More than a Glimpse, Part 1

Note: This is more than a small glimpse into my life, but I wanted to share this in the event that it might give someone else courage to seek help.

Eight weeks ago I summoned the courage to make a doctor's appointment. It was a difficult day. I felt like I was back in school with that sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach, that feeling when you know you are about to take and fail a test. I went anyway, because I knew I needed to go. It was worth the risk of being called crazy. It was worth the risk of having people look down on me. I needed to save myself and my family.

You see, I have known something wasn't right with me for well over a year, maybe longer. My brother died unexpectedly, my husband started a job that took him away for half of the first year, we moved to a new house in January for a fresh start, I quit my job and was staying home to raise my two young children. I had always wanted to be a stay at home mom. Now I was, but I was miserable and nothing I could do would change that. It was starting to affect me. I had crazy, irrational thoughts that I couldn't not think about, even though some rational part of my brain was telling me they were irrational. I believed I was being a horrible wife and mother. The guilt was overwhelming. I have always been told I was a patient person, but I didn't have an ounce of patience left for anyone. I am ashamed to say, but I yelled at my kids about anything and everything. Anytime they did the smallest thing I flew off the handle and yelled at them. My thoughts of guilt were overwhelming- "What must the neighbors think?", "Would my kids grow up remembering me as the mom that yelled?", "What does my husband think?", "Why can't I stop?". It got to the point where Kellyn would flinch anytime I spoke to her. As a mom, that is sobering. I was taking care of the kid's basic needs, I was taking care of the house, but I wasn't available.

Ryan has to travel often for his job. I couldn't handle the times when he was gone. It seemed like a cycle; every time he left I would break down right before he came home. We would talk about it, argue about it and tell each other we were tired of it.  I felt like everyone was patting me on the head and telling me it would get better with time; I would get used to the changes in our life. I knew things weren't getting better and I was getting tired of getting patted on the head. (It was the thought that they were patting me on the head, I don't think anyone actually did that.)

People normally tell me that I am a logical person with lots of common sense. I tell you that, because my thinking had become so skewed. If I had a particularly hard day (lots of yelling and guilt) I would grab a beer or two to take the edge off. I am not a big drinker.  Normally I might have one if we grill out for dinner, but that’s the extent of my alcohol consumption.  I actually had thoughts that maybe I should become an alcoholic, which would solve my problems.  I had thoughts that maybe things would be better for everyone if I was dead.  That small, still rational part of my brain knew that neither choice was an option.  I knew that I should pray and read my bible more, but I couldn’t concentrate long enough to do either and didn’t know where to start if I could concentrate long enough.

I was ashamed of myself as a mother, a wife and a person.  Somewhere along the way I realized that this was something much deeper than grief over my brother unexpectedly dying.  I wasn’t handling anything in life.  After one of our monthly arguments over my not handling life, something clicked.  Maybe it was realizing that Kellyn was flinching when I spoke to her, maybe it was realizing that I was thinking about death entirely too much, or maybe it was just time.  I’m not sure what changed but I realized that I needed help and that it was up to me to get it. I had been waiting for someone to swoop in and take care of everything for me, but no one was.  I needed to take the initiative and seek the help I needed.

It was hard.  I did lots of research and decided maybe I was depressed.  I had a misconception that my parents and brother disapproved of depression and the treatment of it (they don’t).  Regardless of what I believed about their opinions I knew I needed help.  I set out with a plan to find someone with a godly background to talk to and to ask the doctor about taking anti-depressants.  I knew anti-depressants would be a band-aid on everything and I needed to actually work through my problems.  I was overwhelmed with trying to find someone to talk to.  Thankfully, through a friend, God provided a godly woman to talk to.  I met with her first before I made the doctor’s appointment.  She gave me the courage to call the doctor and make the appointment.

That doctor’s appointment was difficult.  It was hard sharing things with the nurse and then again with the doctor.  I felt like I was forever marking myself with the word “depression”.  The doctor did not condemn me or sentence me to a life of depression.  She told me that she thought, with the timing of everything, that I have postpartum depression and prescribed an anti-depressant for me.  That concept was hard to wrap my mind around, Kellyn is almost two.  I always thought postpartum depression happened right after you had the baby.

I was told to take the pill that night and that I wouldn’t notice any results until about two weeks after starting the medication.  The next morning I woke up and the world was a different place.  I had an infinite amount of patience.  I didn’t raise my voice once with the kids.  That first week I didn’t do any house work beyond cooking dinner.  The kids and I played.  We laughed, giggled, wrestled on the floor, chased each other around and enjoyed our days together.  Ryan noticed the difference, too.  He said I seemed happier, a bit more like myself.  I was able to think clearly, to read my bible, to pray again.  The bizarre thoughts that had filled my head were gone. For the first time in too long of a time to remember, I felt like me.

To be continued…

Psalm 3:3- “But you are a shield around me, O Lord: you bestow glory on me and lift up my head.”