My Personal Cocktail of Postpartum Rage, Anxiety, and Depression

In less than two months my first child (maybe only, the verdict is still out) will be one year old. It's hard to believe an entire trip around the sun with my son is enclosing, yet time passes whether believed or not. During these ten months as a new mother, I have not been spared from the emotional rollercoaster that is so common amongst birthers. I have not been "officially diagnosed" with any form of postpartum mental illness or disorder, but that doesn't mean I haven't experienced it. I've come to believe that every woman who has ever had a baby probably feels some extent of it (on a spectrum) - some very severely, in many forms, and others have blips, moments, or episodes of hormone imbalance and mental distress. Scientifically we are all experiencing a huge change/fluctuation of hormones and brain chemistry during and after pregnancy.

My personal blend of ailments over these course of months has been heavy on the rage, medium in the realm of anxiety, and bits of depression sprinkled in here and there. They all tend to play off of each other. I'll rage out, then spend a fair amount of time in guilt-ridden anxiety, and after a few cycles of that, I'll lose a few hours -or a day- to depression; feeling defeated and exhausted from the range of emotions I've traversed. Let me clarify that this isn't happening all the time, but I've spent enough nights (and days) crying, pacing, or punching and screaming into pillows to know that it's real. 

I don't share this for pity, or attention. If I'm honest it feels pretty embarrassing to think about posting this and other people reading it, but that's kind of why I think I have to do it. Because it's not embarrassing to experience something that so many women deal with. There's nothing "wrong" or "bad" about mothers who are struggling (something my anxiety brain sometimes tries to convince me). And just because someone isn't struggling all the time, or "severely" enough to be diagnosed, doesn't mean their struggle or experience is invalid (something my rage brain has gotten angry at myself for, saying "some people have it so much worse than you, stop being a baby").

The truth about "diagnoses" (for anything really, but) especially mental health things, is that you need money or good healthcare, and access to a doctor who listens to you/that you trust, as well as time off work, and/or a babysitter to watch your children so you can go to the appointment(s). It's not easy, fun, or cheap. And we're expecting people who are emotionally down, and/or physically and mentally exhausted, to feel inspired to do that? For me, I guess it just hasn't ever felt "bad" or harmful enough to need to put myself through all that - especially when I believe the "answers" I'd get are either a prescription to a drug I wouldn't take (I have a very healthy skepticism of big pharma) or a referral to a psychologist who would charge me an arm and a leg and again require time-freedom to speak with.

For transparency, I have spoken with therapists (three to be exact) during this time. With two of them (who I saw for three sessions each) I left the sessions feeling more drained and upset than I went in, and with the third (she was fantastic, and I may see her again at some point) she reflected a lot of the above truth to me. She and I (as well as the others, actually) spoke about what I already do to cope with these symptoms and feelings when they arrive. I'm thankful to have a pretty good spiritual arsenal of coping mechanisms from the years of life, healing, and therapy I've done (and taught) earlier in life. This is also probably part of the reason I haven't felt the need to go to a doctor and get pharmaceutical help (though obviously no shame or judgment to anyone who has or does).

I move my body. Not enough. Which is evident when the rage shows up.

I meditate and write. Not enough. Which is evident when the anxiety shows up.

I practice gratitude and prayer. Not enough. Which is evident when the depression shows up.

When I return to the practices that I know work, when I make space for them (aka Myself), I feel good. It's actually that simple.

Well, and nourishing my body. Which I'm working on being better at. I don't eat enough nutritionally dense and diverse full meals (because I often don't prioritize the time to make and eat them, so I settle for quick snack-type things that don't fulfill me). And I don't get enough sleep (I don't have a good answer for this one except that "it's a phase" and getting better at all of the above things will likely also improve my ability to fall/stay asleep).

At the end of the day, when I really look at everything laid out (the sleep deprivation, the hormonal changes, the mental load of being the primary caregiver to another human, the physical toll of nursing that human every day, and many other things like a lack of individual freedom and changes in your personal relationships) it's a miracle that we're doing as well as we are. My son is a very happy, healthy child who knows he's deeply loved and cared for by two present and engaged parents (he obviously hasn't said this to me, but I know). And as much as I sometimes get anxious that he "sees mommy cry," and worry that my here-and-there mood swings will affect his nervous system, I also know that the fact that I care so much about that is a good sign. The therapist I liked also told me that (maybe that's why I liked her lol).

Chris and I are both so invested in being the best parents possible, and I have to acknowledge that just because it isn't all rainbows and butterflies doesn't mean that it's all rainclouds and spiders. There are still TONS of rainbows and butterflies (which btw, rainbows come from rainclouds, and butterflies come from caterpillars, so what does that tell you?). There is nothing more precious in this life than holding my son and watching him learn and discover the world. I'll take the bad days and moments, over and over if it means I get to keep all the moments of laughter and love. The two can exist together, and they do. Mothers are amazing in that way: we hold it all. 

It'd be shocking if nothing ever spilled out.