my opinion.  The word "trying" elicits a sense that there is some sort of grand level of control on the part of the participants in the outcome.  In reality, as those who struggle with infertility well know, no amount of "trying" necessarily guarantees the desired outcome.  Yet, in a perfect world, should I ever have another child by "natural" means, I would, for my part, shoot for a Spring or Summer babe.  The ease of a newborn clad in only a onesie, and being able to go out with a freshly showered wet head and naked face, is alluring, especially in those early days when simplicity is so key to success.

How 'bout you?  What time of year did you have your child/children?  Did that impact your mood and level of fatigue in a positive or negative way?  In a perfect world, in which you had ultimate control over when you conceived, what month or season would be your preference?

Daddy blogger addresses Postpartum Depression and Fatherhood

While I have written about postpartum depression in men before, the number of men writing about it regularly is like, well...finding a needle in a haystack.  So, when a google alert for a great article by Chris Illuminati popped into my inbox last evening I literally celebrated aloud.

The funny thing was, Lauren of My Postpartum Voice had asked me to host the PPDChat that she offers on Twitter on Monday evenings at 8:30pm.  (It also takes place at 1pm, but unfortunately I am almost never able to participate in the daytime one because of my schedule.)  The alert came in at 8:17pm or something, but I couldn't wait over an hour to read it.  So, I managed to click, read, find the Twitter follow button on Chris' blog, re-tweet his post link, and message him an invitation to participate...all in less than five minutes. And he responded and joined us!  Woohoo!  What an awesome testament to the fact that a) men do get depressed after having a kid b) someone is willing to talk about and 3) Chis is just cool like that.

Back to the article...I love everything about it!  That he addresses such a topic is incredibly gutsy for a man...especially a man who is a somewhat public figure as a free-lance writer.  Chris accounts the sleep deprivation, the fact that the somehow "working from home" doesn't exactly happen the way you imagined it before you had the child, and even the thoughts that he realized he was having out of desperation and sadness.  Here's an excerpt from the article, entitled, "When Dads Get Depressed-- Who Says Postpartum Is Just for Women?"

I can't be the only one reading the pamphlets about women and postpartum depression and noticing I have most of the symptoms. And hopefully those other guys will read this article and realize they're not alone. 

A few months have passed, and so have a lot of the negative feelings. Sure, I still get sad, depressed or overwhelmed with a brief feeling of suffocation, but I'm learning to ride it out. 

There's a lot more good stuff that is not only accurate and interesting, but written in a fashion similar to Dooce.  Gritty and real.  Bold, honest and yet somehow positive and hopeful, too.  Chris writes in a few different places, but his fatherhood tales are mostly limited to his blog, Message With A Bottle, where he creatively shares his thoughts and insights on post-it notes stuck to his son's belongings.

I just want to say thank you to Chris for being such a good sport about hopping into PPDChat on a moment's notice and most especially for speaking up for the many, many fathers who are suffering from depression and anxiety after becoming parents.  And, for those, who while may not be suffering from clinical depression just aren't talking about how challenging being a "stay-at-home-dad" can really be!


p.s. If you are a Dad with PPD or a mom whose husband may be suffering, please reach out to the Postpartum Dads Project or Postpartum Men.  There are resources out there for men, too.

Yesterday's incredible coming together, courtesy of AOLNews and a sadly misguided criminal profiler

You can read all about yesterday's totally spontaneous social media rally of Survivor Mamas (and those who care about them, like the folks at PsychCentral and PhDinParenting) at Postpartum Progress where Katherine Stone recaps the days events and thanks all of the amazing people who used electronic media to respond and compel AOL and Pat Brown to rethink and rescind their comments.  If you read the updates at the bottom of yesterday's initial post about the issue, you'll see that within 2 hours, AOL did remove all of Pat Brown's comments from the article.  Hopefully, we, those whose google alerts and hashtags for #postpartum alerted us to the article in the first place, were the only ones to see the article in it's original and potentially damaging form.  No doubt though, that others, who don't know better won't once again connect all women who murder their children, whether subconsciously or consciously to postpartum depression.   

