On Fire.

Faith is hope on fire. ~ Author unknown

About two years ago, one of my dearest friends very unexpectedly and very late into the postpartum period, began suffering from a horrible perinatal mood disorder.  The Postpartum OCD from which she suffered permeated her life and was further complicated by the fact the her physical health was the source of her anxiety.  In addition, she had already had one uneventful postpartum period and two uneventful pregnancies under her belt.  And, she almost made it through the second postpartum period unscathed.  And then...nearly 8 months after giving birth she began to experience symptoms that were terrifying.

My friend recovered and I was honored to be a tiny piece of that happy ending, by providing her phone and email support.  She, upon getting back to herself, sent me the sweetest note and a flipbook filled with inspirational quotes.  Happy and healthy or in the midst of a horrific nightmare, everyone could use a little lift once in a while, right?

I keep that flipbook on my desk.  The one at which I do all of my work for both church and for advocacy and support for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.  Each week, I close my eyes and turn to a page where my fingers fall.  Whether it's God or just the way the quotes are written, they always seem to be exactly what I (or sometimes maybe you readers) need to hear.  The above quote is the one I happened upon today.

If you do a search for faith and hope on my blog, you'll find that the two topics are popular labels here.  Hope is something I've defined as THE most important component in recovery from PPD.  Faith, well that's also important.  Whether it's a religious or spiritual faith, a faith in yourself or your support system when you can't have faith in yourself, or even a faith that the treatment you've chosen will be effective, you must have faith.

Today I am hoping to be a little kindle or maybe fuel to your fire.  Even if you can't see or feel it, it is burning deep and powerful inside of you.  May your fire burn every last bit of the suffering you endure into ashes and may the winds of change blow those ashes away forever.

For better or worse

It's hard to write here sometimes.  I mean, when I am having a bad day, or way back when I was still pretty sick, I would sometimes think about how people who actually "know" me might learn more about me than I cared they know.  People I know at church tell me (and others) all the time how "calm" I am.  Ha!  I find it quite amusing that someone with an anxiety disorder who constantly has perfectionistic self-deprecating commentary going on in her head is viewed as calm.  Discerning what and how much to share is a slippery slope.  My goal is always to be helpful, but sometimes with a side of catharsis for myself, as well.

I wasn't kidding when I said that I really feel great most of the time now.  For the past three months (months 1-4 postpartum) I've been feeling normal.  When I say normal, I don't mean in the "in the past this is how I usually feel" kind of way, rather in the "this must be how people who don't suffer from depression or anxiety usually feel" way.  It's kind of cool.  Actually, it kind of rocks.

Anyway, so with me feeling good and all I know how much it must suck to be feeling bad.  I remember, because when I felt bad it was like the yang to this new yin I am experiencing, or something like that.

I also remember how I felt years ago when a close friend announced she was expecting after I had been trying to have a baby for more than two years and we had been told that we were infertile.  That strange place between really caring about your friend and wanting to be happy for her but questioning why "it", whatever "it" is, isn't happening for you.  When you genuinely want the best for someone, it's not made any less by your seeming ambivalence because of questioning your own circumstances.  I didn't wish infertility on my friend.  And I knew she'd be a great mom.  I simply wanted to be one, too.

I feel like that's kind of how it is with PPD.  You don't wish it on your friend who is having a great postpartum or pregnancy experience.  In fact, you probably wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy.  Yet, it is so difficult to overcome the sadness and grief that accompany perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.  Not because you want anyone else to suffer, but because you don't want to be suffering.

I hope that this community of Survivor Mamas and those who care about them is a place where you find company and comfort, as well as hope.  Where you can find acknowledgement of how bad coping with a mood disorder stinks, while the promise that you can and will get better with treatment prevails.  Each of our situations is unique.  And we each encounter different challenges at different times, but like most relationships, being there for one another in good times and bad, is what really counts.

Short

Having a purpose in life is the most important gift one can be given.  Doing this work is my purpose and call.  I am richly blessed.



Write a short snippet about what is on your mind in the comments...it can be a "deep" thought or simply a sentence.  Whatever you feel like.

Just feed your baby.

If I had a dollar for every mom who shared with me how much guilt or angst they have over feeding their baby I could get a live-in nanny and do this work all the time.  But, well, the reality is that I can't afford a live-in nanny, exacerbated by the fact that I feed my son hypoallergenic formula that costs an arm and a leg.

Speaking of formula, my hynobirthing, organic eating self is still amazed at the fact that I have become a Fearless Formula Feeder.  I never thought I wouldn't be able to breastfeed, that I would feed my first son formula and then begin feeding my second son formula on the fourth day of his life.  But, then again, I never thought I would get PPD that almost killed me, either.

