I’ve been imagining how (and even if) I would write this blog
post for a few months now. It’s been an
intimidating task for a couple reasons.
First, the more time that passes the less I feel as intimately connected
to those first two weeks of motherhood. Which is ironic because at the time I
thought my experience was inescapable. And
more significantly, those first two weeks of motherhood included perhaps the
scariest and hardest moments of my life.
Moments that were dark and terrifying and ugly and that are still hard
to talk about. But perhaps that makes it
even more important that I share them, both to continue my own healing but also
maybe to reach into someone else’s dark, terrifying and ugly moments and offer
some companionship.
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| Since we didn't take photos of my panic attack, my trip to the ER or my endless sobbing, here's a sweet picture of my sleeping nugget. |
The Hard Stuff
The first two days after Jonah’s birth were strange, but
mostly lovely. Despite the immense
pressure and responsibility of this new little life, being in the hospital
provided the feeling of a safety net; we had backup, and we used it. We asked a ton of questions, requested
several visits from the lactation consultants and we even sent Jonah to sleep
in the nursery for a few stretches both nights so we could get some rest.
But returning home was a different story. Enter: post-partum insomnia. (Followed closely by his cousins, post-partum anxiety and depression.)
Everyone is familiar with the “sleep when the baby sleeps” advice for early parenthood. I was no exception. In fact, because I’ve always been pretty dependent on a full night’s sleep to function well, I was acutely aware of how important snagging any bits of available time for sleep would be for me. This increased pressure, combined with my newly disrupted sleep schedule and the weighty burden of a helpless baby next to me, resulted in severe post-partum insomnia. Even when I had time available for me to sleep, I would lie down and my mind would start ruminating, worrying over details and catastrophizing. My brain would answer this flurry of anxiety with the command “Stop it! You MUST sleep.” As it turns out, this pressure isn’t always that helpful. While this pressure helps to give some mom's the much needed permission to rest, for others (ahem, me) it only increases the anxiety. And do you know what your body does with anxiety? It responds with heightened awareness, quickened heart rate, increased respiratory rate; none of which promote the relaxed state that is required to slip into sleep.
This insomnia persisted for almost two full days. No sleep. Not even a couple minutes. Every missed nap just increased the pressure on the next nap. And insomnia isn’t a flattering look on me. I began crying uncontrollably, lost my appetite completely (I was below my pre-pregnancy weight 6 days post-partum; that’s not healthy); nothing felt familiar and nothing was comforting to me. I didn’t have energy to do or feel anything. I would look at my beautiful baby boy, this miracle, and feel sadness and resentment instead of joy and gratitude.
Finally in the middle of the second sleepless night something inside me gave way to the pressure and I completely unraveled. I had a full-blown panic attack; I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stop crying, I kept repeating “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” to Jake. I imagined myself as a neglectful, resentful and incapable mother, unable to love her new baby and unable to hold up her end of the deal. They would take Jonah away from me, they would lock me away in a mental hospital, (I’m not sure who “they” were), Jake would divorce me, I would lose my job. I would lose everything. That’s where my mind went: to the catastrophic end. It was honestly the most terrifying experience of my life. I didn’t recognize anything or anyone around me. I didn’t recognize myself. And I prayed and prayed and prayed for God to rescue me.
Jake ended up taking me to the emergency room. We had to call Jake’s mom and grandmother back from their hotel at midnight to come watch Jonah (thank goodness they were in town; they were amazing). We stayed there all night while they did tests and interviewed me and gave me Ativan that (finally) allowed me to sleep. It was such a surreal experience; the freezing triage room with flickering overhead lights (that they mercifully allowed us to turn off), the hallway full of bewildered family members, the beeps of monitors and endless rotation of clinicians with their endless questions, the waiting. I left the next morning with a few hours of sleep under my belt and a diagnosis of post-partum depression and anxiety.
The next couple of weeks were hard, but with a lot of help, I finally felt like “I” emerged from the haze. Not as “same old Erica”, but “Erica as a mom”. Y’all, they tell you this, but I had no idea how true it is: having a baby changes your whole life. It doesn’t just change what you do, or when you sleep or how often you bathe. It changes who you are. It rocks your world. (Or at least it did mine.) And it takes time to settled into a new rhythm and a new way of understanding yourself.