If you are reading this, unless it's your first time here, probably already know that it is PSYCHOSIS that causes people to lose the ability to regulate their thoughts, impulses, and actions...not depression.  Sure, PPD untreated or ill-treated can become psychosis or any mental illness (and some completely physical ones, for that matter) can cause psychotic episodes if the stars align that perfectly imperfectly.  But as I tweeted yesterday...

Not every woman who kills her children has a perinatal mood disorder and rarely does a woman, even with Postpartum Psychosis, kill her child.8:47 AM Aug 18th via web

I urge you all to continue to take a stand.  Not necessarily against AOLNews and Pat Brown, because hopefully they'll stay more than a coupla' yard sticks away from anything related to perinatal mood disorders out of sheer recognition that they are CLUELESS and messed this one up BIG TIME.  But, against stigma, against misinformation and against brushing PPD under the rug.  Advocates and Bloggers aren't the only ones who are qualified to take a stand and speak out.  If you, or someone you love, is currently suffering or has experienced a perinatal mood disorder then you know.  And THAT is enough.

Because I will ALWAYS be willing to speak out for you and your loved ones,


p.s. I want to be sure to point you to a couple of the great posts in which others take a stand and chip away at the beast (noting that I am not listing all of them here because within the posts I have linked to in this post you will find numerous other links to additional good and  relevant posts- ugh, try to make sense of that!)

Alexis Lesa at Postpartum Progress

Kimberly at Make Mommy Go Something...

Lauren at My Postpartum Voice

Do Survivor Mamas process life differently now?

We focus so much as postpartum advocates on helping mothers simply be, make it through, and bond with and care for their children while they battle the beast that sometimes I think we forget to mention the help and support that is probably needed POST postpartum depression, too.  Like anyone who endures an illness, a loss or trauma, the residual damage, the changes that take place in the brain, the body and the family require special care and a different perspective once the initial illness subsides.

My observation is that sometimes we do process and parent differently after PPD.  For me, my brain was trained to be constantly prepared for any situation as child.  With a neglectful and substance-abusing mother who left me alone and with strangers regularly and with whom I was expected to get into a car, even after she had been drinking so much bouncers would have to carry her there, I knew that the worst could and perhaps sometimes would happen to me.  Emotionally preparing myself for that and creating contingency plan after contingency plan was a habit that began before I even graduated from Elementary School.  Not exactly something that you can easily break and deviate from in your 30's.

So, when I had my baby and the shit hit the fan, my brain had been functioning with a low-level of anxiety and anticipation that wasn't always focused on the worst case scenario.  See, I had moved in with my grandmother my Senior year of High School, finally escaping the abuse and neglect of my mother.  I had someone to truly care for me, and do it well, all the while preparing for what I had been praying about for years- adulthood, independence and the ability to create my own destiny.  College and the years after it were blissful compared to what I had gone through in the eighties and early nineties.  No one to keep me from the people I loved, no one to demand I spend time with her, only to watch as she gradually drank herself into a stupor every single day.  No one to neglect caring for me.  I could and would do all of these things well!  Later, when I married my husband, he was loyal, reliable, sensible and all the things that my mother hadn't been.  Finally, ten+ years later, I felt like I could leave all that childhood drama and its aftermath behind.

Then, I got sick.  And it was like my brain remembered who it had been before.  And all the worst case scenarios that I had finally put behind me, were now directed at normal newborn things.  Crying.  "Needing" a pacifier.  Not sleeping.  Messy diapers.  Wanting to be held.  Everything that a newborn and infant does during the day and night took on a special meaning: EMERGENCY.  I was so anxious that I couldn't sleep.  The thoughts wouldn't stop.  And then I became so sleep-deprived that my anxiety turned to panic.  Imagine having a panic attack that lasts for about 6 weeks?  That's how it felt.

