Maternal mental health week

When I discovered I was pregnant, it came as a big shock. Not only was I abroad on my hen do and my wedding was in 3 weeks time, but I had been told at 20 that I may find it difficult to conceive, which was then confirmed even more so when I was 24 after some scans that delivered some bad news in regards to the effects endometriosis had on my insides.  I was actually talking to Elliott the other day, and discovered that he remembers the exact conversation that I do, and everything about it- where we were sat, what was said, what his thoughts were- a conversation about what would happen if we could never have children.  I have always wanted to adopt, Elliott is not so keen, we discussed all options and Elliott seemed so calm and collected with the fact that we may not be able to have our own children.  What I didn't know, was that this conversation echoed in his head for many years, and it really worried him.  He loved me, but also knew that he wanted to be a father more than anything else in the world.

Elliott has always been very paternal.  He has always said that the only goal in his life is to be a husband and a father. It would be a dream for him to be a stay at home dad (to 4 girls apparently!!!) I on the other hand, haven't.  I am the youngest in my family, so have never had that younger sibling to care for.  I have always said to people that I didn't think I wanted children; but that may have been partly due to what I knew about the problems with my ovaries and if people didn't think I was going to have children, then it stopped them from asking questions of 'when'.

I don't think the shock of finding out you're pregnant really sets in during the whole 9 months, especially with your first baby.  I remember just not believing I had actually managed to get pregnant.  Even the doctor was surprised; she said to us 'you may not be so lucky next time' and I remember thinking "next time?!" I don't care about a next time I am pregnant now! While at the doctors, I left the room to fill in forms while Elliott spoke to the doctor about our honeymoon and any possibilities of me contracting Zika virus. (Elliott booked our honeymoon and didn't tell me where we were going until the day we went so wanted to keep it a surprise.) Once we were back from our honeymoon in Bali, we had an early scan when I was 10 weeks which confirmed that I was in fact pregnant and baby was well.  During this scan the sonographer mentioned about the strange positioning of one of my ovaries and that along with the sound of a baby's heartbeat just made me realise how lucky I had been.

Whether it was this, hormones, or both, this period of time was the happiest I had ever been.  I LOVED being pregnant. I was so focused on being happy and positive that if Elliott ever said anything negative I would be like 'stop right now, no negativity around me please!!!' I was conscious of this feeling that I had and I never ever wanted it to go away.  This happiness was just the most precious thing to me.  I had absolutely no concerns of the way I would feel in the slightest.  I was worried about being a mum of course, I wondered if I would be a good mum, whether I would know 'what to do' or if I would be able to breastfeed, but I didn't worry about bonding with my baby or feeling down in any way once the baby was born. My confidence in becoming a mother was ok; I had 2 nieces and 2 nephews and I had been very hands on with them.  I had actually cared for my eldest niece Marnie when my sister went back to work on my days off uni when she was 6 months until she was 18 months old, and had confidently done so.  I had always thought I was very good at it, actually.  In fact it was one of the very few things I had ever thought I was good at.

I worked until about 39 weeks until the midwife told me I had to stop. I had been in 'pre-labour' for over 3 weeks- I had been having a 'show' every day, some days I had up to 3 or 4 a day, and I had to go to hospital twice for bleeding during this time.  I remember not being ready to stop work.  I wanted to work as long as I could, while I still could.  I loved to work.  I am a workaholic.

At 39 + 5 my waters broke, which turned into 2 days in labour, and 2 inductions to get things going.  My baby girl 'Bonnie Evelyn' was born on the night of her due date.  We were thrilled- our baby had arrived safely, and we had the baby girl we had always wanted which was just the icing on the cake. (We kept the gender a surprise)

But something did not feel right- I put it down to the shock and trauma of just having a baby and concentrated on trying to get to grips with everything newborn.  As the weeks passed, I was not feeling this rush of love I had heard so much about , I was not feeling the bond with my baby I was so sure would be instant- and I was just seeing her as this thing that had come into my life and put a stop to everything I once had, I had given up everything and had this baby in its place. We had moved into our new house exactly 9 months before Bonnie was born, and I remember when she was 2 weeks old, we went for a walk and looked up at our old flat and I just cried- I wanted to be back to where I was then. I remember so clearly thinking 'what have I done'.  It was like I had given birth to not only a 7lbs 4 baby, but also all of that happiness too.

