Before you read this, you should read my wife, Abby’s articles about postpartum depression. Most of what I write is a response to what she has written about her struggle with PPD:
WALKING THROUGH DARKNESS: MY JOURNEY INTO POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION PART I
WALKING THROUGH DARKNESS: MY JOURNEY INTO POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION PART II
THE BEGINNING
It has been almost 10 years since our first child was born. Our only daughter, Grace, is a fantastic kid, an amazing big sister to her 4 baby brothers, and has me 100% wrapped around her very dramatic little finger. I wish I could say that her birth was a fantastic experience. I wish I could say that our first couple of years as a family was storybook perfect. There were good times and bad times, but the truth is, the first year or so after Grace was born was very hard. It was on our family, but mostly hard on my wife, Abby. It wasn’t because we were broke. It wasn’t because we were practically newlyweds. It wasn’t because we were new parents. It was because of postpartum depression.
When Abby and I were dating, we were known for being able to have fun no matter where we were. It was one of the things that made us such a good team. Even up until a week before our daughter was born, we could be found at a bar rocking out to our favorite local band, making a road trip to the beach, or laughing it up while waiting in an hour long line to get a driver’s license renewed.
The day Grace was born…things changed.
THE HOSPITAL
If there is one thing I regret about our first child’s birth experience, it’s that I was not a good enough advocate for my wife. It was our first time having a baby, so I thought everything that happened was normal. I made the mistake of letting the nurses and our doctor wave away every little hiccup as “totally normal.” The truth is, it doesn’t matter what is normal. My wife had a terrible experience. Instead of crying about being helpless, I should have stepped up and been helpful.
I should have insisted on an epidural when she was moaning and passing out from the pain. I should have insisted on knowing what the doctor’s plans were if things went wrong. Abby has a history of finding herself in the worst possible scenario when it comes to medical situations. I should have insisted her doctor never pushed her into an induction in the first place.
Don’t get me wrong. The 30 minutes and 3 massive pushes it took to get Grace out went so well. Even the first hour after she was born was fantastic. I was able to hold one of Abby’s legs while we helped her push. I was the first person to ever see Grace’s head. (The doctor even started playing with Grace’s hair trying to make it curly like mine). After she was born, her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t make a sound. Abby locked eyes with her and said, ” Oh my gosh, you’re so tiny.” I cut the umbilical cord and helped the nurse clean Grace. I was overcome with emotion the entire time. It was definitely one of my happiest moments.
About an hour after we were moved out of the delivery room, I realized Abby wasn’t doing so well. She couldn’t sit up, she had a terrible headache, and she had no desire to have Grace in the room with us.
I knew what the issue was. I knew there was something wrong with the wet tap she received when she finally got her epidural. We both knew exactly what she needed to relieve the pain, but Abby was in too much pain to advocate for herself, and I was way too much of compliant wimp to force the staff to give my wife what she needed.
We had been down this road before. Abby had a spinal tap done a couple months before she became pregnant with Grace due to complications with her birth control. After that spinal tap she vomited, suffered from terrible headaches, and needed a blood patch to fix the problem. I knew what she needed.
I should have gone into the hallway and insisted that Abby get a blood patch done. I should have argued every time they did the bare minimum to make her feel better. I was just hoping Abby’s problems would go away and I was blindly trusting the staff at the hospital. I don’t know if helping her feel better sooner would have prevented her issues with PPD. Either way, I should have been better.
COMING HOME
After we brought Grace home from the hospital, things with Abby got worse. She became even more distant and grew even more irritable. She would cry for no reason and couldn’t rationalize her emotions. You hear that these sort of things are normal and should go away over time. Only, they didn’t go away… Somehow, her condition kept getting worse.
That year, Thanksgiving fell about one week after Grace arrived. Since we had a newborn, everyone figured it would be easiest to bring the celebration to us. As it turned out, that was a bad idea. We lived in a tiny box that was less than 900 square feet and accommodating 10 people wasn’t easy. While the family celebration went well, it turned out to be too much for a new mother to handle. After dinner, Abby slipped to the the back to nurse in private. When I went to check on my girls, Abby’s mom intuited that it was a good time for everyone to go. She could tell Abby was overwhelmed and needed to rest. When I came back out, everyone was loading up and heading out the door. The whole experience should have been my first clue that Abby wasn’t suffering from short term “baby blues.” She was sick.
There were plenty of nights when I offered to stay up with Grace so Abby could sleep. But, every time I offered, Abby would say “no” so that she could nurse Grace. She seemed to see nursing as her number one job. It was as if she had a deep determination to nurse because she thought nursing would validate her as a good mom. I can’t say I understood her desperate need to succeed at nursing, and there was nothing I could do to talk her out of worrying about it. This went on for a couple of weeks, until the driving episode.
