Finding the joy (or not)

My postnatal depression was flagged up as a possibility early on but not entirely expected. Early baby blues, followed by a very scary but brief day of postnatal psychosis were early warning signs. The day we arrived back from the hospital, I was so relieved to be home but also we were suitably terrified of taking this tiny, fragile, soft little bundle of life back with us and actually keeping her alive. As with most new parents, it felt impossible and instantly overwhelming. My milk had also just come in that day and I remember as we came back, hiding from our neighbour, as he greeted and congratulated Danny; I was slumped to the ground in the hallway, sobbing uncontrollably. Add in complete sleep deprivation for quite the cocktail. 

From that point on, I developed the very real and considered belief that I wasn’t actually at home at all. Something didn’t feel quite right, everything had changed. I suspected that the house wasn’t actually my house but another place where I had been taken and that ‘they’ had dressed it with fake props to make me believe I was home when I wasn’t. I reasoned therefore that Danny and my parents must be ‘in on it.’ The following day, after a couple of hours sleep, the thought passed and thankfully became nothing more than an odd memory but while it lasted, I was terrified. 

Initially, I just couldn't get over how relentless it all was. A demand on your mind and body which regularly pushes you to the brink of hysteria. Like starting a new job where you don't know how to do anything, your new boss just yells at you constantly and you never get to clock off. 24 hours a day. No overtime, no sick days. 

The next challenge was breast-feeding, which I instantly struggled with. Again, it’s one of those issues people can feel very strongly about and which you could debate and discuss endlessly but my personal experience with breast-feeding was difficult. I really tried. Sometimes it worked and for those brief occasions was a positive bonding experience for myself and my daughter. But more often than not, it was intensely painful and hard to endure. In retrospect, it’s clear to see it contributed to the development of my PND. I was so desperate to make it work but it made me ill; holding myself up to impossible standards. With the support of my husband and my mum, who could both see it was breaking me, I finally ‘gave in’ and started mixing in bottle feeds, with positive results. I would now wholeheartedly advocate combination feeding to anyone else who struggles the way I did. Because as much as breast milk is amazing and I suppose ‘best’ as you will always hear, a combination of breast and the bottle being delivered by a now calm and mentally-well mummy is ultimately better. Plus, Daddy can then also get up in the night and take part in the feeds too. 

In the depths of my PND, I convinced myself that both Danny and my daughter would be better off without me and as that thought formed in my mind, I thankfully decided to seek professional help. Having experienced depression and anxiety previously, and having an awareness of mental health problems within my family, I thankfully had no hesitation in putting my hand up and asking for help. I was fortunate to get self-referral counselling sessions within a couple of weeks and later started on medication. It doesn’t suit everyone but it got me back on a level and helped me through those challenging long days. 

I was also incredibly lucky to have a willing and able support system around me, especially my husband but also my parents who would dutifully arrive each weekday morning, to find me in floods of tears and unable to get dressed or even open the curtains. They would gleefully take the baby and afford me the time for a shower and a couple of hours sleep, which was golden at that stage. Depression plays out for me in a variety of ways. Sometimes, I’m in a heightened state of anxiety, feeling like the sky is falling, other times I can’t stop crying but the most disturbing aspect of all is when I feel nothing. I remember someone observing in a documentary once that their depression didn’t leave them feeling sad, but instead ‘hollow’ and I couldn’t describe it any better myself.

It’s a well-known phrase, ‘The days are long but the years are short’ and I’ve felt that massively over the past few years, particularly with the pandemic taking over for a year or more. Now time is racing and I feel emotional when I think about what a big girl my daughter is. I just want to capture this time and live in it forever. In contrast, the early baby days went on for what seemed like an eternity and held a multitude of contradictions. Each day, I’d feel the weight of the day ahead and have loads to do but also nothing to do at the same time. Stressed but bored, exhausted but anxious, lonely but desperate for time to myself. All my friends were working and so after all the initial visits, which I couldn’t quite cope with or enjoy at the time, they suddenly dropped off. Everyone else goes back to their own lives and leave you to it, presumably imagining you’re ‘busy with the new baby.’

I struggled with my sudden loss of identity; going from a full-time busy working life, to sat at home cluster-feeding and staring out of the window wondering where everyone else was going. I tried to suppress the spectrum of emotions I was feeling, including the slightly irrational anger I felt towards my husband for simply having the freedom to leave the house unaccompanied and go off to work. I didn’t feel like a mum or anything close to a responsible adult so my initial coping mechanism was to just pretend. Fake it ’til you make it, right?! Well, I just did a rather unconvincing impression of my own wonderful mum, for the first few weeks, assuming at some point it would eventually feel normal and that all the magic mum power that she possesses might feed through my genes and take charge. But it didn’t. Then I swung back the other way and sort rejected the idea of being the traditional mummy. I went back to work, earlier than I had originally intended to, dyed my hair purple and generally acted like I was just living my life and oh yeah, I’ve also got a baby but whatever. Unsurprisingly, that wasn’t the best approach either. 

In the end, I don’t know when it happened, what I was doing or if I can relate it to any particular revelatory moment but things changed. When I was doing well as a mum and coping, I saw it as going into ‘mum mode’ and one day, I just stayed in ‘mum mode.’ I’m so much more confident in my role as a parent now but it wasn’t to do with any external forces; it just came from the development of my own personal relationship with my daughter and knowing what we have, our special bond, our talks and silly jokes. Everything that makes our relationship distinctly different is what reassures me everyday that I’m doing something right. I’m just right for her. I’m what she needs and that’s everything. 

For anyone going through the new baby stage and awaiting those magical words of reassurance. In my opinion, it doesn’t get easier. But (a big, beautiful, positive BUT) your ability to cope with everything improves massively! You get better - your parent points go up! And, as with everything, it continues to change. Whatever your experience as a new parent, good or bad, it is always (without exception) a phase and all the rules will switch again the next week or month. But once again, you change with it and you become an expert at adapting to the needs and development of your child. It was through learning this, that I also discovered that my daughter was incredible and I finally fell in love and felt all the feels you’re supposed to. I was just a year or so late but I felt it all the more intensely when I did. I wish I could have that time again and give my daughter, as a baby, all the devotion and adoration I feel for her now.

August 2023