Facing Postpartum Depression: Embracing Vulnerability in Motherhood
“Blogger Jade shares her journey of facing postpartum depression after her baby was born ill and the struggle to acknowledge her feelings.”
Jade and Raulfie
Tommy’s guest blog by Jade from The Mother of All Adventures
This is a tough post to write.
Postpartum depression—can I really talk about it? Can I admit I had/have it?
It almost feels like if I put my feelings into words, I could slip back into those emotions again. Silly, I know, but it’s a real fear nonetheless.
Let me start from the moment Raulfie was born.
Immediately, he was taken to the special care baby unit, taken from my womb and placed in a plastic box.
I couldn’t hold him, smell him, or even hear his tiny breaths. I had no time to think about anything else except for him getting better.
The night I was discharged from the hospital was the most heartbreaking moment I’ve ever faced; leaving my sick baby behind while I slept at home next to his empty crib adorned with a floating “It’s a boy” balloon.
Not being able to see my baby whenever I wanted shattered me, and I didn’t know how to cope. I was unsure about how I was supposed to feel or handle the situation.
I had my beautiful 7-year-old son, who had been incredibly brave. He understood everything happening and felt the weight of it on his heart.
I also had my innocent one-year-old who had no idea about this heartache. I suppose that’s a blessing.
I was fortunate to have the best husband around, Serks.
Serks lifted me up when I was down, endured my mood swings, and took every emotional blow I threw at him. When I was sad and angry, he calmed me, and when I cried, he helped me regain my composure.
The truly remarkable thing is that he was also dealing with his own emotions; he carried the weight of us both.
Eight weeks passed; eight lonely, emotional, torturous weeks.
For me, this is where it all began.
The way Raulfie entered the world, and how quickly he was whisked away to special care. We patiently counted the days, each day feeling different—a rollercoaster ride.
My premature baby was growing on the outside, but it wasn’t how it was supposed to happen for us.
The warm air flowed into the isolette, and we were constantly greeted by the beeping machines in our bay.
We helped with “cares,” and the days when we got to weigh and bathe our baby were highlights.
We smelled the hand sanitizer everywhere we went, spent hours expressing to produce “liquid gold,” and watching the doctors do their morning rounds became part of our daily routine.
Every journey is different; every journey is unique.
We were just one of many with a baby in the NICU. We had to be patient and strong for our little one.
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When I had Raulfie, I met the most beautiful mother, Leanne. Her baby boy also arrived nine weeks early, just a week after Raulf was born.
Her baby was named Jimmy, and she was a first-time mother. We instantly formed a bond and a wonderful friendship.
Our babies grew stronger side by side, and we had each other’s support. To this day, our friendship remains strong, and I feel blessed to call her a very special friend.
Our babies will grow up together, knowing their story. They too will share a bond…
Having a friend who has been there and experienced the same thing is incredible and helps so much when you’re having a tough day; my forever friend.
When the day finally arrived that they told me Raulfie could come home, I was overwhelmed with anxiety and sadness.
Was he ready to be home? Was I ready for him to come home? I suddenly felt unsettled, and as I began to pack away his tiny hats and vests, I could barely breathe.
I remember shaking and struggling to find my words. I thought to myself, “Maybe just one more week.”
I couldn’t believe I was thinking that; I had been waiting weeks to hear, “Raulfie is ready to leave,” and now I wasn’t happy. I was scared and worried.
Both Mellie and Theo were excited, but I was just thinking, “How can I handle this?”
When we finally arrived home, my emotions reached a new level.
I cried all the time for no reason and didn’t feel happy.
I found it very hard to laugh or smile and didn’t want anyone to visit us to see our new beautiful baby.
I just didn’t want to see anyone or let anyone hold Raulfie. I felt like no one was clean enough and that they wouldn’t hold him the way I did.
I didn’t want to leave the house or even take a walk outside. I remember it took me three weeks to venture out alone without Serks; I just couldn’t do it.
Going from having a seven-year-old and a one-year-old to three children was a real shock for me. I found it very hard to adjust.
I struggled even more to express how I was feeling.
I can’t describe how awful it was to have this new beautiful baby yet feel so sad and anxious all the time.
I had many visits from a health visitor who was there if I wanted to talk, but I found myself pretending to be okay.
I remember filling out a questionnaire she gave me and putting down answers that I thought sounded good. How silly of me to do that! I would never do that again. If I could rewind, I would have told her the truth.
I remember the very first time I told Serks I had postpartum depression. He looked confused and upset, and I felt awful for putting that burden on him.
I knew that even though he loved me, he would never truly understand how I felt. But it turned out he was the one person who really helped me get better; he was my strength and sanctuary.
Serks encouraged me to talk and made it seem okay to express all my feelings, both good and bad.
He had it tough, working seven days a week and then coming home to fatherly duties while dealing with my crying and unhappiness. He was one tough cookie.
My worst memory and the most hurtful thing I said to Serks was, “I don’t want the kids; I can’t do this anymore.”
Thinking back on that now makes me feel sick. I’m so sad I said it, and I cry when I remember those words.
I will never say those words again in my life. My children are my world, and I would do anything for them. I live for them.
I remember our first family gathering.
I felt anxious for weeks, constantly wavering on whether I was going to go or not.
I knew Raulf would be passed around like a rag doll, and that frightened me to death.
Will they be clean? Do they smoke? Are they drunk?
We did go, and as soon as I walked in the door, I was greeted by other mothers—lovely, sweet, amazing mothers.
I broke down; I felt like I needed to scream and run away.
I chose a quiet corner to sit with the baby and calm down. Serks stood by my side, patiently waiting for me to be okay.
A mother came up to me and asked to hold Raulf. She inquired if I’d mind and if I was alright with it. I thought it over and felt sick but ultimately said yes.
To this day, that was the best decision I made; that moment helped me immensely.
The baby was fine—he didn’t cry or get dirty. He stayed wrapped in his blanket, looking like a small rolled-up sausage. He showed no signs of distress and was gently handed back to me.
A smile spread across my face, and I felt… okay.
But then…
As if our poor baby hadn’t been through enough, Raulf contracted bronchitis and whooping cough.
I felt to blame. I felt like I had let him down and that we were back to square one. He was fitted with a feeding tube again because he stopped eating, and seeing him with a tube broke my heart.
I wanted to make him better, but I couldn’t.
He deteriorated quickly. Raulfie began to gag and stop breathing; he wouldn’t feed even through the tube. He had to be put on oxygen and sedated for a few hours.
Feeling like I had let Raulf down made me think I was justified in being so protective.
My postpartum depression was still fresh, and this setback only made things worse. But our baby boy made a slow and steady recovery after just over a week on oxygen and tubes.
As Raulf got better, so did I.
Now, I couldn’t be more in love with my children.
Yes, I have days that make me cry and moments when I think, “Wow, that was hard,” or “What do I do now?”
But that’s motherhood in all its beauty, and let’s focus on how many beautiful and special moments we’ve shared. How many breathtaking memories and proud moments have we created? Too many to count.
I feel so blessed, lucky, and overwhelmed with love for my family. I dedicate this blog post to Serks—my life, my world, and the most amazing father.
To anyone feeling sad or lost, just talk. Admitting you have postpartum depression doesn’t make you a bad mother!
Write or draw to express your sadness and don’t keep it bottled
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