, Debunking The MythsMy Name is Erika, and I Have Postpartum Depression

My Name is Erika, and I Have Postpartum Depression

It’s not easy to write this.

But my name is Erika, and I have post-partum depression.

I expected some kind of hormonal complications after I gave birth, but I couldn’t put a pin on it in terms of what to expect. I just knew that something  made it difficult to get pregnant, surely that same thing would make it difficult to return to my pre-pregnancy normal.

And difficult, it was.

I became a recluse, a hermit. I began to resent everything that required me to leave my house. I floated between my old life and my new life with Baby Sprout, only to deeply miss the other when I was involved with one. I’d be nursing Sprout and crying that I couldn’t write; I’d be writing and resent not being able to be fully present with Sprout. I became incredibly ashamed of my inability to model a healthy handle of both for my daughter. I couldn’t pull myself from an emotional downward spiral. Everything piled upon itself. With each passing day, I could only sink further.

I have no idea how my husband survived this. None. I can’t imagine that I was particularly pleasant during this time. He would take me places, and tears would randomly stream down my face. He’d just rub my hand and play some trap music. Or give me the baby, the one thing that brought me unending joy before I started to realize that the time I spent holding him was time spent not working, and cry again.

I remember one day, he asked me to go for a walk through Brooklyn bridge park, a gorgeous promenade above a highway, overlooking the east river and into battery park. Off we went, baby Sprout in tow, my oldest spending the day with grandma. (We figured the less time she spent with me, the better.) When we arrived to the edge of the park, I envisioned myself jumping over the rail into the highway below. I audibly gasped and clutched my husband’s arm. I don’t think he knew, but I inadvertently said out loud, “Keep him away from me.” He rubbed my arm. “Okay.” I think he figured it out then.

Doctors have a system for trying to ferret out post-partum depression in newly-delivered parents, but too much of it is voluntary. At worst, it’s easily manipulated and woefully insufficient.  At best, it just leaves too many gaping holes. We don’t know it’s depression until it’s so overwhelming that we can’t explain it anymore. By then, we’re fighting the very worst of ourselves in a battle where the enemy already knows where you stockpile your weapons, and has already blown up your supply shed. It’s embarrassing, it’s shameful, and it’s isolating. Very few women want to admit this to anyone, let alone a doctor. I for damn sure didn’t.

In fact, I remember the day my kids’ doctor asked me the standard questions. “Everything ok on your end, mommy?” “Yes.” “Do you think you need to see a specialist?” I remember looking down at the floor, then looking out the window, then up at her face. “No. It’s hard, but I’m hanging in there.” That was the last of that.

Depression is constantly mis-characterized—in casual conversation, in literature, in media. We repeatedly misidentify “feeling depressed,” something the majority of us have experienced, as being the same as “being depressed,” another phenomenon entirely. I didn’t understand it until I started researching neurochemical—”neuro” meaning “brain” and “chemical” meaning “hormone”—behavior for my book.

The way we develop attachments to certain things over others has to do with our brain chemistry. Things that bring us immediate joy, pleasure and satisfaction become recurring habits because our brains release “feel good chemicals” in response, which teaches our brains a lesson: these actions bring us joy, so engage in them when you get the chance. Things that bring us sadness, discomfort, or pain teach our brains a lesson, too—avoid—and that’s a lesson you learn deep down in your nervous system. It physically prevents you from acting.

These are reactions your body learns, and these lessons are solidified on a hormonal level.

Depression is an interruption of the hormonal systems that control your desire to gravitate towards things that feel good; it interrupts your natural inclination to avoid things that you know are bad. (This link goes into more explicit detail.)

Think about what that means—it means that activities you know to bring you joy no longer appear to have an incentive. There’s no longer any immediate compulsion to commit to them. In fact, unless it’s something that brings you immediate and overwhelming relief or joy—like drugs or, you know, sugar—the likelihood that you will resort to your most reliable sources of stress relief or happiness is very low. I remember sitting in my living room, four feet away from my yoga mat, with nothing but time on my hands… and feeling nothing. Nothing to compel me to get up, unravel it, and practice. I felt no inclination to get up and go run. I felt no desire to do, well, anything. I didn’t want to watch TV, I didn’t want to read, and I didn’t want to be around my children—not just because I kept envisioning bad things happening to them, but because being around them only led me to fixate on all the things that I thought were wrong or bad.

This is one of the most frustrating parts of depression—you have very little to help you avoid the negative thoughts. Whereas the normal every day person knows how to pull themselves out of a minor emotional slump—relief from a break-up might come in the form of a pint of ice cream, relief from grief might come in the form of good memories with your lost loved one—depression, on a hormonal level, has severed the tie that would compel you to seek relief. Instead, no, you continue on a downward spiral, or just stay stagnant in a somber place. You no longer feel the same connection to things that once brought you a respite from somberness.

