Two Little Lines – Surviving PPD/A a Second Time

Two little lines.  

My son Hunter had just turned one – we celebrated with balloons and our closest friends and let him smash his cake in his high chair (although really he much preferred the tacos to his first dose of sugar).  The smile in the pictures from that day was real – I had weaned off my PPD/A medication and for months had felt back to myself. I had found an amazing group of mamas to share this season with, Mike and I were back to having some time with each other and I was sleeping a solid 8 hours a night. I was still nursing and we were open to baby 2 eventually, maybe when Hunter turned two.

And then, there were two lines. I was going to be one of those “two under two” mothers. After the shock wore off for both me and my husband, I was mostly excited. I was certain that this time, my birth and maternity leave were going to be different experiences from the challenges I had the first time around. I was prepared this time. I knew what was coming. I was already in the throes of motherhood, laundry, ever-present colds and all. My life wasn’t going to feel like it turned upside down the way it did the first time, the way it knocked the breath from my lungs and made me feel totally untethered. This time would be good. I would embrace it. I would know I would sleep again (because, Allison) and I would savor the newborn days knowing they really are fleeting. (Remember that whole the days are long but the years are short? As Hunter turned one, I definitely GOT it.).  

I went back to therapy to ensure I was ready. I made plans for some help and promised to give myself more grace as we navigated this transition. This time would be different. This time would be good.  

And on Oct. 22, seven days past my due date, I finally went into labor with our daughter. Unlike my son, her birth went exactly as I had planned with my doula – fast, med-free and with immediate bonding time. She arrived at 9lbs2oz on October 23 and I was elated. See, this time would be different.  

And in the very, very beginning it was. I was smarter and sent the baby to the nursery between feedings so I could sleep and my husband could be home with our son. I rested. I seriously limited visitors to the hospital. And then, 24 hours after she arrived, we went home. My son seemed like he had grown 3 feet and gotten 20 pounds heavier. While he was amazingly adaptive to this new human entering his world, I was overcome with guilt. I missed our carefree walks to the coffee shop down the street, swinging together at the park and reading 10 books in a sitting. And so – shocker – I again tried to pretend like nothing had really changed, except the newly fresh baby that I stuffed into the carrier on the regular (and that carrier was GOLD!!). We went to the park, out to dinner and made cookies 48 hours after Hadley arrived home. And, in trying to be “normal,” life again went dark.  

The change felt overwhelming. Maternity leave felt oh-so isolating, not helped by the fact that late October in Chicago means grey days and a sun that sets at 3:56p. I tried to smile. I willed myself to feel happy, to enjoy the days. To do what I had committed to doing. To powering through. And I would have moments that felt “clear” and where my mind felt like it was my own again. But, suddenly, I wasn’t sleeping. And not in the “I have a newborn” way. For me, the clear sign that brightly blinks “danger zone” is my inability to sleep, even when I have the opportunity to do so. My mind would not quiet down. I went to all of the worst-possible-case-ever scenarios in my head, usually at 3am. I dreaded going to bed, even though I was so tired my bones hurt, because I knew the panic would likely set it and I would just stare at the clock, exhausted and terrified. Mornings were actually the hardest time for me, which I have sense learned is very common when dealing with PPD/A.  

Allison was on the receiving end of my incessant obsession with sleep – when could we sleep train, what was I doing wrong, why didn’t I make babies that slept? I was sure that would just solve all of my problems, and it gave me something to hold on to. She kindly encouraged me to take a breath, and then connected me to an amazing friend. That woman will forever be the bright light in this story. I could cry when I think of the kindness, empathy and encouragement she offered me when I wasn’t sure I could keep putting one foot in front of another. Together we came up with the mantra that my phone still buzzes at me once a day: “Breathe. And find the good.” 

I also went back to therapy and back on my meds. Far and away the most frustrating process in this ordeal was the energy and dedication it took to actually get HELP. I was clear that I was NOT okay (which felt very defeating to admit) and yet I had to make many calls to find someone who could see me and help me. The first offer was an appointment 2 weeks from when I called – and that was the “quick” option. Two weeks in this state was just not acceptable – how could it be that having a broken arm would get me faster treatment than trying to mother a newborn while my hormones took over my body and made it physically hard to breathe sometimes? Standing up for myself and fighting for what I needed came at a time when I had the least amount of mental resources to do so. It felt like a cruel joke, and it’s absolutely not surprising to me that so many women suffer in silence or give up when they say “I need help” and don’t immediately feel the hands reaching out to catch them.  

Awareness of this disease is thankfully growing, but it’s still an experience full of shame. And, PPD/A tells you a lot of lies. It tells you that you’ll never be okay again. That you aren’t good enough to be a mother.  That if you just did [X] better, you’d be okay. That you’re broken. That it’s your fault. That if you haven’t bonded with your baby after 20 minutes/hours/days, you never will. That you have to breastfeed or you shouldn’t breastfeed, you should get help, you should do it solo. The lies are endless, but the hardest part is that in the thick of it, you cannot see that they are lies. Others will tell you they are, and you’ll try to believe them…

Keep trying. Keep opening up to others. Keep reaching out for help. Be honest about your struggle – you’ll find that more women relate than you’d ever expect. Bring light to the places where it feels dark, and others will find you and help you continue to move forward. Advocate for yourself, or find someone you trust to help do it on your behalf. Give yourself grace. So much grace.  

My baby girl recently turned 1. We have survived the first year. I have survived another round with the evil that is PPD/PPA. The light at first came back very slowly. I found that the anxiety wasn’t present EVERY minute. That the morning was really hard, but just for 30 minutes, not for three hours. That I could laugh and actually feel it. And then, it just felt like it came flooding in. I was sleeping. I went back to work, and while it’s always SO HARD to go back, for me, that’s often the piece that helps click things back together. I had space for “me” and “us” and long weekday dinners with my favorite Chicago crew  Moments felt hard (because, motherhood is hard), but life felt really good. I felt strong.  

We had her first birthday party over the weekend. My smiles in those pictures are again real.  

Caroline Vasquez struggled with Postpartum Depression and Anxiety after the birth of both her first and second child. Last week Caroline shared the story of her first struggle with PPD/A (click here to read The Days Are Long – Surviving Postpartum Depression and Anxiety).

If you are struggling, please know that you are not alone. You are not to blame. With help, you will get better. Postpartum depression and anxiety ARE TREATABLE. For more information on PPD/A and resources on finding support, visit Postpartum Support International – http://www.postpartum.net, 1.800.944.4773