Depression with an Adjective (and how it has changed me)
Hello to the three or four people who read my blog! I know that you may have noticed that I have been absent recently. If you read my previous post, you may have guessed why I have been absent. That’s right — it’s because I’ve published a bestselling memoir of my life, and I’ve already sold the movie rights to Warner Brothers. I’ve been told they may cast Ellen Page to play me, but I’m still holding out hope for Scarlett Jo. I just don’t think Ellen would look right with blond hair. Either way, I’ve just been way too busy rolling around in piles of money to write on my little blog.
Ha ha. Opposite day. That didn’t really happen. As you may have actually guessed, or if you know me, you’ve likely become aware that I haven’t been myself in the past months. I have been coping with postpartum depression — not as majorly terrible as some folks experience, but still it’s pretty rough.
I was talking with a friend recently about how “depression” is such a dirty word. “Postpartum” certainly makes it sound better — “Oh, I don’t have depression, I have postpartum depression. It’s a special kind of depression that mommies get because their hormones are doing terrible things to their brains. It’s not like regular, run of the mill depression. The kind that doesn’t have a specific cause or a specific end date. I have the kind of mommy depression that Gwyneth Paltrow had with Apple. And now she’s a regular guest star on Glee!” Yes, it’s okay to have postpartum depression because it’s gotten a little bit of a notoriety, and it has this specific CAUSE that makes people feel a little more comfortable with it.
Well let me clue you in, it is EXACTLY the same as the regular, run of the mill, general depression. The same chemicals go haywire in your brain. Even though there may be a specific cause, no one can guess an end date. You have the same horrible thoughts, perhaps even obsessions and compulsions, and on many days, you just might not want to get out of bed. I feel exactly the same as when I have suffered major depressive episodes before — except this time, it doesn’t just affect me and my college roommate, or me and my boyfriend, or me and my experience living abroad in Japan. It affects me and my child, me and my husband, me and my family, me and my job that I love. It’s just the same ugly thing that it always has been; only now, the stakes are higher. It isn’t trendy, or fun, or “lighter” than regular depression. It doesn’t magically end when Sam turns one, and it didn’t have a discernible starting point either. It’s the same damn thing as depression without the adjective, and it really sucks.
Because PPD (at least, for me, I can’t speak for others) is like the regular old-hat depression, I’ve looked to treating it the same way. I take medication, I try to exercise when I have the time, and I go to talk therapy. I look up on days that are good and realize how lucky I am. I have insurance to pay for appointments and pills that make my brain work well enough so that I can begin to heal. I lucked out and found an amazing therapist who really gels with my personality — she laughs at my jokes and curses and has my same politics, and isn’t shy about saying so. I have colleagues who care about what’s going on with me, and I have a family who supports, encourages, and loves me. On not so good days, I sink in ways that I don’t want to describe here. For those of you who have experienced depression, you know what I am talking about. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
I look back on my blog over the past year, and I am proud that I came back to writing along with the creation of this beautiful new life. I also look back and wonder — and perhaps this is through the lens of depression — why anyone would want to read my pronouncements about how cloth diapers are better than disposables, or why you should breastfeed as long as you can, or why you should give birth without an epidural, or choose not to circumcise your son. These are things I still believe, but depression has humbled me and my strong opinions. I had to go to using disposable diapers 80% of the time when Sam entered day care, and the medication I am on dried my breast milk up almost as soon as I took the first pill. (And fenugreek, you can suck it. I hate you forever. More on that in another post.) I look at my birth and I am proud that I accomplished exactly what I wanted, but I am no better than any other mother who has ever had a child.
Moms, and dads, you are heroes. Whether or not you choose to have an epidural, or put a organic hemp diaper or a Pampers Swaddler on your baby’s butt, or choose to feed breast milk or Enfamil, whether to stay home or have a nanny or day care — those are NOT the important decisions I once thought they were. The important decisions, well, those are harder to define. I believe they are the decisions that relate to how you love yourself, and how you love your child. What example you choose to present, and what kind of person you raise your child to be. How you choose to express yourself to your child and how you choose to bring order into your child’s life. Those are the things — and they are really the only things right now — that I view as important.
As Natalie Portman said in Garden State, I’m “in it” right now. And being in it — and being much more concerned with trying to figure things out in my life — that’s made me not want to write posts about which organic baby food I feed to my kid, or why exactly I think FuzziBunz are great diapers. I know a lot of my previous posts verged on preachy, and while a lot of my friends have let me know that they enjoyed reading what I had to say, I’m pretty done with being preachy.
As parents, we’re doing the best we can (I mean — not every parent is — but the ones I know sure are). We’re surviving day to day, trying to teach these little amazing people how to be good and honest and conscious. We make great decisions and terrible mistakes. Who am I to say what is best?
Another friend said to me, right before the birth of her second child — a beautiful little girl — that she does not judge other parents. Or she tries not to. Her husband had remarked to her one day, upon seeing a four or five year old girl with a pacifier, that it was improper, or wrong, or something like that, and that the parents shouldn’t be allowing her to have a pacifier at that age. My friend responded — “You don’t know. That little girl could have autism, and the pacifier is the only way she can cope with being at the store. You don’t know. You NEVER know.” This has stuck with me big time. What wise words — we can’t ever know what is going on in another parent’s life, or what is happening in the life of their child. We can give advice, when solicited, but that’s really all. (I CAN judge that horrible woman who is making her child get Botox treatments, because I do know that is wrong for sure. Otherwise, I’m trying to be like my wise friend and just chill.)
