Postpartum Depression

I just finished reading an old blog posting by Penelope Trunk about postpartum depression.  She described the depression she experienced after her second child, and how she still had to maintain a normal life and work through it as she was the sole income provider for her family.

As she told her story I was struck by the fact that so few people really understand depression of any kind, but especially postpartum.  And even more troubling is that so few people recognize it, even in their closest friends and family.

I suffered from postpartum depression, however I didn't realize what was wrong until it was over.  I did a pretty good job (I think) of getting through my day, doing my job, and making sure the necessary things were done.  I don't know anyone who can get away with giving in to depression, wallowing, and staying in bed.  I have heard that some do, and this is how they recognize they are depressed.  However, I don't know anyone who can afford that luxury.

So how do you know you have a problem?  There are plenty of stories told of women no one would have guessed were having problems until they did something violent.

For me, I knew I was depressed.  Or, I thought I did.  I knew I wasn't functioning at my normal efficiency or ambition levels.  I knew I wasn't giving 100% to my job, or my family.  But I was getting by.  I knew I wasn't myself, but I didn't know what to do about it.  I mean, life and circumstances change.  This could just be the new me.  I don't think anyone would have been any the wiser if I hadn't started talking about wanting to die, at which point my sister-in-law kindly convinced a therapist to see me.

The therapy didn't last (she was terrible), so I tried anti-depressants, which helped by dulling all of my emotions.  When I got tired of being a semi-zombie, I quit taking them.

I can't say how long it lasted really, until one day I realized I had my ambition back and was again ready to try expanding my horizons.

I don't know the answer to this problem.  But I do sympathize with every woman who is working through this alone, in silence, because what else can you do?  You are doing no less than what is expected.  Every day you are required to get out of bed, go to work, come home, feed your family, clean up, and fall into bed at night without complaint.  Who cares that your feet are dragging, you are full of anger, resentment, and sadness, and you just want to cry all the time?  I feel for that woman.