Life With Post-Natal Depression

When I gave birth I had my fingers crossed that everything was going to be okay. I'd had a rough pregnancy, and I just wanted to be back to normal, if that was at all possible.

I'd been told that the Baby Blues was normal, and I knew what signs to look out for in regards to PND, but it wasn't until a few months in that I realised that I had it. All the symptoms I'd just chalked up to being tired.

You see, during the pregnancy, I'd already felt like I couldn't do it, that I couldn't cope. I'd spent days crying because I felt lonely, I was tired all the time and I was pretty apathetic towards everything I usually enjoyed. Looking back, I probably suffered from Ante-Natal Depression too.

It wasn't until my baby was about 4-months-old and I was stood in the kitchen thinking about how easy it would be for me to take a load of paracetamols (mixed with other tablets we've got in the house) that it suddenly clicked for me that I might be suffering.

And it's hard. Let me tell you just how hard it is to admit to it. I couldn't tell my husband. I put off telling my Health Visitor for days. It was an internal struggle because how could this be happening to me? But picking up the phone and contacting my Health Visitor and uttering the words, "I think I have Post-Natal Depression" was the best decision I made.

She jumped into action. She talked me through the assessments and I answered truthfully. I told her how I felt like I wasn't looking after my baby well enough, despite the obvious signs he was being cared for. I told her how I hadn't tried to self-harm or commit suicide, but I had thought about it, knowing how easy it would be to do. Never any harm, always tablets. I told her how I wanted to walk away and just leave my baby there, and then sobbing because no decent mother thinks like that. I couldn't leave him.

"That's a good sign. It shows you love him," she reassured me. "And well done for acknowledging how you feel. I know it's hard. But that's the first step to getting better."

And I did feel better. Saying out loud how I felt to someone who knew and understood what I was feeling, and was able to step in and help felt so good. So good, that I admitted to my husband and parents about it.

The course of action I took was to take anti-depressants. I was given a month's worth and told to see how I felt, that we could alter it depending on how things went. After a week or so I started to feel much better. I was happier and I felt like I could get things done. I no longer felt like I was useless. I wasn't getting frustrated with my baby. I knew that my trigger was a lack of sleep, so I worked on sleeping as much as I could.

It's been a while since, and I'm noticing that I'm not feeling as good as I had been, but then I've not slept well. I've got things on my mind. But I'm not feeling overwhelmed, as though it's all too much for me and I made a bad mistake. I still worry that I'll go back to how I was, that the bad thoughts will creep back in and I won't notice again until it's too late. But I know this time that I can accept help, and that just because I feel this way, it doesn't mean that I'm a terrible parent. Sometimes our bodies react too much and tip us over the edge. And that's not my fault.