Added: Lori Dao - Date: 11.07.2021 16:01 - Views: 22828 - Clicks: 8985
Warning: This is heavy stuff, folks. I am writing this because I feel that, Tide love hard Idaho a writer, it is my duty to write about pieces of the human experience which are ugly and misunderstood. First and foremost, however, I am writing this in the hopes that it may help even one person who re it to feel hope, to realize they are not alone. So, at the risk of becoming a complete cliche who ever heard of a depressed writerI will proceed in relating my journey with depression; postpartum depression in particular.
Please be advised that none of this is clinical or scientific. It is simply my own personal impressions gained through my battles with depression. I have found that depression comes in waves. If depression comes in waves, then the year after my daughter was born was a tsunami. Like most young, expectant first time mothers, I was giddy with anticipation in the months before Morgan was born. My dream of motherhood was about to be fulfilled. True to form for my perfectionist daughter, Morgan, was born on her due date of August 28th, The labor was complicated.
After twelve excruciating hours, hurricane Morgan came into the world. I loved her the instant she was placed in my arms.
That instant love between mother and child would later become my saving grace, though I did not yet realize it. The next few weeks were filled with the bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived, terrifying yet blissful stupor which always accompanies new parenthood. They were also filled with a lot of crying.
By a lot, I mean probably twelve hours out of twenty four. My husband, Dirk, was working and going to school. I sat in our tiny, two bedroom apartment and listened to Morgan scream.
I paced halls, danced, rocked, nursed, sang, cried and prayed. I rarely left the confines of the apartment. Looking back from the end of the tunnel, I can now see that the fact that I was literally afraid to leave the confines of my apartment with my new baby should have been a giant, glaring red flag. But I had no idea. Christmas has always been my favorite day of the entire year. Christmas Day, was one of the darkest days of my life. It had been a wonderful day, full of distractions, away from the confines of my cage.
It helped to be around people, to hear sounds of laughter. I had almost felt normal again; almost like myself again. It became apparent soon enough that no one else wanted to hear it. The rest of my family was engaged in a card game. Morgan was engaged in a mighty display of the power of her lung capacity. After a few irritated stares in our direction, I got the message. I loaded Morgan into her car seat. The motion of the car had temporarily calmed Morgan, so I decided to keep on driving. I drove the empty streets, looking at all of the lighted windows I passed.
Everyone was together, celebrating happily in warm, lighted houses. I had never felt so lost; I had never felt so alone. All of the conflicting emotions I had been wrestling with for months came to a head. I passed rows of telephone poles on the silent country road.
I wondered at what speed I would have to drive into one to end my life. My foot pushed down harder on the gas pedal.
The very sound which had driven me stark raving mad for the past few months, literally saved my life. I realized I had to stay alive, if only for her sake. I drove home, put Morgan in her crib and let the wave wash over me. That was my lowest point. I never again considered taking my own life, but I was living a sort of half life, trapped inside my own personal hell, with absolutely no idea how to get Tide love hard Idaho.
What was wrong with me? My answer came courtesy of Mrs. Brooke Shields. One day, after Morgan was a little over a year old, I tuned in to Oprah, as I did most afternoons. Brooke Shields was talking about a book she had written which detailed her battle with postpartum depression.
As she began to relate details of her struggle, I audibly gasped. It felt like I was exhaling for the first time in over a year. Suddenly, I could see a light. The insurmountable wave that had been beating me down was postpartum depression. When I was eight months pregnant with my second child, Hyrum, I began taking antidepressants. I stayed on them for a full year after he was born. When I found out I was expecting again with my son Ryan, I decided upfront that I wanted to attempt to tackle the pregnancy and first year without medication.
The medication after Hyrum had helped keep me on an even keel, but as I mentioned, it was a little too even. With this baby, I wanted to be me, and I wanted to be happy about it. A few days after Ryan was born, I felt that all too familiar, suffocating feeling. Only this time, I knew I would breathe the fresh air and soak in the sunlight again.
I had emerged from an emotional and mental tsunami stronger before, and I knew I could do it again. I now understand that depression is real, terribly, awfully real. It is not my choice. It is not my fault and it is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not something that can be driven away if our attitude is good enough or if we lose ourselves in serving others.
I am tired of depression being whispered about behind closed doors. It is not a mysterious, taboo mental instability. It is a chemical imbalance. It is not a choice. I now thankfully realize that there is help. If anyone reading this has ever felt any of the feelings I have described, please talk to someone about it. You are not crazy. You are not alone. Shannon is a stay-at-home mom to three precious little ones in Shelley, Idaho.
You can of her life experiences at domestichazard. Close Search Go. Life is beautiful, but it is also hard. Then Morgan began to cry. Share Send to your Tide love hard Idaho Your Friend's Name Required. Your Friend's Required. Your Name Required. Your Required. Newsletter Facebook Twitter Share. Like what you read? Get Idaho Falls Magazine straight to your door!
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