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I might cop some slack for writing this but it needs to be done.
Every time I search for information about PND, I come across news articles, blogs, doctors numbers etc.
The articles I've read lately, and earlier on, were always so 'heavy' and 'serious'. And by that, it's not a dig or anything, but sometimes PND doesn't make you want to cut your wrists. In all honesty, I never wanted to kill myself.
I just wanted to put my beautiful daughter on the sidewalk and go back inside.
I'm serious.
To feel that way...it's SO confusing. You feel an incredible amount of guilt for just wanting your child to shut up. The crying! The moaning! What does she want!!
Picture this:
A young teenager being diagnosed with PCOS and Endometriosis- shattering her dreams of becoming a mother. Said teenager finding out she's pregnant afew years later. Teenager is now 18, almost 19, and has the odds against her- bugger all support, no confidence or self esteem. No money. Half a job. Friends who just want to get high and use her as an excuse to their parents as to where they are... "I'm at Suzi's"- she never was, and I never knew she said that either. I never knew where she was!
Anyway. Not much support from anyone- especially said friend mentioned before. Mother swaying between "good decision" and "bad decision", my brother said he "couldn't support a bad decision". But I knew having a termination was the bad decision. My dad asked how I could raise a child when I'd left school at 15. My babies father threatening suicide.
I don't know how I got through it. But I was determined to be the best damn mum out there. I was determined to prove them all wrong and to break the stereotypes.
She was born, (it's her third birthday today), after a pretty traumatic labour and birth. I can't remember it unless I write it out and piece it together. Basically it was over 30 hours of contractions, most 4 minutes apart. I spent majority of the labour in my lounge, alone, while my daughters dad lay in my bed texting another girl. I had no support from him. And the fact he was there, I think it made it worse. I think my labour was emotionally traumatic because he was THERE but did NOTHING. Everything we'd learnt in antenatal class was a waste of time.
Every time my wheatbag ran out of heat, I would have to get up and reheat it. An awful contraction every time I got up. Bending to get iceblocks out of the freezer damn near killed me. I was lonely, but not alone. It was bizarre.
Don't get me wrong, the labour could've been SO much worse. I could've ended up with the caesarean section I signed the papers for at 1pm. I could've lost her. I could've died.
But I didn't, those things didn't happen. I thought I'd made it through the worst of it.
I spent 48 hours in hospital, Addi never cried so no one really checked on us. No one really showed me how to breastfeed- I just looked like I had it sussed so they left me. I didn't. No one showed me how to bathe her.
We left, in her dads car, at 5pm on the 10th September 2010. I was terrified of going home. He dropped us home, stayed for an hour or so, took some selfies with her and then left. He had 2 weeks off work but went 'home' every night.
I needed him. I will NEVER forget that pain. Never. I'm shaking now even remembering it. It was Spring, somewhere. Not at my house. It felt like hell. Everything was a dark navy shade of blue even during the day. My carpet was a mess, clothes all over the place. No one to help me clean.
Inevitably my dad 'came round' like everyone said he would. I didn't really care by the 5th month. It was me and her against the world.
So when my dad physically came round to our house, he would clean. Which made me feel even more useless. I hate making excuses but I didn't want to vacuum incase I woke her. I was so scared of her being awake. I was scared to sleep, myself, incase I never woke up- I was that tired. Breastfeeding was terrifying, my breasts were bigger than her head and I smothered her if I didn't hold myself off her nose. So when well-meaning people would say "just lie down and feed her in bed", they didn't understand that it would possibly kill her.
I had carpal tunnel when I was pregnant, which left my body a day or so after I had her, but a sore wrist remained on my right arm. I couldn't pick my own baby up properly without crying, it was like the bones were stuck. I had to pick her up by her clothes as I couldn't bend down, my back was so sore. She was posterior and the birth was pretty intense so I think I did major damage to my tailbone (well according to my chiropractor I rebroke my tailbone).
So the days brought sunlight with them and the false sense of happiness. I cried at the tv, I pulled on her dads arms when he left. I cried and begged and pleaded, but he would always say "I'll be back in the morning". Do you know how dangerous it is to leave a new mum alone with baby blues? I'll tell you now- DON'T DO IT. Because those 'baby blues' aren't baby blue. They're black, and navy, and crystal white. They're cold and scary and lonely.
She rarely cried, so I thought I was doing okay.
I'll be honest here and say the next few months dragged on like how I've explained. I do NOT know how I got through them.
Also, 4 days before she was born, Christchurch had the first 'big' quake. So I was scared of falling furniture, scared of the house breaking, the ground opening up and taking us. It wasn't normal. The aftershocks continued.