Over the past year, I have become increasingly aware of and reticent to accept the dogma that breastfeeding "advocates" push.  I have nothing against breastfeeding.  I still mourn that I never got to do it for more than a few days, and never fed either of my children more than 5 weeks of breastmilk.  I mean, there's no doubt, it's good stuff.  It's natural, and like the rest of our body and it's functions, I view it as just one little example of the greatness and infinite wisdom of God.  But?  When feeling so strongly about it causes other women to judge and berate each other?  That's where I gotta draw the line.

Today, I happened to be on Twitter while I waited for my toenails to dry (I treated myself to a pedicure for enduring the two fillings I had just gotten at the dentist's office).  The first tweet I read was about breastfeeding moms being thrown under the bus.  Umm, excuse me, but the only time I ever hear anything negative about BFing moms' experiences is when some idiot at McDonald's tells a mom who feeds her child without covering her breast to put a blanket over her kid.  Now, I am not saying I endorse that behavior, but I honestly don't believe that moms who have successful breastfeeding experiences can even fathom what it is like to 5-8 times per day feed your child what others openly and loudly call junkfood, poison and the like.  Being told to cover up is not emotionally equivalent to the grief, guilt, frustration and sometimes even devastation that moms who wanted desperately to breastfeed feel each time they are insinuated to be inferior, less intelligent, less hardy or committed to their children, lazy, etc.

This article I found today does the best job I have yet to read articulating what I have been trying to say for years.  I hope you'll enjoy it and find some comfort in it, no matter how or what you feed your baby.

I feel so strongly that we are doing moms NO DARN GOOD by calling constant berating of formula companies and moms who buy their products "advocacy".  As far as I can tell, advocacy is doing work that will raise awareness, support with resources and funds, educate and offer an outlet and safe haven for moms.  Katherine Stone?  She's an advocate for PPD.  She is relentless in her non-judgmental and selfless dedication to the cause she has adopted.  Maybe a balanced advocate for breastfeeding exists out there, but sadly, I have yet to meet her.

But what if today stinks?

Yesterday, in response to my post about not letting bad days rob you of the joy and progress of having had a good day, I got a great comment:

I do try to live in the present when the present is bearable. However, one thing that has always bugged me with sentiments such as "live in the present" is, what if the present really sucks? Which has been the case for me a lot lately. And the only way I've been able to cope with a present that sucks is by focusing on the future, both in making tangible plans and also thinking dreamily about how things will be "one day." What do you think about that? Do you think it's a contradiction to ask suffering moms to live in the present?

I had never thought about things exactly from this perspective, but as the reader pointed out, it does seem kind of contradictory to encourage a mom not to ruminate in her depression and anxiety yet to "live in the moment".

I have been having great days.  I mean GREAT, like I haven't felt this good, in spite of stressful stuff going on, in years!  But, yesterday and today?  Not so much.  Blah at best.  Verge of tears at worst.  Also?  I have been talking several times a day with a mom who is very sick.  Like as sick, or maybe even sicker, than I was, sick.  I am helping to get her through this period while she waits for her SSRI to take effect and also while she awaits an appointment with a psychiatrist who specializes in PMADs to be evaluated and hopefully have her medications adjusted to be more effective.  Trust me, she and I know how very much it stinks to be living in the present when the present consists of feeling like you can't go on another minute without exploding from anxiety. I have been there and she's there now.  It was honestly the worst experience of my life.  Worse than some pretty scary stuff that happened to me as a child that I am not going to share here because I don't want to trigger anyone's anxiety or OCD further.

But, in the midst of that scary, overwhelming, depressed and anxious present that moms who are suffering from a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder feel, there is hope.  Not only hope for the future and the promise of getting well with help, but hope that you do have control of this very moment.

When I write about living in the present, perhaps I should refer more to the act of mindfulness.  Mindfulness to me means asking one's self a simple question, "At this very moment, not the moment prior or the one to come, but THIS very moment, what do I feel?  Am I okay?"  And if you are so ill that you truly are not okay, then there are lots of things you can do like going to the hospital if you are a danger to yourself or others or reaching out for help if you are just so depressed or anxious that you need someone to help you.  But, for most of us, once we are on the road to recovery, the answer is "Yes.".  Perhaps we will have a bad day or a bad hour to come and perhaps we've just gotten back up after stumbling yesterday or this morning, but we have the present.  The gift of this very moment.

