Editor's note: I have no idea where the spaces between the paragraphs went. Probably the same place all my socks go to. Anyway, trying to fix.
When I was a teenager, I took a lot of unnecessary risks, much like many teens before me. I didn’t plan for the future; I preferred to live in the moment and handle situations as they came up. It was totally irresponsible, but I’d never really been a planner, so I didn’t know any other way to live. When I got married and had children, though, things changed a lot. I realized that I had other people who depended on me, whose lives would be forever altered if anything happened to me. I knew my successes and failures were no longer just my own, and these realizations led to a definite change in the way I lived.
Instead of taking things day by day, I started to map out my future, or at least the future I wanted for myself and my family. Making choices became more about cause and effect and less about what would bring me the greatest amount of pleasure. In other words, I grew up.
With adulthood, though, came a lot more potential for disappointment. When my plans fell through or when I came up short in some endeavor or other, I wasn’t just letting myself down. There was so much more at stake, and the pressure to perform — at whatever it was I’d set my mind to — increased exponentially.
Postpartum depression was never in my plans, obviously. No one expects or wants to suffer, and I was no different. I wanted my motherhood experiences to be happy and loving, just like those I’d seen all around me. Developing PPD with both of my children was devastating, and I went through the common feelings of loss. Being deprived, no robbed, of the experience I’d expected was heartbreaking, but I made my way through, and I always comforted myself with the knowledge that soon I’d be back to normal.
Well, now I am back to normal, and I feel stronger and smarter because of PPD. However, things aren’t exactly as I’d imagined they’d be. I’m still on antidepressants, two of them. I still retain a little bit of the fear that I assume many women feel after an encounter with depression; I don’t always trust my emotions, and I quiver at the thought that I may relapse again. This has become my new reality, and I’m coming to terms with the fact that my definition of normal has shifted a little bit.
I’ve come to realize that this is part of growing up, too. Life never happens exactly the way we expect it to, and part of being an adult is learning to roll with the punches. Did I ever have daydreams about having to take two pills every day just to feel like myself? No. That wasn’t in my plans. But like I said, it’s become part of my new daydreams.
A few years ago, my grandmother died of brain cancer. It had only been a year since her diagnosis, and losing her was a huge blow to my family. I still think of her every day, and sometimes I have to remind myself that she’s no longer here. When I was growing up, she was a huge part of my life, and I’d always imagined my future with her in it. The void she left in the place she used to occupy in my life hasn’t gone away, and I don’t think it ever will. I’ve just had to reorganize the rest of my life to fit around it, and I deal with the implications of her absence in the best way I can.
Reshaping my expectations about my recovery from PPD has been a lot like dealing with the death of my grandmother. Although the scope of each experience is obviously very different, the process of understanding them both has been much the same.
Making peace with the fact that I will likely be on some form of antidepressant for the rest of my life was a sort of death — I had to lay to rest my expectation that life would be exactly as it was before PPD. I see now that that’s just not possible. Even if I were able to go off the medication, there’s no way I’ll ever be the carefree person I was before, and I don’t necessarily want to be.
I think my biggest problem was that I was still seeing my reliance on antidepressants as a sort of weakness. While I have absolutely no problem with medication and I wholeheartedly support anyone (including myself) who uses it, I was still thinking to myself that being able to live without them would indicate some kind of strength within me. I’ve had to let go of that mistaken notion, and I’ve embraced a new definition of strength. I’ve had to lay to rest my ideas of what my life might be like, and adopted new ideas. It’s not been an easy adjustment, but I feel so much lighter and freer now that I’m now weighed down by unrealistic expectations.
Letting go is one of the hardest things anyone faces. We all want to be the best versions of ourselves, and it’s disappointing when we realize that we’ll have to settle for less. However, in this case, I’m not settling for less. What I’ve decided is that medication is the best way, maybe the only way, for me to be the best version of myself. This doesn’t indicate any weakness in me; in fact, it signals the inherent strength that is necessary to know what’s required and then do what it takes to just get it done.
So I’m gettin’ it done.
Alexis Lesa
I can remember standing at my kitchen sink with a pill in my hand thinking how awful a person I was…how weak I was that I needed a pill to help me cope. It took a while to realize that PPD was not my fault nor an indication of a weak character.
It's an illness just like any other disease.
I can totally relate to your post. I was on a low dose of an anti depressant for several years. After having my second son in november I am now on a higher dose and another medication was added for PPD/OCD. I have cried when taking my medications because it made me feel like I was not strong enough to be where I was at before. I understand though that I need to take the necessary steps to get better. Thank you so much for sharing.
