by Sharon

Sharon experienced postpartum depression almost seven years ago after the birth of her first child.

My early postpartum experience might best be described as subsisting. My daily goals included staying awake enough to feed and change my baby. Sleep deprivation became my number one enemy. I walked around hunched over like a ninety year old woman. With little to no sleep I was shaky, weak, headachy, paranoid, irritable, teary, unmotivated and I suffered blackouts upon rising too quickly.

In between my child's frequent cries for food, changing and holding, I waited on pins and needles--knowing it would not be long until his next cry. Many calls to my husband at work, begging him to come home early or "right this minute" increased my self-loathing at being so helpless.

Even when my child started sleeping through the night, my internal clock would not allow me to sleep, being trained to breastfeed every hour and a half by my infant's needy cries.

I bottomed out, wanting to just disappear with vague suicidal plans to just drive my car into a brick wall. I mistakenly believed everyone would be better off without me. I was desperate.

Throughout this period, well meaning family members would drop in to "help", expecting tea and sidestepping the colossal mess that once was an orderly house. They suggested getting up and exercising. I felt angry at their suggestions.

What I really needed was help with cleaning and child care while I slept. However, I didn't know how to ask for help yet, and they didn't know how to offer it. Somehow I kept going. It wasn't until the birth of my second child that I finally broke the silence about my postpartum depression with a good friend who then confided that she too had suffered a mild PPD.

She gave me the phone number of a postpartum support organization. I was scared to call, but I was glad I did I cried and cried on that first phone call and not once was I told to "pull my socks up" or "get a hold of myself" or "just go to bed if you're sick." Instead I received reassurance -- I was not going crazy, I deserved support, it was not my fault and, best of all, that things would get better.

When I was able, I joined a support group and found women just like myself who felt validated and supported by the other women's stories. A telephone support volunteer connected with me once or twice a week and soon my suicidal feelings diminished and disappeared. I discovered what I needed in my recovery process and how to get it. I hired babysitters. I hired house cleaners. At one point I hired a college student as a "mothers helper" because what I needed landed somewhere between babysitter, housekeeper, and friend. I asked my husband and my friends for more help with chores and child care. Sometimes I hated needing so much help. I was constantly adjusting and fiddling with the balance between what I was needing and how much help I could tolerate. Hiring help brought its own set of problems such as setting hours and salary, and dealing with personalities and explanations of schedules and chores. It was worth the effort in the end.

I took a three week trip to my sister's house alone. Although I knew I needed to go, leaving my babies with my husband and babysitters was a big decision. While I was away I slept like a baby, pampered myself and got up late every day. I took long baths and dressed slowly. I took vitamins and ate nourishing food. My sister and I talked when she got home from work each day and we went for walks together. I read lots of books on nutrition and would often go to bed at a very early hour. I started to feel renewed and slowly my strength returned. It was then that I started to miss my family and knew I was ready to go home.

When I got back I returned to the support group and I began discovering other ways to nurture myself. This involved discovering and rediscovering my many passions. Reading, writing, swimming, socializing, and many other interests opened up to me once again. I recognized what my "good mother" myths were and where I could lower my expectations of myself and others. I also recognized how not to take on others' expectations of me, with as little guilt as possible.

Experiences from when I was growing up resurfaced and I sought out one-on-one help from a counsellor to deal with it. My partner and I received marriage counselling because our marriage had been under tremendous strain for too long and the threads of communication were tenuous at best.

The postpartum support organization provided support and information for my partner and ongoing telephone support for me. Their support empowered me: I felt like the decisions leading to my newfound health came from me and a real understanding of my unique needs.

Things have really changed for me now. I enjoy my children so much and have worked hard to maintain a balance between their needs and mine. I have learned that giving to myself is not selfish. When I nurture myself, I also nurture my family. If I find myself feeling blue or angry and oppressed now, I usually find I've had very little time to myself. I treat these feelings as red flags - warnings - and put my feet up, grab a nice cup of tea, and have a hard look at what I need to get back on track.