Mindfulness not only focuses on the act of living not in the past or future, but also on examining one's surroundings and utilizing one's sense to deepen the connection to the present.  For example, when I was recovering from, but still suffering with, postpartum anxiety and depression I would rock my son to sleep.  Sometimes I was exhausted and the act of the bedtime routine in and of itself would cause lots of anxiety.  I was often so focused on whether or not he might sleep well that night that I was barely present in bathing, dressing, feeding and rocking him.  But, when I realized that I would soon have a toddler and may not remember those early days at all if I didn't make the effort to, I began a practice.  It involved taking in the scent of my baby's lotion.  Nuzzling the soft hairs on the top of his head and analyzing how they felt on my cheek.  Examining how the soft fleece blanket felt on my arm.  Considering how the rocking sensation might be calming me.

These acts of simply being aware allowed me to ingrain in my memory very special moments with my child, but they also allowed me to stop and just be.  To allow my mind a brief rest from worries, rumination, racing thoughts and constant guilt about the past.  They were gifts that I allowed myself.  Gifts that I am still so grateful for even four years later.

It is these gifts, tiny as they are, that I am praying for, and willing with all my might, for you.

Two Steps Forward. One Step Back.

I've heard from several moms in the past couple of days who have the same, valid concern and frustration.  "I had a really good day.  My first since becoming ill...and yet, today (or the day after) was awful," they'll say.  In fact, many of them even lament having the good day in the first place, as it was like a "tease", a glimpse of how life used to be, or could be, but was so temporary that the let-down after made the moms feel like the good day might not have been worth it.

Don't let yesterday use up too much of today. ~Cherokee Indian Proverb

I want to encourage you that having a good day, especially your first good day, since becoming ill with a mood disorder is one to celebrate!  Not only because of the gift that day of relief, of more peace than you've recently known, of bits of joy, but also because it is a sign.  A sign that you are getting better.  That more good days are ahead.  It is not an anomaly.  It is not a coincidence.  It is not a mistake.  It is your mind and body's way of saying, "Keep faith dear woman, you are still here, the real you, the one who is able to laugh, cry, smile, and just be."

Keep working.  Keep living in the present.  Keep reaching out for help.  And, most importantly, keep celebrating that you are a Surviving Mama!

Living in the Present

Thursday, September 9, 2011
If you've been a long-time reader you know how much I adore yoga.  In fact, I wrote about my yoga studio and experience there in another post, which you can read here.

Last week was the first time I had been to class since I had been 28 weeks pregnant with L2.  It was also L2's 16 week birthday.  Ironically, I took the pregnancy test to find out I was pregnant with L2 right after yoga class the Thursday before the Penn State vs. Alabama football game last year (and today is the Thursday before the 2011 PSU vs. BAMA game, but I digress...).

Yesterday I was back to yoga for my 2nd class postpartum and our instructor read a poem to begin class and center us.  The poem so spoke to me (and I thought would to you all, as well) that I ordered the book in which it was written.  Thanks to Amazon Prime, it arrived less than 24 hours later (and no, I am not being paid for that plug, but I love me some online shopping).

The following is a poem from the book "Bodhisattva" by Nicole Grace.  It is entitled "Now".

Now

When you project your mind
Into the future
Dreaming about
Circumstances
You hope might occur
Or that you
Dread
You are living within
The confines
Of your own mind.
When you remember the
Past
Stirring up emotions of
Pleasant nostalgia
Or of desperate trauma
You are living within the
Prison
Of your own mind.
But when you simply
Abide
Still
In the present
You are in the
Free and
Infinite
Expanse
Of Eternal mind.
The future and the past
Belong to time
And time is a
Construct
Of limited consciousness.
In the fullness of
The infinite awareness
There is no time
There is only this moment
Now.
The only way to live
In Peace
The only way to know
Truth
The only way to be
Truly free
Is to keep your mind
Here
Now.
Stop dreaming
Stop reminiscing
Let your mind
Expand to
Complete awareness
Of all of life
In the Present;
Then you will
Live
Not in
Your mind
But in
God's.

It's a white out.

Today is the Penn State vs. Alabama game.  I was there in Tuscaloosa last year when Alabama showed us how they do things in their stadium.  I get it.  In fact, I kinda got wrapped up in the whole Roll Tide deal, too.  If you are a BAMA fan, you know exactly what I am referring to.  However, comparing college teams and fans to Penn State is about as fair as comparing NFL teams and fans to the Steelers.  WE ARE...PENN STATE.  Not that I am at all biased. ;-)

Anyway, Penn State has these awesome videos that are intended to "pump up" fans and crowds.  I was watching this one this morning to "get ready" when I got a call from a very, very ill mama.  It wasn't even 8am, but she hadn't slept all night and she was begging to be hospitalized.  She said, "I can't live in this head even one. more. second."  "I know," I said.  I wish I could make it go away for her.  Give her a magic potion.  Stop time until her medication begins to take effect.  Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that.  In fact, it doesn't work AT ALL like that.

