It’s Time to Talk Postpartum Depression

Last week I traveled to Colorado and had the opportunity to see good friends, explore my old neighborhood, and speak at a local MOPS group.

The topic was Postpartum Depression. What is it? What are the symptoms? What causes it? How can we prevent it? etc.

I have been pretty candid with friends and family about my experience with PPD in the past. I’m past feeling ashamed and worried about what others will think of me – and for that I’m grateful.

However, I’ve struggled to write it down. To put it in black and white. Pen to paper.

I realized it’s not because of me, but because of my son.

I’m afraid that he will someday think that he was a factor in my depression. That he caused it. The idea that he could think I wouldn’t wish his birth, wish his life here in my life, devastates me.

So, I haven’t written my birth story. Not much. I am working on my book Restoring Mama’s Soul and I am stuck at the PPD section – because it evokes intense feelings within me.

I can say I struggled with PPD. I can tell my story.

I can’t write it.

I mourn that period of time. I grieve that I could not delight and breath in the joys of new life. That I merely survived for months.

But I know that I am not the only one.

So I am determined to write it down. Continue to tap out the letters and words until they form a story. But not just a story, words of hope.

As I prepared for last Thursday morning, Psalm 40:1-3 popped into my Scripture reading through my Sacred Ordinary Days planner.

I waited patiently for the Lord;
    he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
    out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
    and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
    and put their trust in him.

There is a new song in my life. A song of praise that I am not in that pit, because God heard my cry, spoke distinctly to my soul and gave me the strength to get out. My life with my kids now is a life of gratitude and joy. And yeah, moments of struggle and discouragement, but no longer desperate to survive.

I want to share that story with you. Where I’ve been. Where I went. Where I am now. So as I write I will be sharing what I’ve learned.

I want to know, what do you want to know? I can’t promise I will be able to cover it all, but I want to begin a conversation and perhaps extend a hand to you who struggles in the pit.

I want to know your story. What helped you? What didn’t help? Where are you right now?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that most mamas have struggled with feelings of dejection and anxiety in motherhood. Let’s band together and hold one another’s hands as we work our way up and out.

All night long I flood my bed with weeping
    and drench my couch with tears.
My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
    they fail because of all my foes.