All I'd learnt from the 9 months of preparing, well, most of it went out the window. Having a 'real live baby' was so different to everything I imagined- so different. I can't even explain but if you're a parent you'll know what I mean.
I couldn't quiet the voices in my head- people telling me I couldn't do it. "Your house is a mess" "I'll do the dishes" "You're so lazy" "Don't give up breastfeeding" "Use cloth nappies"
FUCK OFF.
I was TOO WEAK to clean, looking back now, my house was a MESS but it wasn't dangerous. She wasn't even sitting up. She wasn't eating. She was just tiny, just BEING.
My whole life I've been pushed, pressured, prodded. Never just supported. Support and pressure are two complete different things.
So the months rolled on, somehow, and then the next phase happened. She was eating, and I would puree cooked food for her. I did my best and she did hers too. We worked together. We would venture out, visit people, go for walks. I felt a bit better because she was growing and I realised I had no one else to thank for that but me. It was all my doing. I grew her for 10 months and continued to, outside the womb. I felt amazing but then nighttime would hit and I would turn into a child, terrified of the dark.
The next 'part' I want to write about, before I forget, is when I said to her dad I wanted to put her on the sidewalk.
I had vertigo so bad (I get it sometimes) I would walk into walls. I couldn't breathe properly. I had my first ear infection at 21. She had one too.
We were alone and it was horrible. I was BEGGING her dad for support, BEGGING, reaching out with every fibre in my body. I would give him everything, to keep him. I cooked three meals a night- mine, Addis and his. Granted, sometimes I fed her out of a can, but come on- I can't even criticise myself for that because otherwise she wouldn't have eaten.
To outsiders, I looked fine and didn't look like I needed help. Even I didn't think I needed help. I wouldn't know what 'help' to seek.
My depression followed me like a kite dragging on the floor. It crept up into my body, my life, my head, with its navy blue eyes and black hair, cold skin.
I didn't realise how bad I felt, until I had a good day. And I thought it was normal to not feel great all the time. I didn't know.
It was December 2012 when an old friend turned my life upside down. Things had fallen apart so badly with Addi's dad and I felt like there was nothing left but anxiety. I said goodbye to my baby. I said goodbye to her. I packed her favourite things and said goodbye.
Do you know how much that hurt? I don't know if you will- whoever you are- but imagine it. Just imagine it. This child, who has done nothing wrong, been nothing but herself and been so beautiful inside and out- saying GOODBYE to that?!
I looked longingly into her dads eyes as he stared into my soul, slitted eyes and a cold mouth. I said "take care of her" and I'm sure he thought nothing of it - that I was 'over exaggerating' again.
I went to my counselling appointment and told her what was going on. I was an absolute mess. I was crying, shaking, tear-stained. I was bawling actually. Telling her that someone had told me to 'disappear' and I said I would.
My counsellor told me to get some wine and go home. I thought she might have admitted me to hospital but I think she knew me better than that. She knew I'd been through worse and got through it. So this was just another bump.
A few days later I was on anti-depressants. They made me so tired I couldn't drive. I thought if I got pulled over, I'd be done. I felt drunk. My mouth was dry for 2 weeks and I sweated like a serial killer. But I knew it would be okay.
It's been nearly a year on these magical little pills and I can honestly say they gave me the 'hand up' I needed. I can't say they saved my life because they didn't. I did.
My anxiety (I have an anxiety disorder too- just thought I'd pop that in now, right at the end...) has lessened. Instead of needing to please people, needing to be the best- I've decided that I only need to please my beautiful daughter and 'good enough' IS GOOD ENOUGH.
I applied for jobs. I moved house. I decluttered. I changed. I decided to become a Pregnancy Counsellor (voluntarily) and use my story to fuel my desire to help other young, single, or solo mums with their journey.
I am in the best place I've ever been. I ENJOY my daughter, I can actually BE alone now. I can enjoy my own company, as much as hers. I've finally found who I am. I can sleep. I can eat, and cook, and clean. I AM CAPABLE. I DON'T NEED ANYONE ELSE. I DON'T NEED HIM.
I am relying on myself. It is the best feeling, knowing I'm actually fully capable of being this wicked person (bit biased).
My daughter is hilarious. She is clever, she is strong, she is beautiful inside and out. And it's because of ME.
That, in itself, is enough. It's good enough. I'm good enough.
For the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I have goals! I have determination, I have dreams. I have no fear. I'm not scared. I wear navy blue on my nails and don't even link it to the navy monster that violated my life. I am 100% woman. I am unapologetically myself.
If you only take one thing from this, then please remember, they are feelings not facts.
PND isn't always suicidal, it isn't always a huge big deal, it isn't always written about. It's sometimes just a Navy Asshole that makes you believe you're not a good enough mother.
You are. I am.