The day after Abby took Grace for that midnight ride, she told me she put Grace in bed with me because she hoped that Grace would wake me. I snored right through it. Abby told me she was so angry with me that she considered smothering me with a pillow. I chuckled at her words as if she was joking. The look in her face and her body language told me she was not joking at all. I then realized that I needed to ask her mom to come and stay for a week. I figured if Abby had a little help and a few pointers from another mom, maybe she would snap out of her funk. Maybe whatever was happening with her hormones from the birth would finally balance and everything would be ok. I also started staying up at night with Grace.
Late nights with Grace were not easy. There was a lot of crying. Grace had a lot of gas and a lot of stomachaches. It was tough. And not only because I was a first-time dad, but also because I would have to go to work the next morning on no sleep. I was working 2 jobs at the time, so nighttime was the only time I had for sleep.
I remember one night I tried to force a pacifier on Grace. The more I tried, the more she cried. I am pretty sure I got so frustrated that I let out a very loud stream of curse words. The next day, I confessed to Abby that I had forced the pacifier onto Grace to the point of her gagging. I was so sorry. With tears in my eyes, I asked Abby to forgive me. I had no idea what Abby had been going through but I am pretty sure she was somewhat relieved to know she wasn’t the only parent in the house who felt like a failure.
As the months went by, Abby would always win the fight when it came to who got to sleep. That woman was desperate to sleep. (LISTEN UP, HUSBANDS) One of the signs of postpartum depression, or depression in general, is the desire to sleep all the time. Abby had gotten into a routine that was work, homework, bath, dinner, TV, sleep. That was it. There was very little interaction between us, her and the baby, and her and her friends. Abby would always point out that she had a stressful job, that she needed to “decompress” at the end of the day, and that it was very important for her to sleep. I think it got to the point where I was staying up with Grace 5 nights to her 1 night, but it wasn’t worth the fight for me anymore. She was going to win.
Looking back, yeah, I missed the rest and sleep. On the other hand, I bonded very well with Grace. She preferred me in most situations, and I secretly liked being her favorite person. There were nights though, when Abby would make an effort to be with Grace, or stay up with her when I was overly agitated. But Grace didn’t want Mommy. She wanted Daddy. I felt awful for Abby when that happened. There is no doubt that it only made her feel worse and sent her deeper into depression. It’s like the only comfort Abby had was knowing she could shut the door and cry alone.
On top of all the sleep arguments, Abby always seemed joyless. She never wanted to have company. Suggestions for date nights were always ignored. If we ever did hangout with friends, she would isolate herself from the group and end up crying for the rest of the night. Nothing made sense. My wife went from a fun loving career-minded woman to a workaholic who ended her nights with irrational crying. Truly, I thought she hated me. I thought she had regrets about marrying me and having Grace. I didn’t know what my role was as a husband or how to help her. I loved her so much, but I was helpless. I didn’t know how to “fix” my wife. But she didn’t need to be fixed in the way a man thinks he can fix everything. She was sick. She needed real support and real help.
THE TURNING POINT
For over a year, we dealt with the ups and downs of PPD. Only it was mostly downs, and we had no idea there was a name for this illness. It wasn’t until we visited Nashville during Christmastime when I decided I had had enough and made moves to get help for Abby.
We were staying with some of Abby’s family for several nights. One day, her folks and her aunt offered to watch Grace so Abby and I could have a night on the town. A kid-free evening in downtown Nashville should have been the perfect date night. It should have been like old times. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. I spent the evening trying to figure out what bar to go to and what band to see. Abby spent the evening trying to figure out how to tell me she just wanted to go home. I was so disappointed when she asked to leave. Even with the tears in her eyes, I just felt let down. I mean, this was what we lived for when we were dating. Even 1 week before Grace was born, we were out at a small bar listening to local bands play music. Where was the woman I fell in love with and thought I could have fun with for the rest of our lives together?
When we got home, Abby once again isolated herself from everyone else and just cried. I tried to ask her what was going on, but I got nothing. I left the room fed up and emotional. I couldn’t do this anymore. I decided to go to Abby’s mom for help.
I went to Abby’s mother for 3 reasons.
- I didn’t know if I could be sensitive enough to tell Abby that she needed help. I didn’t think I could do it without sounding like I was just whining.
- I knew that even if I had all the perfect words to say, my words would have come off as an attack. I would have just made her feel worse. She would have defended herself against anything I had to say. That was just the cycle we were in at that point.
- Abby looked up to her mother more than any other woman.
