PND and me

Today I’m going to tell you a story. My story, of Post Natal Depression and how after nearly ten months its finally sinking in that things are not OK.  How an argument, with my child over clothing and an art class, plus reading an article, has finally become the trigger to seek some help.

It’s strange because I’m so hot on this when it comes to other people and the warning signs –  that I completely forgot about myself.

I don’t share emotional things easily you see. (does anyone) So each stroke of the keyboard is like having my nails pulled. But if reading about my 10 months of hell, pushes you to get help. Then it will be worth it.

Anybody reading this, who knows me, is probably going to be surprised that I’ve kept this all hidden, for all this time. I’m not honest with myself. How could I be honest with others On the surface, I’m as usual as I ever was. Settling in well with a new baby (who is just awesome by the way) and juggling a family, a home, and business. I’m not sleep deprived (the baby sleeps at night), I have the support of my husband (he’s brilliant) If asked, I’m okay, great. Getting on so well, with the kids and the baby.

Just loving motherhood and it’s all perfect and peachy  But it’s not.

Since my bundle of joy’s arrival, two things have happened.

I cry uncontrollably, I hide it and feel guilty about it.

For months now when nobody’s looking I am sobbing, not those gentle few tears when a kid hugs its grandad on an advert and you well up. It’s gut-wrenching tears of pain, and I don’t know why. When the baby was smaller, there would be days and days where I would lose time sitting on the sofa holding my baby and crying. I would avoid calls from my husband and family, (still do) then wait to call them back, so I could calm down, bottle it all back up and stick on a sunshine smile. I’m now crying at least 3-4 times a week. To say that my focus is off is an understatement. I sometimes can’t think of the words I want to use, I can never remember a damn thing, can’t make a decision and feel like I’m in a perpetual fog.

I’m Angry and actually, think I’m suffering from anxiety.

I’m snarly with the kids over the smallest things, and just the sight of a sock or a little request for a drink of water will push me over the edge. Rage builds up and explodes. I’m anxious and fearful that I’m not providing what they need, and guilty that I’ve been so nasty about it. When I go out, I check I’ve locked the door 3-4 times. I’ve even got halfway down the road and turned back because I’ve honestly forgotten if I have closed the door or not. I always have, but self-doubt and insecurity creep in. I’ve never suffered a panic attack, but I’ve found myself overly worrying about my baby being in danger and imagining him coming to harm, my mind wanders into terrible daydreams or am disturbed with nightmares, and this has sometimes stopped us going out.

So I think its time I now seek some help. I’m tired of pretending and putting on a brave face. If you recognise any of my behaviour in yours or in those that you love – then do as I’m doing – book an appointment with the GP and please go talk and get help. 

Diary of is a regular blog, by a regular Greenwich mum. Sharing experiences as a local parent (and member of this website) she’ll be writing about everything and anything. And being completely anonymous – you never know – you could have stood next to her in the Post Office or behind her in Cafe W…

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