While I'm still navigating the whole parenting-two thing, I have been able to reflect a bit, inevitably comparing this time to "last time" around, as if 2011 was eons ago or daughter (firstborn) and son (new kid on the block) are different species... one thing I found myself comparing was myself postpartum, which led to an interesting discussion with my better half.
I didn't mention in my birth story, but I had my placenta encapsulated with my second baby. My ever supportive husband served as the "placenta contact" and was in charge of making sure we requested and remembered to bring home my placenta. While the words 'cannibalism' and 'witchcraft' were included in [his end of] our conversation multiple times, he obliged my request. The "placenta lady," came over the next day, steamed my placenta with herbs, diced it up and set it in her dehydrator, and returned the next day to grind it up and put the now innocuous looking powder into vegetarian capsules. She left me a pretty little note with recommended doses for each week after childbirth and went on her way.
I recall feeling a little anxious in my postpartum weeks with my daughter and hoped it would stave off any return of my long history of anxiety. By a little anxious, I mean that I thought I did a decent job of hiding my raging, sleep-stealing, panic inducing anxiety that lurked around me most days of early motherhood. I blamed it on my history of anxiety, my colic-ridden firstborn who screamed like clockwork pretty much from 2 or 3pm until 11pm nightly-- how convenient that daddy worked second shift at the time! My poor husband arrived home after 9-hour shifts to my bleary bloodshot eyes, her bleary bloodshot eyes, and a baby hand-off that was a mix of desperation and exasperation. I thought I was holding my own and eventually the colic faded, as did my memories of how long those crying/screaming spells lasted.
I commented to my husband earlier this week that I was a little disappointed. Everyone I knew who has had placenta encapsulation done just RAVES about it. They said they feel amazing and all the second-time moms who didn't encapsulate the first time around said it was a different world than the first time. I had commented to our encapsulation specialist that I was eager to experience the effects of the capsules because not only have I never heard negative feedback, but nor had I heard neutral stories. No one's experience was, "eh, it was ok..." until mine. I have been feeling a bit disappointed. I don't feel any magical high, I don't feel on top of the world. I'm tired and mothering two kids, one of whom wants to nurse every other hour, for an hour. Meh. How anti-climatic. My husband looked at me like I have two heads, and then gently proceeded to put me in my place. He kindly informed me that he HAS noticed a substantial difference, that I am normal me this time around, that I have been incredibly "together," and "sane," ESPECIALLY compared to last time. Then for the kicker, he told me that I was a hot mess last time around. He went as far as to call it a dark time. So much for a decent cover up on my part.
As I try to be honest with myself and reflect upon the very topic that I love to write about, maternal mental health, I have to say, "Well said." It was a dark time. I wasn't okay. I wasn't coping. I was surviving, but I wasn't doing well. I didn't experience psychosis, I didn't fail to bond with my [screaming] baby, but I cried everyday as my husband left for work, I cried when my mother couldn't come over to hold me up through those 9-hour shifts he was gone, I cried when he got held late, I cried on his last day off from a weekend anticipating him leaving for work the next day. I cried for no good reason. I would lay awake worried about unwanted thoughts or I would consume my night clock-watching the evening away. You know the saying, "a watched pot never boils?"... my life was "a watched driveway remains empty" Those nights were never-ending.
I practiced all those great counseling skills I help clients in the same situation rehearse. I guided my own imagery through postpartum anxiety and postpartum OCD... I could see the colorful leaf floating down a flowing stream... and that's nice but I'm still anxious. I practiced deep breathing and thought-stopping through unwanted, intrusive thoughts that plagued my lonely evenings, they were still lonely and I was still full of panic and angst. I waited for my husband to come home, waited for the baby to pass out for the evening, waited to get through one more day of the madness.
I kept this secret hidden in our home. I kept my distance from almost everyone, probably anyone who might be onto me. I posted photos on Facebook, though not nearly as often as I used to or do now. I made polite (and not so polite) excuses as to why we couldn't go to gatherings; how we weren't ready for people to meet the baby; why today wasn't a good day to come over, and how maybe another day would be better.
I nonchalantly joked when I returned to work that 14 of my 16 weeks of maternity leave were spent listening to screaming, I told no one about the darkness I was slowly crawling out of four months later. I thought I had done a decent job minimizing this from my husband, but this week he called me out. One of the reasons I married him is because he knows me better than anyone else [and loves me in spite of this]... the other reason might be that he cared for me as best he could in this difficult time rather than dismissing my experience or leaving me out in the cold. This is why he stayed up with our daughter for two or three or even four hours after an exhausting shift, this is why he turned down overtime even when I was on unpaid leave and we needed the money. He knew, and he knew I wasn't ready to talk about it, either. He rocks.
So this time around, when I suggested something off the beaten path, that involved cooking bodily tissue that I birthed, he went along with it. While the past few weeks may have been anti-climactic, they've also been non-catastrophic. We took the baby out much earlier. We've invited people over sooner. The only sleep disruptions I've had are for brief nursing sessions and a diaper change. No bad thoughts. Far fewer tears, not even what we'd consider the baby blues, more toddler-induced terrible-two-tastic frustration, and I feel human again much sooner. I guess the placenta pills are as magic as others have said. I'm thankful that I ventured out to try something new, and even more grateful that it has had a positive impact on my recovery.
This blog post has been floating in my mind for a few days now. I feel vulnerable just typing these thoughts out, being honest with myself about the anxiety struggles I've lived with and conquered over the years. Here I am about to send them on a slingshot into cyberspace for all to read. Look at me, internet! Here's my vulnerable secret! I may be a counselor but I have struggled, too! Self-disclosure is frowned upon in the world of counseling, but I write this as a mom today, not a counselor, and hope that my raw honesty hits home for someone.
There are a few resources I found priceless in helping me climb out of my darkness and rebuild my emotional strength, in case any of this rings true for anyone else or is of interest to you or a friend you know yada yada, here are some favorites of mine:
Books:
Dropping the Baby and Other Scary Thoughts by Karen Kleiman
The Pregnancy and Postpartum Anxiety Workbook
Websites:
Postpartum Support International
and a great organization I have befriended in my research on maternal mental health, MotherWoman
Lastly, here are the HuffPost blogs I had published in 2013 on the topic of maternal mental health:
Perinatal OCD and Intrusive Thoughts
But At Least You have a Healthy Baby: Traumatic Birth and Maternal Mental Health
