Postpartum Depression: the Elephant in the Room

You come to visit. I smile, you laugh. You coo at the baby. You ask how much I am loving motherhood. I respond with a tiny smile and tired eyes, "We're good. It's hard."

I notice your slightly furrowed brow or strange look at my curt answer. I immediately change my expression to a wider, forced smile and respond that we couldn't be luckier to have such an easy, healthy baby. You relax a bit and go back to playing with the baby.

But inside, I am struggling. You can't see it because I hide it. I can't hide it from my husband, even though I try to most of the time. I break down and cry a couple times a week. It can be from simple things, such as not feeling up to cooking dinner. Or bigger issues, such as not fitting in any of my clothes and feeling depressed that I can't wear anything.

The truth is that I am wading through mild postpartum depression. At least, that's what I think it is. I don't know for sure because I haven't been to a doctor or consulted a therapist, but it feels lonely. And sad. I don't feel like that all the time, but a few times a day I wonder about how I am feeling and if it is normal.

At first, I blamed it on my hormones calming down after birth. But now, 11 weeks later, I don't think I can blame it on those hormones anymore.

No one talks about it because it's uncomfortable. Who wants to talk to someone dealing with depression? What's worse is that many people dismiss your feelings as something you will get over. You just need time, they say. Sure, in time, I know I will go back to my normal self, but for those women who are fighting a bigger demon than me, it could never feel the same unless they get some help.

And maybe I will need help. I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, I know that I have people in my life who will support that decision.

That all-consuming love for your child doesn't always happen right away. It didn't for me. I was confused and overwhelmed by the fact that I had just become a mother. I know I had nine months to prepare, but it wasn't enough time. And there are still times when I am slightly sleep deprived and Miles won't let me put him down, I don't always feel it. And that is deeply embarrassing to admit.

Then there are times when he looks up at me in the morning, and he smiles. He is starving and has a massive poopy diaper, but he sees me and he smiles. That warms my heart. I love my child and I love my husband. I love my family. But some days are hard. Two steps forward, one step back.

And that is what I wish you could see in our smiling photos. I want to be happy all the time. I want to feel this amazingly powerful love all the time. But sometimes I can't. A lot of times I just want to wallow and cry in a corner because this is harder than I ever imagined. Sometimes I want to cry in happiness at how wonderful Miles is--it's awesome to see his budding personality.

To any one of my friends who is also silently holding back, I have found that laughing is really a wonderful medicine. When Miles cries, I try to find something I can laugh at (laughing at your crying child is totally okay, in my opinion). The way his bottom lip juts out just before he starts to cry is just the cutest, and I smile or laugh at how ridiculous he is for crying because he can't get his own hand in his mouth.

Finding joy in the little things is helping. And day by day, I think my head emerges from underneath the dense fog.

I didn't think it would happen to me. But it did. So there's my big ol' elephant in the room.