Lea Grover is a writer and toddler-wrangler living in Chicago. When she isn’t cultivating an impressive dust bunny collection she waxes philosophic about raising interfaith children, life after cancer, and vegetarian cooking. In her free time you can find her writing as Becoming SuperMommy.
I have video of the moment I broke.
My kids and I are dancing, and out of nowhere I just can’t. I can’t do anything.
I go through the moves of spinning with one of my daughters. My face contorts, and you see that I’m holding back from sobbing. Then I sit down and cry. The twins ask me what’s wrong, I tell them I need a hug, and they hug me. Then they ask to keep dancing…
But I can’t. I am utterly overwhelmed by post-partum depression.
I know it’s happening. I glance at the camera, and I know that I am on it, crying out of nowhere.
…
I had a three month old, two two year olds, and a weight pressing down on me that wouldn’t recede. I felt constant peripheral haze of panic, anger, and fear. I’d battled depression back in my teens, even survived a suicide attempt. I was intensely familiar with the warning signs, I’d learned to notice the little changes in my personality. I’d known I was in trouble for weeks.
I avoided people. I avoided my reflection. I wasn’t taking joy in cooking, or eating, or being with the people who loved me. I was alienating my friends, my husband, even my children.
I was trying to get better alone, and I thought dancing might be the cure. If I could get that daily playful energy, maybe happiness would linger. Maybe the endorphins or weight loss or just dancing with my kids would knock me out of the funk I’d been in since returning from the hospital with a new baby in tow. I made videos of our dance parties, set them to music. The girls loved them, so I threw my remaining energy into spinning in literal endless circles with my daughters.
And then there was this…
You can see the layers of emotional revelation in my face- first the depression itself, swallowing any glimmer of joy. Then the humiliation that I’ve been captured in such an intensely private moment. Then the realization that my depression is something I’ve been cultivating privately. As though it’s my little secret. It’s a moment of bright clarity, the awareness that this is it. Then my face breaks again into hopeless anguish.
That was when I realized that I wasn’t just falling into some funk, I was there. I was already at the bottom, and the walls were already falling in on me.
People don’t realize how real PPD is. They don’t know that suicide is one of the leading causes of death for pregnant women, that in the grips of your depression you have no control over your emotions, that you can’t just “suck it up” and move on, that even if your a second- or third-time mom it can be a new and different and all encompassing disease.
I read stories about women strapping babies to their chests and jumping off buildings, and I ache for those women. I understand their paranoia, their intense anguish. I feel for them, those women who might have been me.
As I sat and watched the video of my emotional break, all I could think was, “Please, somebody help me. Somebody save me from this…” The next week I found a therapist, and I started to get better.
When I hear of another woman tangled in her own senseless grief, I see me, suffering forever on camera.
I wish I could be there to help us both.
I just read this and it was so deep that I don’t know what to say except that I am so glad you are feeling better and hope you never feel that way again.
I am go glad you found a wonderful person to share with. It makes all the difference in the world.
I knew in advance that I might have to deal with PPD–first time mom that never really Planned on being a mom, and didn’t really know how to take it all in…and already not good at sharing my feelings was another against me. The first trimester was soo awful. I was so full of disgust, and anger, and such extreme anxiety that I wouldn’t leave my house unless I absolutely had to. My husband would find me bawling in the shower at least twice a week, because I wouldn’t do it in front of anyone.
Oh it is so horrible, and so many people really don’t understand.
I am sooo very glad that you got the help you needed–I trudged through mine, talking out my feelings with my husband and best friend, and eventually the horrible mood swings from hormones started to even out. At two months post partum, I still tend to get angry quicker than I usually would, but I’m also tired and overwhelmed. But I love that little girl that came out of the struggle.
<3 keep up the good work
I’m glad you were able to get help. Sending you big hugs!
This brought me to tears…thank you for sharing this, for writing this.
You are amazing… there is so much strength in surviving this kind of emotional pain and suffering. You are sharing such an important issue here and I am sure there are other moms who have struggled with the very same pain that need your encouragement and your wisdom. I am so sorry you had/have to go through such an agonizing season of your life! Praying you are healing and the help you sought out is fruitful. I struggled with incredible anxiety- it was awful.
Sigh. I can’t imagine actually seeing the grief as it spread through your face and body. I know that feeling of being swallowed by your emotions of wondering if it wouldn’t just be easier to veer your car off the side of the road. If everyone just wouldn’t be better off. I’m so happy that you got help, that you’re getting through it.
Brave you. GO you. I studied depression for a living, and avoided accepting I had PPD, like it was somehow normal to stare out my bedroom window for an hour straight, wondering why the sky looked so grey, and every empty lot in my neighborhood felt ominous. I was sure every kidnapper in the world was living within a mile of my home. When I finally admitted it, my neurotransmitters were so pissed off, it took me years to recover. I didn’t have it with my 2nd child, and was in shock at how far I had let myself go before asking for help. OH! Having children is supposed to be a HAPPY time. Who knew? My children are now 7 and 5, and there is so much joy, and some regret that I lost time by refusing to admit I was depressed. I wish health and peace of mind for your journey. Godspeed.