But, here's what I can do.  I can tell you that the Survivor and Surviving Mamas are like the fans in Beaver Stadium.  We've donned our team gear, painted our faces, grabbed our pompoms and herded into the arena where you'll be facing your battle.  Picture JoePA as your physician or therapist.  The Nittany Lion mascot as me, or Katherine, or Lauren, or whomever is your go-to for support and encouragement.  And your spouse?  He's the drum major that does a split at the end of the game.  Watch the video carefully.  We're all there, cheering you on, screaming your name, making sure you are surrounded by love, caring, and reminders to KICK SOME BUTT.

~ When Penn State plays a particularly rivaled opponent, the University encourages the fans to send a strong message by wearing all white.  You can see from the images inside the stadium at the beginning of the video that they aren't kidding.  And, we're not kidding either.  Take that, PPD...It's a white out.

On what you will become...

The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become. ~Charles Dubois

I love this quote.  In fact, when I think about being a survivor of a perinatal mood and anxiety disorder during my first experience with motherhood, I can't imagine a more accurate or encouraging sentiment.  While the word "sacrifice" does not generally hold a positive connotation, in this case, I believe that what we let go of, or sacrifice, in this situation is the PPD.


Dictionary.com defines the word "become" as "to come, change, or grow to be" or "to come into being".  It is important to remember this.  Becoming a mother does not happen the moment that baby is delivered.  Rather, "becoming" is a process.  It requires time, change, growth and ups and downs.  Sure, you are technically a mother the moment you conceive the baby.  But in reality, motherhood is a journey and just like you didn't become an accountant the moment you graduated college with your degree, but rather when you got your first job, the desk, the accounts to oversee, etc., you aren't a mother until you have experience being one.  


So perhaps if we consider the word sacrifice positively and then expand upon this quote to make it applicable to postpartum depression and anxiety we might say, 
"The most important thing is this: To be able, after suffering a horrible experience that you anticipated being a positive one, to let go of and move past that experience in order to become the mother that you want and need to be."

Give yourself time friends.  Becoming is not something that happens over night.  It is a process, a journey.  May  yours become a blessing for you.

Thanks for the love!

Hey y'all!  Happy Labor Day weekend.  I hope you and your family have something both fun and relaxing planned for the long weekend. :)

Just wanted to express my gratitude for all of the support that my past couple of posts garnered.  You all ROCK.  Thank you for telling me that you are still reading and encouraging me to write.  I still (and always) welcome your post suggestions...this blog is about YOU!

Also, I wanted to clarify about my most recent post.  I really want to offer you some hope that this horrible, hell-like symptom of being panicky and unable to be near or hold your child is a temporary symptom.  I shared my experience from 2007 with L1 with you in such detail so you would know I had been there.  I didn't share much about this new experience and I am afraid that in doing so I haven't offered the hope I had planned to.  While long weekends and dog-days of summer do stir a tiny bit of anxiety within me even still, I don't really struggle with this anymore.  Even with a newborn.  L2 is like an appendage and caring for him comes as naturally and normally as caring for myself.  I have absolutely no anxiety about spending time with him or caring for him.  And, this time I am the primary caretaker, both because I work very part-time and because my husband and I divide and conquer with him taking primary responsibility for L1 and me for L2.  So, all you Survivor Mamas out there who are considering having another babe or are currently pregnant, please take note...the next time can, and often will, be SO much easier.

xoxo,

Why does being alone with my child make me feel so anxious?

Ahhh, do I know this feeling!  In fact, this was one of the first symptoms of a perinatal mood disorder I had after L1 that really made me question my sanity.  I had insomnia, generalized anxiety and worries, but the overwhelming panic that came over me as the approaching two week mark when my parents were scheduled to leave filled me with terror.

When we realized that both physically (I had labored 46 hours, 36 of which were done naturally before finally having an "emergency" c-section) and emotionally I was nowhere near prepared or able to care for my family, my mother extended her stay another week.  Surely, we thought, at three weeks postpartum I would be much better and could be without help.  Then that week flew by, my being forced to eat and even get out of bed, and doing little other than pumping breastmilk when it came to caring for L1.  My sister's kids needed caring for back in PA, too, so she left, promising to return in a few weeks.