This all got worse when Bonnie was 3 weeks old and it was time for Elliott to return to work. This week coincided with the start of her colic and reflux and I craved the life I had before giving birth more than ever.  I have never been a jealous person- but the feeling I had when my husband left for work in the morning was pure jealousy- yes his life had changed too, but here he was, just 3 weeks after we had had a baby and he had normality back in his life. I had given up everything and there he was doing something he had done, in the same body that he had just literally weeks ago. In my mind, I knew it was unreasonable to think but it just wasn't fair.  Coming home from work was hard for him, I know that.  A screaming baby (who literally didn't stop) and a wife who was broken.  This was also the stage where I was starting to worry that my mind would never be the same again- I still thought I had 2 babies, often waking in the night to search for the missing one, often in places like the wardrobe or bed sheets.  I put this down to the fact that I had had this amazingly content baby for the first 3 weeks, then all of a sudden this screaming baby who literally didn't.stop. It was like 2 completely different babies. It took around 10 weeks I think to stop thinking there was this 'other' baby.

I was lucky that Bonnie was a good sleeper; she slept a straight 8/9 hours from day one. I fed her in her sleep for the first week but then she wasn't interested, which is probably what affected my supply. My boobs would be so sore and full in the mornings. Pumping didn't work for me and I was starting to hate breastfeeding.  But it was the only thing I didn't seem to be 'failing' at as up to now I felt like a complete 'failure' of a mother.  But I persevered. I'm going to be honest, hated breastfeeding,  I hated the fact that she depended on me so much more than her father, and that I couldn't just leave the house when I wanted.  I would sometimes just stare at my front door remembering all those times I could have just left on my own that I took for granted- but I didn't have a bond with my baby and I needed this to happen and fast. I felt like this was the only way to get it as that is what had been drummed in to me so the feeding continued for 10 months until I finally could let go. The weight off my shoulders when I finally stopped was amazing. I always put Bonnie sleeping through the night down to being the thing that saved me.  Saying this, it did mean she rarely napped in the day, which meant I had hardly any of the 'me time' that I so desperately craved. The odd 'bad' night that I did have meant I was mentally at my worst the following day and on one particular day, I turned up to baby sensory, late as usual, in tears and unable to settle my baby. Thankfully I knew a lot of people in that group, and a good friend from my antenatal group took it upon herself to come over and 'swap' our babies- she knew I just needed to have Bonnie taken away from me even just for 5 minutes.  I felt so guilty for leaving her with my screaming baby while her baby was being so content. It was actually in a sensory class that I sat and planned the way I would end my life.  I saw all of these amazing mothers sat around me- they were all obsessed with their babies, obsessed with them- as they should be, the bond they had was strong, and between me and my baby was just emptiness compared with that. To me, by far, I was the worst mother in the room.  In every single room I was ever in.

My mentality got worse as time went on, I was waking up everyday just wishing for the day to end before I'd even got up. I now knew that this wasn't just the 'baby blues' and I had Post Natal Depression. I am so so ashamed to admit that was never a 'believer' of depression; I always put it down to people just not being able to 'cope' when the going got tough.  If anyone claimed to have post natal depression, I would assume they just didn't know how lucky they were.  I would see posts from people with depression and think that it was an attention seeking act; that if this 'depression' was in fact a real thing, then they should just get on with it quietly.  Now thats come back to bite me right on the ass as I now know how important it is to talk and be open so that people don't feel so alone.  Thats why I am so open about my struggles; I have had so much support when I have been open.  We live in a world that is heavily dominated by glossy social media pages.  Pages that are colour coordinated, pictures filtered and posed to every inch of its life- mums that not only 'have it all' but have it all together, too. Let's face it; depression isn't popular, thats not what people want to see, but remember that's a 'brand' not a life, and a lot of these people do this for work.  Depression does not get likes and follows, but that is never what the aim was for me anyway, so I will carry on being honest and open to anyone who will listen. Scroll through Instagram as much as you very well like mama, but do it so with a pinch of salt and an open mind. Months ago, I unfollowed every single one of those glossy accounts, no offence to them at all as mamas gotta bring home the bacon somehow, but as soon as I did that, Instagram suddenly became a lot more real and well, fun again.