What Helped
I don’t know how many new moms experience anything like
this, but just in case someone out there recognizes a part of my story, I want
to share what helped me transition out of the hopelessness and into something closer to joy.
Sleep:
Honestly, I think a lot of my post-partum issues were exacerbated, if not
created, by lack of sleep. (Although
some might argue that the insomnia was actually caused by anxiety; it’s a
chicken or egg question, I guess.) After
that first stretch of sleep in the ER, and another few hours at home from the
lingering effects of the Ativan, I felt completely new. Everything was clearer. Life felt more manageable. And from that moment on, we had a new game
plan: do what you need to do to get a decent stretch of sleep each night. We decided that I would try to pump a
bottle’s worth of milk each day so that Jake could get up with Jonah for the
midnight feeding and I could (theoretically) sleep uninterrupted from
10pm-2/3am. This worked great for us. We
were lucky that Jonah took to the bottle quickly and had no problem
transitioning between the breast and bottle.
Support
System: I’m so lucky to have so many people in my life that love me. Primarily, Jake. He was so amazing,
especially the night of my panic attack.
He stuck with me, stayed calm, prayed, and seemed relatively unphased by
the fact that he had to drive his sobbing wife to the ER at midnight with a
newborn at home. Despite feeling
absolutely undone myself, I never felt crazy in his eyes. And he never seemed to question that I would
eventually emerge. Also, having my
mother in law and grandmother in law in town at the time was such a gift; I
don’t know what we would have done if we had to take a three day old with us to
the emergency room. They stayed up all
night with Jonah, and somehow remained chipper and helpful the next day, too.
(Granny even weeded our garden and planted flowers!) But, I gotta say, MVP of those first couple
weeks was my mom. Sometimes you just
need your mama. She was more than just a
practical help (meals, cleaning, errands); she encouraged me, held my hand,
wiped my tears and empowered me to trust my instincts. She shared her own difficult seasons of
motherhood, looked me in the eyes and said, mother to mother, “You can do
this.” And eventually I believed her.
Daily
Rituals: One of the most helpful things my mom did was encourage me to set
a few daily rituals that would help me get into a rhythm that felt comfortable
and predictable. Here are a few of her
specific recommendations that really helped.
(a) Decide to
wake up: At some point each morning, I needed to stop expecting to get any
more sleep and just decide to start the day.
If I got a nap later, great, but if not at least I could feel more
awake. So at some point each morning I
would change into clean clothes (still PJs, but at least they were clean PJs),
wash my face, put in my contacts and open the blinds.
(b) Go out:
Knowing my personality, my mom also recommended that I get out of the house at
least once each day, if even for a walk around the block. Most people tell new moms to rest and stay inside
and be lazy, but this made me feel more antsy and disoriented. I needed to breathe fresh air and interact
with regular people. The first few outings were alone or with Jake (while my
mom stayed home with Jonah): a pedicure and a dinner out. But slowly I became more confident in taking
Jonah out and we would run small errands (I think I went to Buy Buy Baby two
dozen separate times those first few weeks).
(c) This, too, shall pass: It's trite, but true. With time, things get easier. We are more resilient than we give ourselves credit for.
Grace:
I’m still learning this one. As a
Christian, I believe that we don’t (and can’t) earn our salvation through our
performance, but that it is offered to us as a free gift because of Christ’s sacrifice.
Life everlasting in perfect communion with my Maker in spite of my selfishness, pride, idolatry. This is grace. As it turns out, I like to earn things. I don’t like to be indebted to others. It makes me uncomfortable. Well guess what? All of life—and certainly all of
motherhood—is a lesson in grace. The
devotion of my husband. The generosity
of my family. The selflessness of my
mother. The life of that beautiful baby
boy. All grace. I earned none of it. I deserve none of it. And yet. It is mine because I am loved. This is something to celebrate. And as I learn to accept grace, I am also learning to offer it; offer it to my husband, to my baby, and, importantly, to myself. Motherhood, for the first time in my life,
truly pushed me to the end of myself and the end my strength. I could do nothing to make it better. I was no longer in control (nor could I pretend to be). And in my weakness, God proved Himself
strong. I have a feeling this will be the refrain of
motherhood.
“Redeeming
love has been my theme, and shall be ‘til I die.”
