This isn’t something I have wanted to admit to anyone, let alone to my family. A little while ago I Googled Post Partum Depression and found this article. And I started crying as I read it. Do I have PPD? I suspect, maybe so. I’ve felt this way since she was maybe 6 weeks old.
After Clayton died- well, I was, am, obviously grieving. I don’t know, maybe it’s just grief. Maybe it’s postpartum depression. Maybe it’s both meshed together.
I just keep trying to go forward. Because eventually everything will turn around, right? Eventually I’ll finally be okay, right?
Everything I do- or am trying to do- is to support my baby girl, and give her a good, stable life. I do love her. But, I don’t, and never have, felt that bond with her everyone talks about. I keep waiting for it. And waiting for it.
You don’t feel bonded to your baby. You’re not having that mythical mommy bliss that you see on TV or read about in magazines. Not everyone with postpartum depression feels this way, but many do.
Am I just being selfish? I feel like I’m being selfish. That I need to toughen up.
You feel overwhelmed. Not like “hey, this new mom thing is hard.” More like “I can’t do this and I’m never going to be able to do this.” You feel like you just can’t handle being a mother. In fact, you may be wondering whether you should have become a mother in the first place.
You feel guilty because you believe you should be handling new motherhood better than this. You feel like your baby deserves better. You worry whether your baby can tell that you feel so bad, or that you are crying so much, or that you don’t feel the happiness or connection that you thought you would. You may wonder whether your baby would be better off without you.
Those in the quotes are from the article, and they’re so spot on to how I have felt the last 7 months. The first month, it was hard, and I figured I was adjusting to mommy life. I figured I’d be fine.
About 4-6 weeks in, and I wasn’t getting better. There was still no bond. I couldn’t admit I thought I might have PPD. That’s admitting weakness! I’m strong, I’ve always been strong. I never need help.
Then Clayton died. And left me all alone in parenting. Some days I get so angry at him (although I haven’t lately) for leaving me.
It’ll be five months (where has the time gone?! how have I made it this far?) on the 13th since he died. And outside of accepting he’s gone, I don’t feel any better.
You feel hopeless, like this situation will never ever get better. You feel weak and defective, like a failure.
That about sums it up. I keep thinking if I do this (go to school) or that (get my own place) things will turn around and I’ll finally be okay. But I don’t know if that’s really going to change anything.
I will be calling my doctor Monday and asking for any recommendations on what to do about this, or for a support group. Something. It’s time I set aside my pride and fear of judgment from my family and seek help.