Once I had come to terms that I what I had was in fact, depression I then picked up the phone and called my doctor.  The receptionist asked the dreaded question I was hoping and wishing she wouldn't ask- "what is it concerning?" and I answered sheepishly "um, itsmymentalhealth" to that I assumed I would be put to the bottom of the pile, but I was seen the next day.  Speaking to the doctor was the start of my recovery.  The fact that I had hope that things would now get better from this point did my mind the world of good. I had always said to myself I would never take medication when it came to my mental health, but at this point I was willing to try anything to stop feeling the way I felt.  The doctor was a young lady, very pretty, and most importantly, she had a calm, empathetic way about her.  She thought my case was quite severe and she said that she wanted to see me every week- this was due to the fact that I had planned my suicide. I surprised myself actually when I was telling her my 'plan'; I was telling her about it so matter of factly, no emotion included- but it gave me a shock- this plan was so intricate and detailed-a lot more than I had realised.  I had obviously been thinking about it a lot more than I had originally thought I had. I was given a prescription on my first visit and I loitered around the pharmacy for a good 5 minutes before I had the courage to hand it in.  What if some one sees it? What would they think,? I felt like I wanted to tell the pharmacist my life story while giving in this slip of paper, just so they could see how many times in my life I had 'coped' before and I don't normally just fall apart when things got tough. This, was just a 'blip'.  A change in hormones that hadn't agreed with me.  When I went to collect the prescription, I had talked myself out of being so silly- they probably see hundreds of these slips a day and they are not going to care what I'm taking and why- all they care about is that I'm getting what Ive been prescribed at the right dose.  I picked up my prescription, heart still beating faster than normal, but feeling a lot more rational.  The pharmacist asked the usual questions, date of birth, address, name, have you taken these before to which I replied no.  As she handed them over to me, she said "these will really help, you will start feeling better very soon. I looked at her, nodded, took my little paper parcel of pills and left quickly with my head down.  I was so ashamed.  I was defeated.

The minute I got home, I took the first pill. If these were going to make me better, I wanted them to work as soon as possible.  I sat and reflected on the past year, then took to Instagram to see if I could find any one like me.  I hashtagged sertraline and started scrolling- am I weird? I wanted to find some one just like me- some one who appeared normal and had no shame in telling people that they needed a little help in the form of a pill to get by on the daily.  I found it hard to find if I'm honest.

So where am I now? Well Ive had an exciting year with the launch of my shop- something I have been working hard to try to do for years. I was actually in the doctors surgery the morning I got the keys for my very own shop- my dream- and I told the doctor it felt 'monotone' I should have been so excited, but I felt so flat.  But the excitement grows with every achievement as I learn that I am doing something I not only am good at, but I love.  I have been working hard- too hard and too much sometimes, but it really has helped (along with the pills) take my mind off things, keep busy and keep me feeling 'me' again which I never thought I would.  It took about 2 weeks for the pills to start to make a difference, maybe even sooner than that.  I was saying to the doctor that me being the sceptic I am, I thought they had more of a placebo effect than actually 'working' but hey, whether thats the case or not, they work.  Last week, during maternal mental health week, I took the plunge and told the world of social media that I needed that little help and that in fact I am not ok.  I felt so inspired reading others stories and wanted to share mine to show that no one is alone. Its ok not to be ok. The next step for me is going down the therapy route, trying to find some more time for self care, and building my self confidence.  The newborn stage wasn't for me- I hate saying it, but its true.  From 6 months old I really started to enjoy my daughter- I saw less of what I no longer had and more of what she has brought to my life.  She is my sunshine, my light, and funnily enough, she is the making of me.

AML 

LaLa 

   x



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