Jamie

"One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through, and it will be someone else's survival guide.”

-Brené Brown

Robbie was my first baby. I had an easy pregnancy with him. I also had a really easy delivery; he came out really fast. But the issues started when they put him on my chest. You know how they say you’re supposed to have a euphoric moment? I was waiting for that. I thought, “Why am I not feeling this bonding or this connection?” I kept waiting to feel it, and I just wasn’t. I remember FaceTiming my best friend, and she said, “Don’t you feel that bond? Isn’t it a beautiful feeling?” And I told her, “Yeah! It’s unbelievable!” But really, I just didn’t feel anything.

When I talked to my therapist about how guilty that makes me feel, she taught me that even though I didn’t feel that bond with Robbie at first, Robbie felt it. His needs were being met, and he felt bonded. I was still getting out of bed for him. I was still feeding him and changing him and doing all the things for him. Even though I didn’t feel bonded, he did. And then the first time he smiled, it was like, “Ok, now I’m getting something back. Now there’s a connection; now we’re bonding.”

But I wasn’t myself.

My parents kept saying “Oh, it’s baby blues, it’s normal, you’re supposed to feel this way.” So I just thought what I was experiencing was normal. I tried breastfeeding, and he wasn’t latching. Then I tried exclusively pumping, but I wasn’t producing enough. He was just constantly starving. I felt such anxiety when the sound of the alarm went off, knowing it was time to pump again. We had a night nurse helping us, and eventually she said, “You know, you don’t HAVE to do this…” And I was like, “I don’t?!” So we started supplementing with formula, and that helped.

But then I started spiraling. Everything had to be put in its place. I developed significant postpartum OCD. A lot of it had to do with numbers. If he wasn’t drinking even amounts of formula or breastmilk, I would be very anxious. I would have to wait until certain times to start feeding him. He would be hysterical, but I couldn’t do it. I had OCD tendencies before, but they had never interfered with my life until this.

I remember dreading night time. When the sun went down, it was just awful. He was born at the beginning of March, 2018, and it snowed every single day. I just felt trapped. It was this awful, isolated feeling. I remember people wanting to come over, and I didn’t want visitors. I didn’t feel good. It was really hard.

I think once the intrusive thoughts started happening, I realized, “Something’s really not right.” I started having these really scary thoughts of wanting to hurt my child. For instance, if he would get really cranky or upset, I would have the intrusive thought of wanting to throw him against the wall. I knew that having these thoughts wasn’t good. Then there were really scary ones, where I would think, “If he got SIDS, I could just get back to my life.” I know that sounds horrible. Now it feels so hard to think back to this.

My husband realized that there was something wrong. He called the pediatrician, and I got references for therapy. A lot of the places we called didn’t take insurance, or they weren’t taking new patients, or there was a waitlist. Finally, there was a place called “Mindful Souls” that had an opening, and I was able to get in. It was a relief. They told me, “You’re not alone.” I started seeing a doctor for medication. My therapist told me, “It’s good that you realize you shouldn’t be having these bad thoughts.” It was a good thing that I realized something was wrong with my thinking, otherwise it could have been psychosis. If I’m not ok, baby’s not ok. 

I went to a support group at Virtua after Robbie was born that was very helpful, and when he was about a year old, I found another support group. I just needed to know I wasn’t alone - that a lot of the women were having the same thoughts and feelings I was having. When you’re in it, it’s scary. It feels like you’re going through it alone. I am still friends with some of these women seven years later. We have been through every phase together - the baby phase, the toddler phase, elementary school, the decision to have a second child, and then the balance of it. We met when we were all in the thick of it, and we are still friends to this day.

I started feeling better with medication and therapy. And then COVID brought Robbie and I really close together. He was two at the time. It was just us. My husband was upstairs working, and Robbie wasn’t going to preschool yet. We would just take walks together, and that bond between us grew and grew. I kind of miss that time, when it was just the two of us. It really helped our bond get stronger. 

We wanted to have a second child, and my therapist eventually told me, “Ok, I think you’re ready to start trying now. There’s always a chance that it could happen again, but you know the coping skills, and you’re going to stay on your medication.”

I was really sick during my second pregnancy. We think I was originally supposed to be having twins, because I had two placentas. I had to go through extra testing and more appointments. And even the maternal-fetal medicine doctor told me, “Staying on the antidepressant is the best thing you can do for you and your baby.” I thought, “Oh my gosh, this doctor is telling me to do it? That makes me feel good.”

I thought I was going to be having a girl, so there was a little gender disappointment when I found out the baby was a boy. But it was an easy delivery, and emotionally, it was the complete opposite of my first birth. They put him on my chest, and I felt that instant bond. 

I wrote this down after my second birth experience: “When Max was born, and they put him on my chest, I immediately burst into tears because I felt the most incredible feeling - the feeling that some moms feel the first time that they meet their child. That magical moment - and it felt amazing. I still feel guilty that I didn’t have that instant bond with Robbie but did with Max.”

But when Max was four months old, depression hit again.