As my story goes, I got help, and I got better.  I sleep, I care for my child, I adore him, instead of fear him, and I function quite well in my family, home, and work.  Yet, I am different.  This second bout of what felt like "life-threatening" anxiety impacted me.  It brought that anxiety and those tendencies to the surface.  And while my treatment was effective and I truly do feel well, I don't think I am the same kind of mama and human being I would have been without this experience.

As you know, I have found my way to gratitude for my PPD.  Through it, I found my strength, increased my faith and found my call.  I can't imagine a much better outcome than that.  Yet, I know, when my son refusing a nap one afternoon or an uncomfortable conversation at work precipitates anxiety not be-fitting of the situation, that the anxiety which had burrowed deep into my brain and the past has made it's home much closer to the surface this time.  It's there.  Ears peaked.  Ready to pounce.

What about for you?  How is life different (or the same) since you've recovered from PPD?  Did your PPD hitch a ride elsewhere packing all of it's bags and taking a permanent hike or did it leave a little baggage?

peace,

p.s. Later this week we'll explore what all this means specific to our parenting.  We'll also explore some ways to deal with and handle the "left-overs" of PPD.

Does working outside the home (or not) impact your PPD symptoms?

Working moms since the beginning of women entering the workforce have struggled with work-home balance.  When I was beginning my journey to recovery and was functional enough to make decisions, accomplish tasks and relate to people socially, I could not wait to return to work.  Sure, I was still struggling with anxiety, depression and insomnia, but the obsessive thoughts and other symptoms that paralyzed me had been quelled by my treatment and I was very excited to return to some semblance of the normal life I had created for myself years prior.

Yet, once I returned to work, I began to feel guilty about how much I enjoyed being there, and especially sad when I realized that I didn't even need to take any anti-anxiety medication until the evening, when I would have to care for my son.  Knowing that my son, a tiny, helpless and perfect little being, could completely overwhelm me with anxiety made me feel like a horrible person, let alone mother.

And, seeing the joy and ease that my nanny found in caring for my son nearly 45 hours a week baffled and grieved me at the same time.  I bombarded myself with all sorts of questions like, Why wasn't it like that for me?  If I just made myself stay home would I eventually learn to feel and act that way?  Was it harmful for my son to be so well cared for by someone other than me?

I saw this discussion over at Blogher about working mom guilt and realized that it's even more layered than just feeling badly about work as a choice.  What about moms who "have" to work?  What about moms who already suffer from anxiety related to PPD...how do they cope when moms who aren't anxious still feel the guilt and struggle?  What about depressed moms who are worn out from just coping, let alone working outside the home all day and then keeping up with the home and family in their "off" hours?

What do you think?  Does/did working outside the home diminish or exacerbate your PPD symptoms?  And if you stayed at home, how about that...was being at home harder or easier on you while suffering from PPD?  And for folks like me, who currently work part-time outside the home, we've been told that we've found the perfect balance, but is that true?  Lastly, how does your work status impact the number of children you have or want to have?

There are so many questions and I suppose few definite answers.  But, processing through this dilemma and talking about it will, I hope, decrease the unnecessary guilt and angst over our choices and help you to realize that whatever works for you and your family is...PERFECT.

Pregnant and Postpartum Moms- meet me at 1pm TODAY: Weds, August 11th!

Today, I (AtlantaPPDMom) will be hosting our first live chat group on Cafemom! Log-on at 1pm on August 11th and every Wednesday following to meet other moms, find support, and ask for advice.  Hope to see you there!!

Just go to:
http://www.cafemom.com/group/110851

Join and then click the chat button right above the General Discussion header!

Questions? Contact me- AtlantaPPDMom

Crushing the Bowl of Cherries Myth one Mama at a time...

I have transformed into a new kind of party guest these past couple of years.  In college, I was always right in there, dancing, laughing, "cheers-ing" and going along with the positive vibe.  The parties have changed since then, and so have I.  At the baby showers, in particular, I find myself biting my tongue, nearly off at times, as other women, some mothers and some not, drone on and on about how excited the guest of honor must be, how happy a time this is, and how using all these new baby gadgets will be the equivalent on the enjoyment scale of 5 hours at the spa followed by being greeted at the door to your sparkling clean house by your flower and jewelry gifting hubby.  Reality, gals????  Umm, not so much.

