Stacey H’s Story

My PPD Story – Time to Speak Out (by Stacey H.)

You’re trapped! You can’t imagine getting out of that dark place of despair. The walls are closing in. To make matters worse, people are telling you “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”  Your guilt for feeling the exact opposite silences your screams and so you just nod and say thank you. This is what I experienced after the birth of my first child. When my son was about two weeks old, I started having intense feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought my life was over and couldn’t believe what I just done. I ruined my life. I would lie awake all night with my heart pounding, my body sweating. I was in utter despair. Each minute was torture. I took care of my son because I had to not because I wanted to.

This wasn’t my first exposure to mental illness. My identical twin sister had severe PPD after her daughter was born. Years before that my mother went through a debilitating mental illness after my father was diagnosed with colon cancer. Even though I was witness to my mother and sisters recoveries, I truly felt my situation was different. When you are in it, it doesn’t matter how many times people tell you “things will get better”.  You know, or so you think you do, the truth, “Life sucks and I am trapped.”

On my road to recovery, my mother helped me to contact a psychiatrist. Not only was professional help crucial but the support of my friends and family was invaluable. I had the benefit of two people, my mom and sister, who knew first-hand what I was going through. I also had a very loving, supportive, and forgiving husband; otherwise I don’t know if my marriage would have survived. I had girlfriends that I could really talk to – to whom I could tell my deepest, darkest secrets. My message to you is this – Don’t be silent. Ask for and accept help. Don’t be shy about telling people your story – don’t let fear or guilt stand in the way. While you have to do work to get better, you can’t “do” your life alone. Surround yourself with people in your life who will push you to take that shower, go to the gym, and take a walk outside, even if you hate them for it in the moment.

Medication was also part of my recovery. Yes, the “M” word. Not only is there the stigma, but also the concern, of taking medication. Does it mean I can’t breastfeed? If I don’t breastfeed, am I bad mother? I chose to breastfeed and continued the medication during my second pregnancy. Deep down it was the necessary choice for me.

I will be ever grateful if, by telling my story, I have helped another Mother. I am inspired by the growth in available resources, and the understanding of mental illness associated with postpartum.

Remember, speak out!