I think my depression started getting horrible because Max wasn’t sleeping. People always told me, “Oh, if your first is a horrible sleeper, your second one will be so easy.” I had that in my head. So when Max also was not a great sleeper, I was like, “What is happening? What did I do to have two bad sleepers?” I just… I felt like I just couldn’t do anything right. I felt like I was neglecting Robbie, because all my time was on Max. I started feeling like everyone would be better off without me. It wasn't that I wanted to hurt myself, I just wanted to leave. I felt like if I just left, maybe they could have a mom or a wife who wouldn’t lose her patience so quickly, who would be able to make dinner, who would be more presentable looking, and who would just be able to fix things better.

I wanted the time to go by faster, just so I could get through it all. I thought, “It will be easier when he can hold up his head. It will be easier once he’s crawling…” All of that. 

It was a very low point. This is what I wrote down in 2021: “Getting diagnosed with postpartum depression for a second time was very challenging. I felt like a huge failure. I felt that I had let down not only myself, but my husband and my children. I had worked so hard for three years to overcome the anxiety, OCD, and depression, and I was good. After the birth of my second, I felt good, really good. People kept telling me how confident I looked, and I did feel confident. So for it to come back four months later felt like a huge blow.”

I started going to therapy more, we increased my medication, and eventually I only started experiencing symptoms right before my period. There is some hormonal tie. And when Max was about a year and a half old, it started to even out.

My husband has been so amazing throughout the whole journey. It was me and him through it all. He noticed when things were wrong, and he would come to therapy with me as well. I was very open with him.

He was so supportive, and I just felt so guilty. Again in 2021, I wrote: “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you, for picking fights. I’m sorry for nagging. I’m sorry that I keep failing you. I wish I was the wife and mother that you hoped I would be. You deserve better. You deserve patient, kind, independent, pretty, confident.” I never showed that message to him. I think he would feel sad knowing I had felt this way. 

I also feel sad for this person who wrote it. I wish she knew that things were going to get better and it was going to get easier. It’s sad to look at, to read it. Because you don’t… you can’t see the bigger picture when you’re in it. You feel like this moment is going to last forever and you’re never going to get through it. You feel like they’ll never sleep again. That the teething will never stop. That you won’t find the balance. But then, you do.

I would have wanted a third. It’s hard. I see little babies, and I’m just like - oh. But it’s interesting, because once they start crying, it’s like I get PTSD. Do you know the Bob Marley song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy?” We had set that as the sound of the alarm that would go off every time I needed to pump, and for a while I could not hear that song without having a panic attack. It would just trigger something. And still for some reason whenever I hear the infant cry, I just get really tense. It’s just something that I still can’t get over. Part of me thinks, “Oh, they’re so cute!” But that cry…

You see baby bliss on social media, on Instagram accounts, and all these perfect pictures. I keep having to remind myself, “Maybe they cropped out the mounds of laundry in the background or the dirty dishes in the sink.” I tell myself that it’s probably not the whole picture. The perfect smiling of these kids. Maybe it was the fifth time they tried to take the picture, and before that they were hysterical and there were tantrums. I always have to try to remind myself that it’s not real. When you see these pictures on Instagram or Facebook, it can make you feel like, “What am I doing wrong?” 

So many moms make you think that it’s all supposed to be natural, that you’re just supposed to be able to do this. And the reality is, some women can’t.

Now everything has pretty much leveled out for me. The latest thing is that my kids want a dog, and I’m like, “Things just got easier! Let’s not throw a dog into the mix.” I know I would be the one taking care of it. Maybe when they're a little bit older, we’ll get a dog.

I still have my good days and bad days. I’m on my medication. I don’t work right now, because Max is still in preschool. He gets out at 1 pm. When Max is in kindergarten next year, I’m hoping to find something. I wouldn’t want something every day, just something part-time. I worked at the kids’ camp over the summer, because they both went, and it just felt so good. It felt good to talk to other adults and to not talk about kid stuff. It just felt really nice to work. I definitely miss it.

I still feel a little different than I did before I had kids. This is going to sound shallow, and I apologize. But I judge myself very harshly about the way I look. When I see pictures of how I looked before I got pregnant and how I look now, I have to remember that I’m not in my 20s anymore. I’m 38, things change, your metabolism changes… I’ve been through a lot. I’m not going to be that size again that I once was. But then I think about my boys - they don’t care how I look. They just want someone to play with them, to love them, and to provide a good home for them. They don’t care what size I am. But it’s definitely hard. 

I am proud of myself for what I have overcome. I didn’t succumb to the depression. As my therapist told me, I had the courage to show up, even when I couldn’t control the outcome. I would do anything for my kids. I just wanted to be the best for them, and I wanted to be ok for them, so I did whatever I could to be ok for them. I went to therapy, I went on medication, I went to support groups, I just wanted to be ok. I just wanted to be a good mom. And sometimes I still have those moments, like if I lose my patience and I yell, that I’ll think, “Ugh, I can’t believe I did that.” There are days when I do beat myself up and feel guilty, and it’s hard not to. But I try to remind myself that we are human, and we are going to make mistakes.

I wanted to share my story, and I hope that it can make someone else going through this feel less alone.