Abby’s mom, Kathleen, didn’t need much coercion from me to go talk to Abby. She also had noticed a problem, but isn’t one to get involved without an invitation. I remember watching her walk to the room where Abby was and open the door. She poked in her head and asked, “Honey, what’s going on?” I heard Abby start crying as Kathleen shut the door behind her. After that, I had a sense that maybe things would be ok. Maybe Abby would finally open up. I went downstairs to be with Abby’s family. The TV was on and people were having a good time, but my heart and mind were still upstairs hoping for my wife to feel better. I’m am not sure how long they spent upstairs talking. All I know is the next morning when I asked Abby if she felt better, she said, “Yes!!”
There was a sense of hope in her voice. She finally had an idea of what she was suffering from. She finally had a plan and she was willing to see a doctor for help. She finally realized that she wasn’t a failure… That she wasn’t a bad mom or a bad wife. She was sick.
When Abby went to the doctor and was diagnosed with postpartum depression, she was given some medication. Abby was also encouraged to seek counseling. About a week or two after she started the meds, she was a whole new person. It was like the clouds went away and her mind was finally clear of all her horrible thoughts. We still had a long road to recovery, but I finally felt like I was about to get the real Abby back. Abby was able to start bonding with Grace, and I was able to watch them turn into the best of friends. It’s not a competition, but I would definitely say Abby and I are now tied for Grace’s favorite person.
NOW
I think, even 10 years later, Abby has some form of PTSD. Every time the kids start crying too loudly or get overly fussy, I can see an intense fear in Abby’s eyes. It’s like she is having some sort of flashback. She will now tell me if she is feeling overwhelmed, and I am happy to take over the situation. We have four more kids now. That’s right, I said FOUR MORE. Even after all our struggles with PPD, we chose to grow our family. We have the tools we need and we know what to look for. Grace is nine and has four baby brothers, aged 4, 3, 2, & 1. Our little family is doing great thanks to the help we have gotten along the way.
Postpartum depression is not something to be ignored or taken lightly. Lives are at stake. Too many women end up hating their children, themselves, or others. Postpartum depression doesn’t just make it difficult for mothers and their children to bond. It can destroy families. PPD can alienate a woman from her friends and family and puts a ton of stress on a marriage. If you or someone you know is suffering from postpartum depression, please speak up. Get help. Share our story. Share your own story. The more people talk about it, the more the shame and stigma will wear off. We must realize that this is a serious illness and work hard to take better care of each other.
Doug
I so happy she was finally diagnosed and got the help she needed. You are such a special couple to advocate for marriage and family. You both are amazing writers and I enjoy reading your life stories. You are changing hearts and minds. Keep going!
Jill Beyer
Doug, thank you so much for just saying “she was sick”. I think there are too many husbands and men who can’t see this as an illness and instead make their wives feel worse by telling them to “snap out of it!” like it’s something they are choosing. By helping other men to understand that this is serious and can’t be ignored you are helping many women. Thank you.
Thanks for your perspective. It is extremely helpful for men to hear from another man. I suffered PPD after my first child. It was the worst kind of suffering. However, unlike Abby, I could not sleep. I was crying all the time, extremely depressed and had debilitating anxiety. My husband was so supportive but I continued to get worse. As a nurse, I recognized the symptoms, gave up nursing so that my hormone levels could normalize and started an antidepressant on the advice of my obstetrician. I was back to normal within 6-8 weeks. Two years later, I became pregnant with our second child (my husband and I were both thrilled) and right around 6-7 weeks, I quickly spiraled into an even worse depression. I lost all will to live, I couldn’t sleep, and was scared to be alone with our 20 month old. My OB referred me to a psychiatrist and I had to be hospitalized to protect myself. Because I was in the first trimester, I couldn’t take any medication. I wanted to have a miscarriage so I could get my hormones back to normal. It was pure anguish…..no hope, no joy, no will to live. I was in the hospital for 3 weeks and felt a little better in the second trimester. The third trimester the depression and anxiety was worse again, almost requiring hospitalization again. My poor husband….can’t even imagine how he stayed so strong through it all. I started an anti depressant the third trimester and got through it and we welcomed our son with relief and joy. I so missed not getting to nurse but my sleep and mental health were more important. So I would take something to help me sleep, my husband got up for the nightly feedings and in s couple months I was was feeling good again. But similar to PTSD, those depressions haunted me and the thought of having to endure that again with another pregnancy was too much. I was concerned that a subsequent pregnancy would be even worse (my doctor agreed), so my husband and I decided I would have a tubal ligation. I have never regretted that decision. While I would’ve liked to have had more children, the depression was so horrific that I did not want to take another chance. I know this is long, but wanted to share my story to hopefully help somebody else.
Thank you for being so in-touch and open-minded to recognize what many go through. I remember feeling like a failure having a c-section with my first born… you point to many relevant factors that feed into this depression. Your article, even to this day 24 years later for me, is helping me heal, since I never got any help at the time. Kudos to you both for always being real.