Postpartum depression hit me hard and fast after this third baby. Like an F-5 tornado, without any warning, it ripped through my body wreaking havoc mentally and emotionally, leaving behind a shell of a mother. It took with it my essence, smile, peace of mind, and sense of resilience. This wasn’t my first round with PPD so I thought I was prepared.
My life situation was very different this time and a lot to handle at three months postpartum. We had just moved to Oklahoma, my husband left for two months, and I was home alone with a 6-year-old, 2-year-old, and a 3-month-old. At first, I began feeling similar symptoms, but it got worse at an exponential rate. It came on out of nowhere; I went from happy and crafting, playing with my kids, and planning trips out of the house, to waking up and struggling to get out of bed.
I was easily overwhelmed, extremely tired, irritable, overly emotional, and incredibly anxious at the thought of leaving the house with all three of my kids. The amount of irrational guilt my PPD provoked was suffocating and only made things worse. I felt guilty for feeling the way I was feeling, guilty for asking for help, and guilty for “bothering” my husband with how I was struggling. I even thought I was failing him.
In my delusional mind, I was a horrible mother even though I knew I was trying to survive the days by making things as easy as possible. The mom guilt seeped through the cracks. The walls quickly caved in, and I felt extremely lonely. All I wanted was to be around people I loved and people who loved me and my kids. I didn’t want strangers and that made it that much more difficult to ask for help.
My parents, husband, and best friends were as available as they could be, and supportive and understanding. However, the only person who could truly help me was me. I had to ask for help, I knew I needed to see the doctor, or it was going to get worse, and I never wanted to put myself, my kids, or my husband in a situation where anyone feared for our safety. So I called the doctor on base who then called my husband’s squadron first shirt. This started a chain reaction within our squadron spouses’ group, which essentially ended with someone at my house in a matter of hours to watch my kids so I could get myself to an appointment.
If a spouses’ group is run properly and made up of wholesome individuals who genuinely want to help, it flourishes especially in the purpose of providing support for the families of active-duty members. I want to give a shout-out to the spouse group of the 71st Student Squadron over at Vance AFB; I cannot thank you enough.
With every pregnancy, I am well aware of the possibility of PPD, and I’m always tuned in and hypersensitive to how I’m feeling. What I wasn’t expecting was how unique and aggressive each round could be, because although the symptoms were similar, they were different. This last experience was scary and made worse by the fact that I was so far removed from my husband, friends, and family. The rate at how fast everything went downhill was intense and a radical change from my first experience with postpartum depression. I can’t imagine how things would have evolved had I let it go, and I am forever grateful for the help and compassion I received during this challenging time.