My mantra was, "It's an illness, not a weakness." I said it to myself over and over again. I never understood the need for psychiatric medication and did view those who needed them as weak. That was before it happened to me. I was so very, very wrong. I learned by being hospitalized in a psychosis. Now, I realize that the real strength is found in getting the help!
Wonderful post, Alexis.
I spent most of the earlier years of marriage suffering from depression. No one mentioned that PPD was also possible after miscarriages. I had two live births and three miscarriages. It was a constant roller coaster ride for me as my hormones waxed and waned. To complicate matters I also went through surgery for 2 large ovarian cysts which also took my moods out for a spin. All this was followed by an early hysterectomy by age 30, accompanied by early menopause. Between the age of 22 and 30 I had eight major medical events affecting my hormones and causing depression.
Hormone changes have dramatic effects on the body, no different than those encountered when administered strong drugs or chemicals. The results are in essence a side effect of your body's built in drug factory.
In my time, doctors did not consider a connection between natural hormonal shifts and depression. You walked into an office and were immediately pegged as depressed due to adverse events that you must be repressing. Look for trouble hard enough and you are bound to find it. We were "trained" to feel depressed over any number of reasons besides "mother nature".
Hormonally induced depression is not the result of a character defect or weakness – it's the sign that your body is working (maybe not in your favor – but naturally nonetheless. Treating it is a healthy sign that one is looking to function fully and at their best.
This is a wonderful post. It finally helps me put to words what I've been feeling. I've been on a great road to recovery and have been feeling better and happier than ever, but there are days where I just feel "off" and my mind rushes back to my PPD and am I relapsing. i'm still on meds and have no intention of going off of them. but realize, I've probably been changed forever since my experience of PPD. My blissful carefree bubble was burst. but after reading this post. I know it's ok and it's ok to be fearful at times. thank you so much!
where do I begin. I believe that my depression was years in the making. I was diagnosed with passive ADD at the age of ten and put on dexamphetamines and at around about the same time I also got my first period at the age of ten. My mother was forever scolding me for not doing well at school and comparing me to my perfect sister who excelled. I guess I have always had a complex for not feeling smart enough due to this. To cut a long story the ADD medication gave me a generalized anxiety disorder and I have for ever been on and off anti depressants since the age of 15. I dropped out of highschool at 16 because I had no idea where I was going, no direction and I just felt so depressed and hopeless because I felt I was not good enough or smart enough to accomplish anything. I think the knowing that I had a learning disability made me not want to bother to try because I knew it was a life sentence. Anyway, 13 yrs later, I am 28, married with two kids. My daughter has autism and my husband has schizophrenia. I was fine for about 8 years being off the medication and then all of a sudden after the birth of my daughter. I completely lost the plot and my anxiety attacks came back again. I had severe PND and have never fully recovered from it and probably never will as there is a strong genetic component of mental health problems in my family. My Grandmother developed schizophrenia after having her second child and my great grandmother suffered severe depression and so do my mother and sister. I envy the people that only go through a “rough patch” and only need to take the medication for 6 to 12 months. How I would love that. How I would feel so free to be able to take control of my life and be emotionally strong enough to deal with what ever life throws at me with out the need for a pill. I have tried coming off it about 4 times in the last 5 years and each time I failed and relapsed again. I feel so hopeless.
I’m sorry you have struggled through so much. So many of us need to stay on medication on-going. I’ve tried to go off and found out it wasn’t best for me. I am simply someone who needs medication and I have come to terms with that. I would rather be able to function and to see the things to be grateful for than to fall into a deep depression covered in intense anxiety. I also continue in counseling. If you have that option, it may help you to come to terms with your need for medication, staying on medication. This is an illness like any other. People who have diabetes, for example, don’t love having to be on insulin and give themselves shots daily, but it is what they need to survive. This is true for mental illness as well. It’s not your fault you have this, but I believe that you can have this, take medications, and still have a happy and fulfilling life. Peace to you, mama.
Thank you for that Heather. Yes, I do know that it is an illness like any other illness. I just cannot help but shake the feeling that logically I should be able to control how I feel. I want to be strong enough to not need the medication. I don’t believe people are weak for needing medication but in my case I just feel enough is enough and want to fight it on my own with all my strength. I worry about the effects these unnatural chemicals are having on my body and the long term effects. It cannot be great for the kidneys and liver to be on medication for so long and I am on quite a high dose.
I hear you. It’s hard to know what to do when weighing the pros and cons. For me, staying on meds is best despite the risks because I get SO depressed and anxious without them, even as someone who truly works through my “issues” and does the best I can to be positive and to “shake it off”. This is how I’m made and sometimes that truly sucks. But alas, I’m still here and I’m so grateful.