Sitting on a park bench alone, my toddler stubbornly ate stale bread instead of feeding the hungry residents of the pond, my baby grizzled against my chest in his carrier and I cried. Tears escaping from underneath my over-sized sunglasses, half of me hoped they’d hide the shame of not being able to cope with even the simplest trip out. The other half hoped someone would notice. Someone would ask me if I was ok. And someone would help.
I was in way over my head, feeling lower than I ever thought possible. It wasn’t meant to be like this. It should have been a time - even with pandemic raging – I felt loved-up in a baby bubble. Instead there was a constant rising panic in my chest and heart. A complicated tangle of sadness, anxiety, disappointment, anger and resentment. There was an overwhelming love for my little boys too, but rather than reassuring me, these powerful feelings added to racing thoughts and confusion. Lost and so very lonely, I knew deep down I’d developed post-natal depression (PND). Every bit of me didn’t want to have it. And it seemed like no-one else wanted me to have it either, as getting diagnosed was almost as hard as admitting to myself I wasn’t very well.
Why? With most maternity appointments done on the phone, your time in hospital actually having the baby kept as swift as possible and the usual support networks – weigh-in clinics, baby groups, coffees at friends' houses – all off, your chance to be honest about feelings are pretty limited. Few want to admit to not loving their baby, a desperate sadness or thoughts of walking out over Zoom, right? And because of all this I almost fell through the gap, into a very scary place. And I’m not the only one at risk.
According to a recent government report* around 20% of women will experience perinatal mental health issues, including PND. But these stats are only an indication; many vulnerable mums are too scared to admit how they feel; not least because of the lack of support and overstretched midwife/health visitor teams, but for fear of judgement.
The doctor raised her concerns about me showing symptoms of PND, but just as we were discussing it she was buzzed to an emergency section. Nothing more was said.
This is a common PND symptom. Others include a disconnect with the new baby, thoughts of harming them, birth flashbacks, feeling numb and a certainty your family would be better off without you. All of which come with a huge side of stigma, which makes it hard to ask for help. PND can be mild and move on quickly, it can be sudden and devastating, or it can come in waves and linger. It’s a complicated condition and one you definitely need help with. However, the same report also found that 85% of localities did not have specialist perinatal mental health services to the level recommended in NICE guidelines, giving plans and funding to sort this gap out in all areas by 2020. Then covid happened, and you can guess the rest.
For me, asking for help was hard. Just 23 hours after having my elective section, and holding baby Dex alone, crying my way through the comedown of birth, I was discharged. We both ticked all the physically-well boxes and they wanted two-less Covid risks out ASAP. But I was already falling. A sense of sadness, instead of the contentment I’d had with my first little boy, Billy, two, taking over. I didn’t feel like I could say it out loud though, then I was out by the carpark exit, grateful my boyfriend was there, Dex’s car seat in hand, and full of hope it would just go away.
It didn’t. Back home, I had to share my heart, head and space with two tiny people who desperately needed me 24/7, a tag team of demands, so I fell further. My boyfriend was (and is) amazing but we needed extra support. Using bubbles as much as we could we leant on family, yet I couldn’t tell them what was going on (they still don’t know about my PND). The midwife appointments that follow birth were held at different children’s centres all over the city, instead of the safety of our Sheffield house, and were focused on Dex. Of course I wanted to know he was ok over everything, especially as my PND made me sure I was getting everything wrong, but I kept getting missed. There’s a perfunctory set questions about your mood, however, they don’t encourage the honesty needed.
Two weeks after birth, I was back in hospital for an infection check, and the doctor raised her concerns about me showing symptoms of PND, but just as we were discussing it she was buzzed to an emergency section. Nothing more was said. Or followed up. I spoke to the health visitor on the eight-week home check. She asked a set of standard questions, making notes, suggesting I raised my concerns with my GP when they do the pre-jab baby health check. Only she didn’t have time to talk about me, ushering us down the hall to the nurse as soon as Dex was back in his sleep suit, saying I’d need a separate telephone appointment. It would have been so easy to give up, as a mum you can feel that you don’t matter anymore, and not call.
I did call. And, after a long chat, was diagnosed with PND. It took two months and there were so many times I could have fallen down a gap. That scares me.
Now, I have the right help; medication and counselling via Light Peer Support, who supported me when I found out I was pregnant in Lockdown 1.0 as well. On the bad days, the ones where I’m so lost and so sad, I blame myself for not being able to cope. For not being good enough. And for letting my little boys down. But on the good days I can be kinder…the never-ending uncertainty of a global pandemic; sleepless nights; diva demands of a toddler (side note: WTF); and a history of anxiety…it’s no wonder I’ve got PND. On these less dark days I can accept the experts don’t fully understand what causes PND. Hormone surges, sleep deprivation, birth recovery and the emotional challenges of parenting all play a part. But whatever causes it, it’s a very tough gig. Any mum (or dad) who is feeling even a little bit wobbly and unsure needs to ask for help. And keep asking for it. It’s not ok, but you can make it ok.
Get PND support now…
READ MORE:'Lockdown Mums Are Not OK And We Need To Do Something About It'