Our new nanny, the one who wasn't supposed to begin working with us until the last couple of weeks of my maternity leave, was called in.  First for two days a week.  Then, "Well, can you just add another day this week?".  Then, for all five days the following week.  I was slowly realizing that something had to give.  I never got out of bed, but I didn't sleep, either.  I lay there, in my tiny ranch home, listening to each and every move my nanny and baby made.  Why is she opening the refrigerator???  He isn't supposed to eat for another 30 minutes!, I would think.  Where is she taking him?  She can't take him on a walk now.  He'll fall asleep and he's supposed to be sleeping in his crib, not the stroller!  On and on and on the rumination and racing thoughts sped through my mind.  My nanny realized I was not resting, the purpose of her being called in, and offered to take him to her house.  That only made things worse.  Horrible thoughts of him suffocating because he wasn't in a proper crib kept me from resting and made me even more anxious than I was when I could hear every move they made at home.

Once I reached nearly 6 weeks postpartum I had no real excuse for my inability to care for my baby.  The OB had given me a perfect bill of physical health, a stamp of approval on the healing of my scar and off I went.  Except, I wasn't okay.  On the outside I might have looked decent.  But, inside?  Inside I was fragile, weak and felt as if I was dying.

I made the call after one particularly volatile sleepless night of pumping and bottle-feeding.  I quickly got on medication, was ordered to sleep...many of you know the story.  But, the interesting part about those next few weeks is that I got worse, not better.  The anti-anxiety medication wasn't helping me sleep much and the lack of sleep and the time that SSRIs take to build up in your system and take effect was working against me.  I expected to be better.  I felt too horrible to be patient.  And so I analyzed, read, paced, made up dumb reasons to get out of the house and leave my baby with someone else.  Anyone else, just not me.  I would tag along with friends to the grocery store, with my husband to work, hiding in his conference room and making shopping lists for Christmas and reading magazines.  Wasting time, just so I didn't have to be home.

Then, one evening when my husband was supposed to leave for just a couple of hours to go to his jui jitsu studio where he would likely be awarded his blue belt during a ceremony, I had a horrible panic attack.  This one was worse than any of the others.  I was literally frozen in one place, like a seated fetal position, and could. not. move.  I was crying, hysterical, overwhelmed with guilt, shame and terror that I could not take care of my baby and put him to bed so that my husband could go celebrate his accomplishment.  He offered stay home.  "It's okay!", he said.  But, no, it WAS NOT OKAY.  What was wrong with me?  Why couldn't I even be in the same room with my child, let alone bathe him, feed him, and rock him to sleep???  Thank goodness a friend came over and I listened from the living room as she sang to and loved on my baby and put him to bed.  She left her family dinner to come over and do this for me.  For us.  The pain, yet appreciation, that those couple of hours wrought burns a hole in my heart, even now.

A few weeks later (like four or five) I was celebrating Christmas with my family, able to hold my baby, still not well, but so much better.  The medications had been changed and adjusted, I was able to at least sleep a little more and shower and dress myself.  I could muster a smile or a couple of minutes of cuddling without my heart pounding out of my chest.  I was recovering.

The next month I went back to work.  It helped to busy my mind with productive things and have a place for adult conversation.  A bit of my old life had been given back to me and it helped me recognize myself again.  The medication and therapy continued to heal my brain, as well.

On my drive home from work each afternoon I realized that those anxious feelings would return.  I hated that even the thought of the evening ahead was enough to create a sense of unease within myself.  So, I used some CBT strategies and I took a tiny little bit of anti-anxiety medication each afternoon.  It helped me to be more calm and present for those few hours each day I was spending with my son.

Weekends were hard.  The thought of long days, especially when we didn't have plans or when the weather wasn't suited to spending time outdoors, made me feel trapped.  I would begin to ruminate as soon as I woke on Friday mornings.  I realized that the only way to get over this fear, irrational as it was to be afraid to be with my baby, was to face it head on.  I came up with a list of things we could do with free time.  I put him in the exersaucer and let him watch me cook and bake, things I loved to do.  I played music cds so I would become familiar with children's tunes and could sing them to him when I felt up to it.  And I talked about it.  As embarrassing as it was, I shared with my friend, husband and mom how I felt.  Sometimes verbalizing it made it seem less overwhelming.

If I'm honest, holiday weekends, especially, still rattle me a bit, years later.  Summer, too.  All that unplanned time just laying before me with the pressure of entertaining and caring for my kids without help from others.  But, each day, each month, it does get easier.  And even if I have to allow a little screen-time or go shopping just to get us out of the house, we make it through.

I can handle this, and so can you.