Postpartum depression: how to deal, personal experience

Having a baby is an unspeakable happiness. From the very first moment, an amazingly powerful love arises between mom and baby. In fact, childbirth is shock therapy, and a newborn child is a round-the-clock responsibility for which I was completely unprepared. It was as if I was losing my individuality and felt like an appendage of a little girl, a tiny but incredibly demanding creature.

While pregnant, I read about postpartum depression. Allegedly, 85 percent of mothers suffer from it. It seemed to me that this is the lot of stupid women who cannot pull themselves together and properly organize their life in the new conditions. I was sure: all these mood swings, irritability, anxiety, bouts of crying, guilt, thoughts of death and suicide, hatred of my husband – sheer delirium. Mothers are furious with fat. You have to think about the child, not about yourself, your beloved. The reality turned out to be all the more terrible for me. I had to admit: I am also weak in spirit and afraid of new responsibilities. She is also quite capable of leaving her husband with her newborn daughter.

All nine months of pregnancy, the world revolved around me. The husband fulfilled the wishes of his pregnant wife and extolled me as a mother-to-be. And the pregnancy itself was proceeding relatively well, except that I was constantly nauseous, and my ankles were terribly swollen.

I heard the first bells already in the hospital. I wanted to give birth to my daughter naturally, but I was so intolerant of pain that I fainted several times already at the beginning of labor. The doctors had to do a caesarean, and this fact hit my pride hard. It seemed that I was a bad mother, since I could not give my daughter a life on my own. And stories about the harm of caesarean section for children were also frightening. So depression crept up to me.

The second wave was provoked by her husband.

I had to fight him because of the diapers! His mother stated that modern diapers are harmful to the baby and therefore diapers must be used. Mountains of them and met me after the hospital. For several days I tried to cope with the endless washing, but suddenly I could not resist and started a scandal. Like, if you want, let your daughter relieve herself exclusively in diapers, but you or your mother will wash them. The questions did not come straight away, but they disappeared.

And also, in his opinion, not only did I not know how to look after my daughter, I did not look good enough. After the hospital there were a few extra pounds left, and due to chronic lack of sleep, I was too pale, with huge bruises under my eyes. I got offended and decided to pack my things. For the birth of the child, my mother came to visit from another city – to help. So I got ready to go to her. Mom was shocked and refused to accept me in my father’s house. The husband was more likely out. I constantly attacked him and said how much I hate. At the same time, I did not want to officially divorce. In retaliation, he refused to register his daughter in his apartment until I signed the prenuptial agreement. According to him, he realized “that I am ready for any meanness.”

Then came the hormonal failure. I suddenly gained 20 kilos. For a couple of weeks. Hair began to fall out. There were so many of them on the comb that the teeth were practically not visible. I was desperate and cried constantly. I almost lost one eyebrow and my eyelashes are very thin. I urgently began to sweep away assorted products on drugstore shelves in the hope that it would help. When it only got worse – I literally lost half of the hair on my head, not counting the losses in the form of eyebrows and eyelashes, my husband forced me to go to the doctor.

By the way, by that time my husband had already forgotten the idea of ​​writing a prenuptial agreement, but he worked very hard and did not understand at all how else he could help me. And my mother left. I had to cope with my daughter alone. This was my personal hell.

And this awful belly … Almost a month after giving birth, I could not remove the bandage. It eased the pain when I took my daughter in my arms. When I was finally able to take it off, I found an ugly empty wineskin in place of the once flat, neat tummy. I was terrified.

Another reason for crying is an acute lack of communication. The husband and all her friends worked, my mother went home, the mother-in-law loved her granddaughter exclusively from a distance. Apparently, the thought of helping me by communication, or even more by deed, did not arise in her head at all. No one called, wrote or came to visit. The confidence was developed: “Nobody needs me, nobody loves me, I am a burden for everyone and I will get bogged down in diapers.” Tears fell over and over again. My brain was consumed by thoughts: I am unhappy, I am a bad mother, because of me the daughter is unhappy, nobody needs me, I am to blame for my daughter’s illnesses, I am a bad wife and I hate my husband, I am a freak.

When I finally realized what was happening to me, the awareness was like an avalanche that descended on me from the top of the mountain of suffering. After thinking it over, I decided that realizing the problem was half the battle. Probably the easiest way was to sign up for a psychotherapist. But I had neither trust in doctors nor time. But I absolutely enlightened: my daughter does not need an unhappy mother.

I began my journey from the abyss of depression with the most necessary for me at that moment – communication. Internet helped. I found contacts of forgotten classmates and classmates, ex-girlfriends, lost relatives and even neighbors. I registered on sites for moms – I talked, participated in contests, asked questions and expressed my own opinion.

I hired a nanny for a few hours a week to make time for the gym and signed up with a trainer. Previously, I went to maximum yoga. This was my personal victory over myself. She took up her appearance – she resumed her visits to the beautician, began to look for new miraculous creams and masks.

Then I discussed the cleaning issue with my husband. If he wants a clean apartment, let him hire a cleaning lady. My strength goes to my daughter. And I also need to sleep, not make myself a draft horse.

Assorted purchases also became the responsibility of the spouse. Surprisingly, he was fascinated by it. Coming home, he proudly took out what he had bought from huge packages and proudly told how he managed to choose the best.

The only thing I left for myself was cooking. However, this is not difficult if you have a multicooker and a dishwasher.

In addition, I tried to walk with the child as much as possible. My husband arranged with the guards and concierges to help me lower the huge wheelchair. I wound circles in a wonderful park right next to my house and felt absolute calm, charged with positive energy from wildlife. Soon I wanted to go shopping, the same nanny came to the rescue.

Sadness, longing and thoughts of my worthlessness in the role of mother, wife and just a woman gradually left. I finally stopped feeling depressed almost a year after the birth of my daughter, so her one year old became a double holiday for me. Although no, the last grains of depression are leaving me with these lines, right now.