Postnatal Depression and Me

Like so many of us, I found the news from the weekend devastating. I did not know Caroline Flack, and I did not watch a single episode of Love Island. But I did watch every performance of hers in Strictly Come Dancing, including the final in 2014. This final stands out to me, not just because of Caroline’s sensational dance performances, but because this was the Christmas where I had literally just found out that I was pregnant with my daughter, Julia.

As I watched Caroline absolutely smash the final, I did not know that I had started a journey that was going to have lasting consequences for me, far beyond the day I went into hospital to give birth. I know like many survivors of severe depression, reading about her death has stirred up memories and given me flashbacks to a time when I too felt there was no other way out. Caroline’s death has shown that mental illness is real, and it kills. This is why I finally feel ready to properly share my story with you all.

I had suffered from depression before I got pregnant, most notably after leaving university without my PhD funding, no job to go to and absolutely no idea what to do with my life. But I persevered and I found a new beginning in teaching. It certainly was not an easy journey, but I forged ahead and established a good position in a school. In the months before Julia was born, we entered the world of non-stop fun called the housing market. We were living in a small flat in Lewisham, and it was very obvious we could not bring up a baby here. Add to that, the fact that our land ladies decided to sell up the flat, and we were under big pressure to move out (they were lovely about it, but we knew we needed to go).

The process of buying a house was hell. I am not going to bore you with the details, but I found myself, two weeks overdue, still in the flat, surrounded by boxes, and still no house to move into. I remember trying to explain my feelings of panic and anxiety to the midwife, but my natural instinct to underplay things and pretend I was fine meant I did not really own up to how bad I was actually feeling. Looking back now, I can see why I should have stood up more for my own health and well-being.

I always hate when women go into the ins and outs of their birth story, and to be honest, there was nothing too exceptional about mine. There were a few little hiccups, but Julia was ultimately born safely, with no interventions. I was lucky enough to leave the hospital less than twenty four hours after I had arrived. Our little girl was perfect. She was healthy and beautiful and we had so much to be thankful for. That is why I could not understand why I felt like I had experienced a bereavement instead of a birth.

I had start and stop contractions for several days before giving birth, and had laboured through the night. I should have been able to sleep for days. But I could not sleep. I remember laying there at 3 o’ clock in the morning, waiting for Julia to wake up for the next feed. I remember reaching up to get a plate from the cupboard, and bursting into tears. I became engorged and had a night where I could not feed Julia properly. I remember crying hysterically, and being convinced that I had killed our daughter. I had help with feeding in the morning, and the initial issues were resolved, but something in my head had broken. Soon, I was crying constantly. I stopped eating. I stopped showering. I would not change my clothes. I stopped talking. I found putting words together into a sentence too exhausting. I could not make eye contact with people.

Our longed for house sale finally went through a week after Julia was born. In this damaged mental state, I now had to cope with leaving behind an area I knew, and moving into a new house. I remember my husband trying to get me excited about our new home, whilst I felt completely empty inside. I felt like I had walked into someone else’s life. Jo Broadey had died in the hospital, and I was this new person, in a strange house, who was expected to get up around the clock, keep a baby alive, and respond to the name “Mummy”. I could not even explain any of this to anyone, I was trapped inside my own head.

I adore my children, but for those first few weeks, I could not stand being in the same room as Julia. I struggled to remember her name. I could not tell people when her birthday was. I remember the day we went to register her birth as one of the worst days of my life. I could not remember my pin number to pay for the certificate. We forgot the nappies, and my husband had to run out to buy some, whilst I stayed in the toilet with a screaming baby, feeling like my head was about to explode. I felt like motherhood was another thing I could put on my list of things that I had failed at and I honestly believed everyone would be better off without me.

Whilst all this was going on, I did have support, and I am so lucky that this was the case, as it meant I was able to eventually access help. It was not easy, and I had some dreadful experiences of counselling that actually did more harm rather than good. Again I was very lucky to get a private referral through my husband’s health insurance. Once I got antidepressants, I was able to manage the physical symptoms of my depression, and begin to work on my emotional state. Over time, I began to return to the person I had been before, and I finally fell in love with my daughter.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the end of my battles with postnatal depression. When I became pregnant again, I was told that there was a high risk that I would become unwell again, and sadly this did come to pass. I had help and treatment again, but once I tried to return to classroom teaching, I found I could not cope. Things I had been able to tolerate before, suddenly became unbearable. I found trying to handle unruly teenagers impossible when I had only had two hours of sleep. I left teaching in very painful circumstances, and once again I was lost, with these overwhelming feelings of failure and hopelessness.

I cannot say that I am completely healed now, but I am in a much better place. I still have bad days. Being self-employed brings a lot of pressures, but it has also made me realise how much of my struggles have been the result of negative, destructive beliefs about myself that I have held since I have been a child. I know that enough is enough, and I have to change this mindset once and for all. There is no quick fix for this, but I have started. I read personal development books, meditate and journal. I understand that my mental health is not something that will just get better by itself. The change has to come from inside, not outside circumstances.

I know that I do have so much in my life to be grateful for, and there is always a reason to get out of bed. I find it so devastating to think of people like Caroline, who came to the conclusion she had nothing left to live for. I feel tearful every time I think about how frightened and alone she must have felt in those last moments. I agree the media have questions to answer for their role in her death, but her tragic death also shows we HAVE to be more open about mental health. It has to stop being a terrible and shameful secret we cannot share with others. I applied for some agency work recently, and I had to disclose my mental health history. Everyone had told me never to tell an employer, but I had to explain why I left my teaching post so suddenly. It turns out, they hear stories like mine every day, teachers who were chewed up and burnt out until their mental health could not hold out any more. I have found that once you delve a little deeper, nearly everyone has a mental health story to tell.
We have to stop treating it as a taboo subject. My postnatal depression has shaped me and it is a part of me. Without it, I may not have left teaching, and then I would never have discovered Sounds Right classes, and met so many amazing little ones and parents. We cannot rewrite our past, and I cannot pretend that the last few years of my life did not happen. But for the first time, I am looking ahead, and I know that good things are coming.