Post-natal Depression, Guilt, and Parenthood.

Another day, another epic battle with a three-year-old (nearly 4!). How hard is it to put socks on?? Agghhh. 

Being a mum is hard. I never knew quite how hard it would be. I had no clue. When I was expecting Little Miss B, my first child, I knew there would be sleep deprivation and lots of it. As soon as she was born, I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t talk to her, I just held her, numb and unfeeling. The whole process was traumatic for me. Something in me had snapped. I just stared at her. She was beautiful. But there wasn’t the connection I thought there would be. This long-awaited baby was finally in my arms and I didn’t feel much.

When we were home again, I had a lot of help from my family. They bathed her, burped her, changed her nappies, held her in the night so I could sleep between feeds. But sleep wouldn’t come. I had just gone through labour and birth and I was tired, so so tired. I tried to close my eyes and get some rest, but every little noise had me on hyper alert. I went from one feed to the next, without having slept at all. I nervously got up several times to go to the toilet in that time. Every time I got back in bed I felt like I had to go again. It drove me to insanity. I couldn’t hold it together. I was a nervous wreck and I just fell apart. It made me hysterical and I didn’t know how to make it all stop. My stomach growled but I couldn’t eat. Not even the first meal after all the work of giving birth. And every meal after. Zero interest.  Every time I heard her start to cry in the night I felt this heavy feeling of dread in my stomach, like a big rock was dropped in it. When a family member bathed her before another feed, I’d just sit on the couch and watch tv, numb and uninterested. As soon as the feed was done, I headed straight to bed, desperate for a nap. Maybe this time I’d fall asleep, I’d think. Most of the time – no. How did I function, then? I didn’t. My husband barely got a “hello” from me. I pretty much ignored him. Not on purpose, but all I could think about was just surviving.

I struggled so much with the breastfeeding, right from the start. It hurt so much and she wouldn’t latch on properly. I cried a lot. I eventually gave up, after only a month, and switched to bottles. I felt like such a failure. And the silent judgement from the health professionals didn’t help. I couldn’t get anything right.

I still struggle with the guilt of not bonding with her in those earlier days. She didn’t have the mother she should have had. I tried, I did. But, it wasn’t enough. Not even close. She deserved better and neither of us will ever get that time back. “Enjoy her while she’s so tiny, it goes so fast” people would tell me. But how? How? Nothing about it was fun. I so wish I could have a second chance at it. Make it up to her. No, she won’t remember, but I do. I know. And it kills me. Even though I had PND with my second daughter too, we did bond really well. I just struggled. A lot. While I was so happy that I was at least bonding with her, it added to the guilt of what my first baby didn’t get from me.

I also feel a lot of guilt over how my husband experienced that time. It was supposed to be a time of joy, becoming a father. Instead, he got a zombie wife who barely gave him the time of day. Things were a mess. It was so much more stressful than it was supposed to be. We were supposed to enjoy our little baby together. We were supposed to be a cute little family. It didn’t happen. He says it wasn’t my fault. He’s told me many times that he doesn’t blame me for how it turned out. I still feel guilty about it though, somehow. I robbed him of that special time, and that hurts.

Guilt almost seems like part of the job description when you’re a parent. At night before I go to bed, I always go check on the girls, tuck them in, and pray for them. I always find myself asking God to help me be more patient with them, for forgiveness for not being ‘present’ even though I’m at home with them all the time. Sometimes I just check out, you know? It’s a delicate balance, trying to make the effort of spending quality time with them, and at the same time trying to give myself a mental break. They’re little. It’s full-on. Often, it just feels like I’m not giving them enough of myself, even though it feels like there’s nothing left after they’re done with me! It’s confusing. The guilt builds. I know I’m only human and I can’t get it right all the time, or even a lot of the time. Sigh. My girls give me so much joy, but it feels like that for every joyful moment, there are 10 telling-offs, broken up with a few time-outs in between. Some days I just feel like a really grumpy mum. Apparently three-year-olds need a lot of help to behave nicely…

I have to remind myself to be kind – to myself. Life is tricky. Life is messy. And I’m trying. I am. That should be good enough, right? Then why doesn’t it feel like it?

I feel a whole heap better after spending time with God – in prayer or listening to a worship song, whatever I feel like I need at the time. His gentleness and love washes over me and calms me. It’s like hearing the rain on the roof while I’m safe and warm in bed. He washes the guilt from me and reminds me that He’s already taken care of that on the cross. It’s forgotten. All that’s left to do is to trust that He will help me do what I can’t do on my own. What’s left is for me to ask Him for help. In Him I find grace, not condemnation. He gives me mercy, not punishment. He restores my soul and gives me rest. I put my hope in His promises. He is good to me.

If you’re a parent, listen for God amidst the everyday chaos. He’s right here in the thick of it, with us. He is able and willing to get us through to the end of the day. Just talk to Him xx