You might even try to engage in those behaviors anyway, because you know you should, but it doesn’t feel the same way and doesn’t provide the same sort of gratification you’re used to feeling.

This is precisely why people balk at the notion that depression, for everyone, is merely something that can be “prayed away.” Not because that’s false, because it isn’t. Many people can emerge from a prayer session with a renewed sense of purpose and passion, and it can help them escape the depressive state. Alas, the severity of depression is different for everyone, and if your spiritual leadership isn’t capable of guiding you in the way your particular level of depression might demand, you may find yourself stuck. One’s faith may be able to help them create a pathway out of depression, but it’s okay to also admit you need a therapist who can help bridge the gap between the impact of depression and the willingness to actually do things that can bring relief.

This is also why telling people exercise can help combat depression can become so frustrating. Lots of people run to clear their heads, kick box to fight their daily stresses and envision their boss’ face on that punching bag, or practice yoga and meditation because it helps them realign their behavior with their purpose. But, if you’ve lost the desire to do anything, you can’t be counted on to reliably continue the activity on a consistent basis, especially if you’d never grown to appreciate exercise as a positive before.

Exercise can and does release hormones that help replenish what might be lost, but that’s not helpful if your brain’s not managing the hormones properly.

Depression after pregnancy is complicated, but common—so much so, that the “baby blues” are something doctors preemptively tell parents to expect. Your body is getting used to no longer carrying another living being in it, and your brain has to take the time to learn to adjust the hormone levels in a way that properly accommodates your new size. For some of us, however, it lasts longer. For many, a fear of the side effects of anti-depressant medications on both parents and babies tend to keep many from taking advantage.

My depression changed the way I connected to the world around me. I didn’t hug my husband because it felt good. I hugged my husband because I knew he needed to be hugged. On the rare occasion that I opted to leave the house, I didn’t do so because I needed the fresh air and warm sun on my skin. I did it because my daughter wasn’t getting to school without it. My life no longer belonged to me. The only thing I had was a cycle of day-and-nightmares.

I didn’t realize that post-partum depression was what I was experiencing until I was in the middle of researching the book, and reached the point of learning about how people can develop their addiction as an escape from depression. Because the “feel good” sense that you get from addictive substances like heroin, prescription opiates, or—yep, you guessed it—sugar is so immediate, they become not only a consistent source of joy, but also your only source of joy.

What has helped me?

Though I’ve not reached a point where medication is on the table, talking to a professional has been an invaluable source. I’ve learned that the negative thoughts are not me, they are a symptom of the depression, and I tell myself that when the spiral starts. I literally say to myself, sometimes out loud, “This is not me. This is the depression at work. I know better than this.” It not only stops the spiral, but it disconnects me from owning that spiral. And disowning that spiral gets easier every time I do it.

I also tap into my “moments of lucidity.” I experienced moments where I took part in things I used to love, and would randomly have moments where I’d feel the way i used to feel. Because of the post-baby weight gain, I couldn’t run as fast as I used to, so instead I took a spin class in hopes that it’d help me lose the weight gain and maybe start to tap into my old post-exercise positivity. Doing that, combined with having an incredible and uplifting instructor, helped me experience moments where I tapped into my old positive feelings, to the point where I’d burst into tears in the end of class. Once class was over, I took it upon myself to write or scribble my thoughts down in one of the 30 notebooks I tucked away in all my purses, backpacks, diaper bags, pouches, sports bras, bathrooms, pillows, and elsewhere. When I finally sat down to compile all of my notes and organize them, I cried. I finally had not only an outline for the book, but I had outlines for three other books, including a special pet project about making baby food, something I’d enjoyed doing for Baby Sprout.

I take any opportunity I can to get out of the house and avoid the consequences of my idle hands and idle mind. If I can take the dog for a walk, I strap Sprout on and head out the door. If I can run to the store, I do exactly that—I run to the store. On feet. No headphones, no ambient noise in my ears. Just me, and outside, so that I can feel what it feels like to be apart of an ecosystem instead of in isolation.

I also do my best to stay aware of when my mood is slipping. A quick five-ten minute walk outside has been invaluable to me in sorting my brain out in peace. Because I’d been wearing Baby Sprout since he was born, if I slip him in his carrier, he goes silent and almost always falls asleep. Walking doesn’t always make me feel overwhelmed with joy, but physically leaving the space where I was spiraling helped mentally escape the spiral itself.

You know what else I do? I work really hard to find little things to appreciate. It might leave me walking around the busy streets of New York grinning like an idiot, but when I look up in the sky and see these giant skyscrapers, see hoards of people moving from point A to point B, see the trees and the pigeons—what? yes, girl, I said pigeons—and the children playing and the dogs trotting along and, when I sit on the train, seeing one train race the one next to it, I feel alive. And I’m thankful to be alive.