You can never predict the choices you will make, or will have to make, with your child. You can never predict how you will feel on a day to day basis, or exactly how you will figure out how to be the best parent that you can be. Being a mom and dealing with depression has made me more aware of this than I ever was before.
So, on good days, hopefully I will come back to writing with a different tone in my voice. On not so good days, you can probably find me sitting on my porch and soaking in the sun, or in my bath with my baby who is squealing at the wonder it is to splash in the water. (Oh the sounds he makes!) In trying to find contentment, I am discovering myself to be a person who must release some of her firmly held opinions. I am slowly learning not to judge the decisions of others, and in this process, I am learning not to judge myself. At least, I am trying.
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HOLY SHIT. I’ve been reading your blog since before I was pregnant. Since then, I’ve had a baby, had all my plans and expectations go to crap, went through a nervous breakdown, and realized it was all okay. Your post today has resonated with me so much that i want to reach through the net and hug you. the realizations you’ve had, this one esp “The important decisions, well, those are harder to define. I believe they are the decisions that relate to how you love yourself, and how you love your child. What example you choose to present, and what kind of person you raise your child to be. How you choose to express yourself to your child and how you choose to bring order into your child’s life. Those are the things — and they are really the only things right now — that I view as important.” are the ones i’ve just had. I had my heart set on natural birth and breastfeeding and with a breech baby and a baby with a high arched palate, neither worked out. Here I am a c-section mom, formula feeding. Sure I still use cloth (I like grovia and thanks for the cj’s butter referral, we love it) but i too have come to realize its not breast or bottle, or natural or surgical that matters–its your intentions, and are you trying??!! In all my guilt and misery over breastfeeding failing and the “breast is best” statistics, I keep wondering if the reason that breastfed kids do so well is partly because the fact that they were breastfed means that their moms gave a crap about them enough to try it–to try something challenging after a long labor, after a tough surgery etc. That kind of care and sacrifice (i mean breastfeeding is painful even when its normal sometimes) is a sign that that parent cares and might read to their kid, might not let them eat fast food every night—i’m going on a tangent. ANyways, I just wanted to say I totally feel you. And its liberating, i think–this revelation. Because i can’t be perfect, and i never was going to be as much as I tried to have things perfect. But to know that what matters is how you love, and how you try your very best with what you have…
AND even more, I totally agree about your judgement thing. I mean, no one knows how long and how hard I tried breastfeeding, and how excruciatingly painful it was for me, and how my baby lost weight appointment after appointment because she couldn’t get the milk, and how i didn’t pump because after 3 weeks of being afraid of her, and nonstop crying (both of us) I just wanted to spend every minute with her, and couldn’t stand being hooked up to a pump for 45 minutes every 2 hrs–all time I couldn’t hold her!! I said to myself the other day “i’ll never even judge a pregnant woman I see smoking again–I used to give them dirty look–how dare I! I mean, for all I know, her boyfriend (baby daddy) just left her and she’s doing her best not to totally lose it–and maybe that cigarette is only 1 of 3 that she’s tried cutting back to??? I completely agree that for the most part, people are trying and doing what they can. Anyways, sorry for the rant, but this post just hit so close to home, right to my heart actually. Thanks for posting it! Sarah Picking
Hi Sarah! Omigosh thank you so much for your comment. I really really really appreciate it … and I think it’s been really important for me to know that there are other women out there who have gone through or are going through the same EXACT things I’ve been going through — or if not the same things, something equal. And what you said about breastfeeding — I’ve wondered the same thing. I bet you that is at the very least part of the reason why BFed babies do so well — they have moms who care enough to try, and care enough to educate themselves about BFing. Anyway, thank you so much for commenting. It made my day.
Wonderful post Camilla. Made my day.
Hi Camilla-I was going through an old box of books my mom left at our house for my daughter. In it, amongst Merer Mayer’s Lil Critter books and some Judy Bloom was Erma Bombeck’s “Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession.” There was a dedication in there from my Grandpa to my mom, telling her that by reading it, she might value her family more, or think twice about starting one of her own. That certainly intrigued me enough to open it up and read it. The introduction was awesome, and very much “friends” with your blog post. The theme is how we talk about “what kind of mother would….” until we actually have kids. I got through about 1/4 of it last night and so far I kinda love it. If you haven’t read it, you might find it interesting, funny and good.
Thinking of you-and hope you’re doing well-
Sarah
Thanks so much Sarah! I will definitely check it out. I am a big reader — at least I was before I had a baby trying to climb me … all day and at random times of night. I really appreciate the kind thoughts, too. I am doing well!
Glad you are writing again. Haven’t been quite myself lately, and I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I feel like somewhere along the way, I lost my ‘Awakening’ self – the one who read books and played music and laughed – and became, rather, Edna. Hope you are well and up for seeing an old friend for talk therapy. Miss you!
Thanks boo.