Why do we do this to our "friends"???  Why do women feel the need to disregard honesty about new motherhood so that a Baby Shower can be all about happy dances and cute clothes?

Over the weekend, a fellow Survivor Mama sent me an email link to this article, The Baby Diaries -- a Day in the Life of a New Mom, which I think much more accurately describes what the early days of motherhood at home look like than the banter overheard at Showers and Pregnancy celebrations.

While I don't think we should dash women's hopes of an enjoyable motherhood experience, I do believe that we do women everywhere a disservice if we can't be honest about the potential challenges ahead.  Wouldn't you rather be pleasantly surprised by your reality than taken completely by surprise (as I was) by how difficult just being a mom is, let alone if you are one of the 15% or more who will deal with a PMD on top of it?  Would your Shower really have been ruined if someone had openly utilized that time to balance the fun and silliness of TP-ing your belly with reminding you, in a serious way, that you are about to journey into a period of your life that is going to be filled with sleep disturbances and deprivation, emotional ups and downs and periods of feeling helpless or like you aren't sure how to "do it"?

So, I urge you, take the frilly dress or stuffed bear to that Baby Shower, and along with it, a book like the New Mom's Companion that accurately portrays the first days and months of a babe's life for the whole family.  And, don't be afraid, if the other women there start getting all "it's just like in the Pampers commercials" on that mama to call them out and say, "No, actually it's not for a lot of women...I had a hard time, and if you struggle after you have the baby I don't want you to feel alone.  I will be there for you...bowl of cherries or not!"

Sometimes it's the little things...literally.

Last weekend weekend we attempted to go to the Georgia Aquarium.  After sitting in terrible traffic, finding our way through the downtown streets, of which at least half were blocked to vehicle traffic, and pulling up to the building, we approached a sign.  It said, "The Aquarium is closed at 4pm today."  It was 3pm.  How could we possibly come up with a worthy alternative after an hour of talking up seeing the fish and the sharks?  My husband came up with the idea to go to a pet store.  And while we sat in traffic, he suggested that not only should we go to the pet store to look at the fish, but we should buy some, too!

So we went to the store and looked.  And we were told that we had to take the aquarium and all the stuff home and then come back 3 days later.  Three whole days!  The idea of waiting for our little fishies to come home with us was frustrating to me, so I can't imagine how L felt.  But, he was a good sport about it and chose our ornaments and gravel happily walking out of the store petless.

A couple of days later, with water at the proper temperature and dechlorinated, we trekked back to the store and eagerly chose our new house-mates.  Five fish were bagged and paid for and we were headed home to introduce them to their new quarters.

On the drive home, we began to notice that one of the bigger fish, a glofish of bright orange, was barely moving and seemed to have blood pooling behind his gills.  Unfortunately, he didn't make it through that night; we assume he was injured by the transfer into the bag.

While munching a yummy peach we picked up at a farm in South Georgia on our drive back from Florida, L named his new buddies...

Welcome to our home, Check, Cheta, Tata and Rosie.  RIP, Uono.

This weekend, we went back to the store to pick up some fishy treats and a couple of new playmates for the fearsome four that made it through a week of constant badgering by L.  This time, we named them on the drive home.  Chash, Kash, and Rash have joined the school.

These fish were meant to be L's first pets.  And they are.  But, I am realizing that they're kind of my pets, too. Sure, a $4.99 fish is kind of viewed as disposable these days.  Frat parties often feature baby pools of goldfish that attendees willing "drink" with a slug of beer.  I have yet to hear of a PETA case defending the health and safety of pet fish.  Yet, I am somehow drawn to these little creatures.  So tiny and seemingly insignificant, but so clever and energetic, too.  As they dart across the tank, or nip at each other's tails (we have all males which means they can get a little "frustrated" at times and take it out on one another), I find myself watching them and realizing that joy can and is found in the little things in life.