Why am I writing this? Honestly, I don’t know. Part of me believes that not enough black women discuss challenges of mental health, but I know that’s not true. My e-friend Bassey has been pumping up The Siwe Project and No Shame Day for years, almost as long as I’ve known her. More and more black women are stepping up and trying to create spaces where we can acknowledge our challenges without shame or admonishment, where our admissions can be met with empathy instead of judgment.

Maybe I’m acknowledging my battle with postpartum depression because I want to redress the idea of being “strong black women,” impervious to the multitude of aches and pains—be they physical or emotional—that come my way, still able to stand strong and tall and proud. We deny our struggles because we need to—so many of us have had our partners stolen from us by violence or by the state, so many have had our partners’ earning ability negatively impacted by their past, had our hearts broken by the same people who’d then turn around and beg for forgiveness, that our love often includes a need to be, as we know it, “strong.”

I think there’s more to that, though.

One of the things my research taught me, and ultimately helped to save my life, is that it is not so much “strength” we are priding ourselves on; calling us “strong” is a mischaracterization, and might even be a dangerous one. To call ourselves “strong” implies that anything that is perceived to impact that “strength” is a “weakness.” If the idea of being a “strong black woman” is to be followed to its logical conclusion, then my postpartum depression “weakens” me. Women who resist the idea of having to be “strong” run around calling themselves “weak black women.”

It is not that we are “strong,” nor is it that “weakness” should be praised instead. It is that we are resilient. It is “resilience” that we’ve watched our foremothers pass down generation after generation, the ability to bounce back when things get rough, the ability to weather the storm. Calling it “strength” implies a sort of “above it all”ness; calling it “resilience” actually acknowledges the struggles and allows you to admit that they cause you to, well, struggle… but you come out on top in the end. You come out alive, something that becomes incredibly difficult if shame keeps you isolated from the very people you need to connect with to survive.

Alive, man… that word means something very new to me, now. It’s a word I’ll never take for granted. A couple of weeks ago, in spin class, my instructor cut the lights out and asked us to think of one word to describe how we felt, and told us all to say the word we chose at the same time. She then told us to say “I feel” and then finish the sentence with the word we chose. My word was “alive.” “I feel alive.”

Minutes later, she cut the lights on and instructed us to repeat our word, but this time to use our word to finish the phrase, “I am.” Out of my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs flew the phrase, “I am alive.”

The realization actually brought me to tears. I am alive, and I am eternally thankful for it.

For more information on postpartum depression:

Don’t be afraid to get the help you need. You aren’t alone, and feeling this way doesn’t make you weak; if anything, getting help not only makes you more resilient, but makes you stronger than you ever were.

By | 2017-06-10T11:18:57+00:00 October 18th, 2016|#ScaleFreeBaby, Debunking The Myths|11 Comments

About the Author:

The proud leader of the #bgg2wlarmy, Erika Nicole Kendall writes food and fitness, body image and beauty, and more here at #bgg2wl. After losing over 150lbs, Kendall became a personal trainer certified in fitness nutrition, women's fitness, and weight loss by the National Academy of Sports Medicine. She is also certified in sports nutrition by Precision Nutrition. She now lives in New York with her husband and children, and is working on her 6th and 7th certifications because she likes having alphabet soup at the end of her name.

11 Comments

  1. marie October 18, 2016 at 4:28 PM - Reply

    I love you very much Erika ❤️
    I wish you to be filled with as much love as possible. Be well for you first and for your family.
    Thanks for sharing this
    ❤️❤️❤️❤️

  2. Vita October 18, 2016 at 6:45 PM - Reply

    Thank you, Erika for the courage to share and caring enough to help others, again and again.

    In one post you have helped me to help my daughter, after years of trying. Your words have covered it all – the the struggle, the pain and what it take for her to dig out of that dark hole that she she’s in. I’m sorry for your suffering, as well as hers. I know a little bit about suffering from depression. It’s a fight to get out.

    Resiliency – I love that word. Thank you for being there.

  3. Jeanne October 23, 2016 at 11:27 AM - Reply

    Only a brave woman can acknowledge her feelings. I’ve been depressed and you explained it perfectly. I hope this post spreads far and wide so people who are depressed get to feel the connection, and those who love them will understand what it feels like to be depressed.
    I hope you’ll check out “This is my Brave”. It’s a performance by people with mental illness. They express themselves through music, poetry or storytelling.
    Medication and exercise helped me and continue to do so. Thank you for sharing in such a thoughtful way.

  4. Larissa October 23, 2016 at 10:43 PM - Reply

    Thank you so much for sharing your story! I suffered from mild depression after having my first daughter, severe after my second – and I will surely come back to reread your story after I have the Jellybean that I’m currently growing. So much good advice and very encouraging!

