This has been the most challenging month of my life physically, mentally, and spiritually. After a pretty traumatic labor and delivery experience, I navigated through recovery and the first weeks of parenthood with a laundry list of physical limitations. That was coupled with feeding difficulties, an inconsolable baby, and extreme exhaustion. My baby hardly slept. He cried constantly. And after the first week of adrenaline wore off, I cried just about as much as he did. Everyone kept telling me all of this was normal, yet nothing felt normal. By week two I found myself in a dark place mentally- one that most people don’t talk about. Very quickly I reached a dangerous low. In fact, My husband and mom gave me an ultimatum: I could call my doctor or they would.
The next day I had an appointment. I was treated for postpartum depression with an anti-depressant and a referral for counseling. That was the first time my doctor instructed a twenty-four hour watch on me. Luckily mental health isn’t a taboo subject in my family, even though it is in our culture. I’d been medicated for depression in my teenage years, but NEVER dealt with suicidal thoughts. These thoughts terrified me. When the doctor asked me if I had “any plans” I wept and shook my head no.
A few days later those thoughts crept in, and scared the hell out of me. I prayed. I worshipped. I told people. I did anything and everything I knew to do to bring it into the light to be dealt with. I wasn’t going to let those thoughts win. They were unwanted, unwelcome, and not my own. I love my life, and in my right state of mind I would never think those things. But the scary thing about PPD is that you’re not in your right state of mind. And because I was familiar with postpartum psychosis (if PPD goes untreated), it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
My three year wedding anniversary fell on a Wednesday. It was our (mine and Eli’s) worst day yet. By the end of the day I didn’t recognize myself or my behavior. We ended up at the doctor, this time for him. He was almost four weeks old and seemed to never sleep. He was in pain and I didn’t know why. Once again, everyone told me that his behaviors were normal. But something didn’t seem right to me.
Long story short: Elijah had both thrush and reflux. Because he had only gained two ounces in two weeks the doctor put him on medicine for the reflux. Within twenty-four hours (no exaggeration) it was as if we had an entirely different baby. But keep in mind, this was just before the four week mark. Four weeks of insanity and chaos had taken their toll on me. My sister, Mallory, was visiting from Texas and took over caring for him throughout the entire night so I could rest. She reported that he slept for a five hour stretch, and I was in utter disbelief.
My family wanted to give me a break to catch up on rest that day, and despite my hopes for Eli’s recent breakthrough, I was terrified things would regress and I would return to the place I was in the day before. Before leaving, my sister insisted that I shower and offered to draw a bath for me complete with essential oils and candles. Despite my indifference, I obliged. I turned on my worship playlist, slipped into the tub, and felt numbness overtake me. It can happen that quickly. The thought of drowning came to my mind. And as soon as I imagined my family finding me, I shook myself out of that mindset and took the thought captive. I began to worship and speak over myself. I’d never been more thankful to have music playing. The lyrics “something’s changing in the spirit, something’s breaking I can feel it” played on repeat, and with each repetition I believed it more. I declared it and agreed with it. Naked, afraid, and vulnerable I took authority over those thoughts and told my mind the truth it needed to hear.
The next day was my four week postpartum appointment. My younger sister came along with me. I expected a quick check and chat, but the appointment took a much different turn. The nurse explained that I needed to fill out a survey for PPD, which was about ten questions. As I finished I noticed that my score prompted a warning for immediate mental health assessment. I didn’t think much of it, I was just being honest and I’d already been seen and treated two weeks prior.
Without diving into too many details, my doctor expressed grave concern for my mental state, my responses, and the fact that I had suicidal thoughts in the last twenty-four hours. She recommended that I be sent straight to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation and twenty-four hour monitoring. That scared me. All I wanted was to rest and maybe a little normalcy. After some back and forth, we opted to bring my sister into the room for further discussion. My sister and I agreed that my mental state would likely be worsened by the stress of a hospital visit. We didn’t want to minimize the doctor’s assessment, but my sister exercised wisdom and discernment of her own, along with her professional opinion. We were able to compromise with the doctor that I would be supervised 24/7 by family over the weekend until I returned to follow up with her, on the condition that I needed to make a counseling appointment ASAP. The doctor didn’t seem happy with our decision, and I don’t blame her one bit. She was doing her job, and ethically I agree with her treatment. But I trusted my mental state at that moment, and my sister’s levelheadedness. I can admit that I would agree to hospitalization if I thought it would help or if I knew I posed a serious risk to myself or others. In my case, I knew supervision from home was a safer and less stressful alternative. Nonetheless, they reassured me that I wasn’t crazy, that this wasn’t my fault, and that everyone was worried because they cared greatly for me.
In the car ride home from the appointment, I heard the Lord tell me that He was going to use this experience to bring freedom to others. That I needed to use my voice to do so. Not in the future. But now. My first thought was, “but what about me?”. I was clearly still in the midst of a major battle. And I heard a gentle yet reassuring’ “I will deliver you from this.” And I believed Him. So this is my part, my requirement of obedience so to speak.
I know there could be a long road to eradicating these thoughts. I do plan to continue medication until my hormones and the chemical imbalances regulate. I plan to meet with a counselor. I’ve promised my family that I will continue to be open and honest with my thoughts and struggles. And I’ll share with transparency of victories and setbacks. I don’t seek pity or even validation, I just feel compelled to be obedient to the word I was given.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the phrase “I wish I would’ve known what you were going through” in past circumstances. So I’m putting it all out there. I won’t look back and say I did this alone. My husband, my mom, and my sisters have been the best support I could ever ask for... I could not have survived these last four weeks without any of them.
When you allow others into the pain, you expose the problem to let light in all the dark places. I don’t want to stay in the dark places alone. And I don’t want others to. There is freedom in the light. I’m being led there by the spirit, and I want others to feel that same draw to freedom. These thoughts are not my own. There is no condemnation or guilt for what’s out of my control. But there’s a better way, and there’s truth that reminds me that the darkness and the lies have no hold over me, despite their best attempts. Lastly, I know this doesn’t make me a bad mom. In fact, I know I’m a great mommy for Eli. But he needs a healthy mommy, and he deserves the best version of me. So I’m going to do whatever it takes to get to that healthy place for my boy. And also for my husband, my family, and myself. I know I will. You’ll see.