  5. Monika October 24, 2016 at 3:24 AM - Reply

    Dear Erika,

    you are not alone<3.
    I love your thoughts about resilience and totally agree.
    And even if we don't come out on top after a heartbreaking experience, we made it through, made it to the other side, where "winning" and "losing". have changed or even lost the meaning they had before.
    "I am alive."
    This.sentence<3 <3 <3 <3.
    That.<3 <3

    Thank you, beautiful!

    Monika

  6. Regina October 24, 2016 at 5:46 AM - Reply

    Hugs Hugs and more Hugs! I read this post and I know all to well the feelings. Being 23 with my first and 27 with my second child I suffered in silence from 2001 until 2006…trying to ask for help and explain what I was going through only to have family/friends/doctors tell me “it’ll pass” I finally confided in my mother that I didn’t feel the kids were safe with me and it was mother that was my saving grace. I finally was able to work through my feelings.

    Thank you for your bravery and courage, You Rock Erika!!

  7. Daniella October 24, 2016 at 12:44 PM - Reply

    Erika, thanks for writing this. In many ways you are similar to a (slightly!) younger version of myself (I’m a confessed weight loss journey addict currently on my fourth round of weight loss).
    In truth I worried for you in pregnancy because I think that often when we do lose a large amount of weight people look to us for answers when the truth is we are each finding our way. It can also feel as if we have to be role models and it can be even more shaming when we cannot meet those self imposed standards. The one most worrying thing I have read on your site is the phrase “I’m judging you”. As a woman of color it can often feel as if the world is judging you. I’m not judging you Erika – I’m rooting for you and you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone – just be, breathe and that’s enough for the universe.
    x

  8. Nadine @drnayaka October 26, 2016 at 3:57 PM - Reply

    Hey sis, I am sending you light and love. I know from experience about Post partum depression. I have mentioned the fact that I am dealing with depression after losing my mom right now. I am beginning to see the light. It’s dim but I can see it there in the not as distant future. I pray you hold on to your moments of lucidity. I pray for you to breathe and be in the moment. You are enough. Being honest with your daughter when she is old enough to understand and you are ready is being a role model, She needs to know that being the strong Black woman isn’t possible permanently. There are ups and downs. Take care, sis.

  9. Jaded October 29, 2016 at 1:31 AM - Reply

    Thank you so much for sharing this. Sadly a lost a good friend after our circle tried to call her out on her post part depression. She suffered from postpartum over 2 pregnancies, but I didn’t know during the first one. She was reclusive, but I also didn’t live close enough to see her day to day.

    The second pregnancy it was much more apparent. Other people in her family and support system didn’t recognize the symptoms, and kept reinforcing that she was fine, and that her friends and husband were over-reacting and did not support her. Instead of dealing with it, she put all of us out of her life – including her husband. It ended her marriage and a lot of friendships – not that we had a choice in the matter.

    At this point she has cut me out, but I have heard she is still coping. I hope she gets help and recovers soon.

    Thank you so much for talking about it. We keep it quiet and it is so hard to recognize that it is common, normal, and that you may need help to overcome. My friend’s postpartum manifested itself as postpartum rage. She both disconnected from people and things she used to do. And she got angry often. It is important to know that the “baby blues” may not be just depression.

    Pregnancy doesn’t look the same for everyone, but if you notice something has changed, in your mood, your feelings or how you interact with your loved ones, don’t be afraid to get help.

  10. Angela W. October 30, 2016 at 9:31 PM - Reply

    I’m late in reading this, but your words are right on time for when I could receive them and understand that they are, indeed, for me.

    I haven’t given birth recently—although to look at me, one might nor surmise this—but I can relate to more of this than not. I’d like to think that I have enough of the resiliency within myself to overcome the spiral threatening to engulf me. I’d like to think that the neurochemical changes of multiple sclerosis or perhaps those associated with moving into the pre-, post-, or menopausal phase of life (who even knows where one begins or ends?) cannot diminish this resiliency, but the reality through which I’ve been living for more months than I’d care to admit says differently.

    Like Erika, as much as I know the truths of how various practices—specifically exercise, yoga, meditation, contemplative immersions, journaling, and the like—can help to break through the experiences of depression, anxiety, and social isolation (even in the midst of external activities), when the motivation to get up and to engage in these is missing, there can come no remedy.

    One of the things I’ve come to believe is that we, as Black Women, need to have safe places that honor not only our successes, but also our struggles; that do not minimize one or the other in an effort to present an “acceptable” image; that span generations so that we can provide wisdom to younger generations, and glean the same from elder generations; that focus less on “fixing” us, and more on “freeing” us to be fully, completely, authentically who we are through it all—every last bit of our existence.

    Where are the healing circles? The sister circles? How can we establish and nurture them?

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