My Journey with Postpartum Anxiety and Depression (Post 2 of a 3 part Mental Health Series)

This has been hard to write...and, talk about! It my first post of this series, I talk about 10 Reasons Why I Don't Want to talk about PostPartum Anxiety/Depression. If you missed it just click on the link above.

In this post, I talk a lot about my faith, because it has been a big part of my journey. Thank you for your respect and having an open mind to someone else's journey and story, even if you chose to believe and worship, (or not worship) in a different way than I do. Isn't it awesome that we all have the right to different beliefs and perspectives!? 😊So...I'll respect your beliefs and you respect mine, ok? 😉 Hearing the journey of others is what brings understanding and compassion.

Ok...let's get into it.
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The night I came home from the hospital after giving birth to my third child, I sat nursing him in my bed around 3 AM. He was nuzzled up warmly against me. My husband slept next to us and my two older boys slumbered safely in their own rooms across the hall. All was quiet in our dark, peaceful home.

And... I was filled with absolute panic.

Instead of gazing down at my baby, my heart brimming with wonder and joy, it raced and pounded in my chest, and tears I could not stop poured down my face. The room seemed to close in around me, and I felt so alone. Over and over I thought, "I can't do this. I can NOT do this." I now was a mother of 3 kids, ages 3 and under--and I was overwhelmed and terrified.

Two nights earlier, I'd spent a long night of labor, followed by a hazy, sore day with a new baby, trying and failing to catch up on the missed sleep and recover from the physical strain of labor. After the second hospital night, which of course was filled with nurse checks, baby wake-ups, and breast-feeding sessions, I was back home and bone-weary exhausted. Even after I swaddled my babe and lay him down sleeping in his bassinet next to my bed--when I finally had my chance to sleep, I still sat up in my bed, the rising terror keeping me wide awake. Who can sleep when the room is spinning and their heart is pounding?

My husband woke to me sobbing and sobbing.

I cried-gasped this all out to my husband. He reassured me it would all be ok, and that we would do this together, and that I should get some sleep. I quieted--but, that terror and dread didn't fade.

Unfortunately, these feelings weren't new or unfamiliar.

...

As a teen, I struggled with anxiety, though I didn't know it by that name at the time. I just knew that in certain situations--on dates, in math class, and while playing sports in public (all things I was truly horrible at, haha)--irrational panic would come over me. I'd get horrible stomach aches and become super panicked. In each of these settings, the only thought in my brain was, I GOTTA GET THE HECK OUTTA HERE. And every time my mind and body went into freak-out mode, of course I'd become an even worse date, I'd understand math even less (if that's possible!) and I became even more unconfident and uncoordinated in sports. (I hated freaking humiliating gym class! Algebra 2 and stupid P.E. were my only C's in high school! haha! Isn't PE supposed to be the easiest A ever? For the record, I switched to a weights/running class designed for female athletes and totally LOVED it and got an A! I guess I'm just realll bad at team sports, especially the crappy hunger games sport of co-ed dodgeball. *eyeroll* Even nice guys get mean when they play dodgeball!)

In college, because of my hours in the math tutoring center, the kindness of the tutors, and by the grace of God (this is no joke, I prayed for help every day!!) I barely passed my one required math class. (Annnnnnd, that's why I chose to study art! haha!) I took dance classes for exercise, which I LOVED, and emphatically denied my roommates' attempts at recruiting me for their intramural teams. (Though, I always came and cheered them on!) Therefore, I was mostly able to avoid math and sports through college! *Hallelujah!!!*

BUT--during college, my dating anxiety ramped up BIG TIME. By this point, I wasn't just getting nervous with a stomachache on a date, I was getting physically sick. This is a delightful perk of having IBS--your digestive system is literally affected by stress, which meant that nerve-wracking situations caused my guts and bowels to throw tantrums...and I'd be running to the bathroom multiple times on one date. I'd be so embarrassed and stressed, that I'd get MORE upset, causing the IBS to flare-up even worse! No wonder I avoided dates at any cost! They were so awful and mortifying. If a boy liked me before our date, they SURELY would change their minds afterwards! And, I didn't know how to talk about this...Did I really want to tell a cute guy that I basically had date-induced spastic colon? HA! Big NOPE. I DID go on a few dates with close guy friends I trusted and was very comfortable with, and each time was hard, and I ended up with stomach aches, and many bathroom trips (super embarrassing!) but I DID go. Which was kind of a miracle. (Oh, I still feel mortified about some of the dates I DID go on.)

So, I finally got the guts to speak to a counselor on campus and learned that I had anxiety. This was a revelation to me, cause I had always thought I was just a weirdo who couldn't handle stuff. I realized there was a REASON that other girls ran back to their apartment and screamed in delight with their roommates when they got asked out by the right guy--but I would immediately feel a surge of nausea/panic whenever any poor guy asked me out. Then, I'd immediately start planning how I could get out of it. I'm so sorry to any guys who asked me out, and I canceled because I was "sick". Maybe they thought I was lying and just flaking out-- or that I was a jerk! But, I really WAS "sick"...at least I FELT like I was about to puke, curled up in the fetal position on my bed, my heart racing, feeling like the room was spinning and I couldn't breathe. I'd fight this, unable to focus on classes or schoolwork, till I put myself out of the agony and cancelled the date. Mostly I just acted prickly if any guy showed interest in me so they wouldn't ask me out. ESPECIALLY if I liked them! Then I REALLY tried to show no interest, cause getting asked out by a guy who I liked would make me a thousand times more nervous!

When I learned more about anxiety, I realized that it had been part of my life during High school as well. This was interesting though, since I was a very outgoing, energetic, and happy person--as long as I wasn't in one of my feared situations. I wrongly had thought that people who dealt with anxiety would be withdrawn and anti-social--and I was neither of those. (Just ask my poor teachers! haha!) I often remember being grateful that I wasn't prone to depression...that seemed much harder than anxiety, since anxiety for me was connected to certain situations, that I could avoid if I needed to. Depression seemed so much heavier and pervasive to a persons' life.

Then, as a brand new mom, I learned first-hand what it felt like to live with depression.

...

The first few months of my baby Hayden's life were ROUUUUGH. He had a weak suck, so feeding was hard, I made hardly any milk, so breastfeeding was an impossible task that I kept desperately trying to make work... AND he had acid reflux, (though we didn't know it yet) which made him NOT a happy camper. (Like--the crankiest camper in the campground.)

Even before we left the hospital--the time when infants are supposed to "be sooo sleepy"--he was already crying a lot. I knew this wasn't a good sign.

The morning my husband arrived to pick us up, I had been trying all morning to figure out how to breast-feed this baby and to keep him from crying. Multiple nurses and a lactation consultant had tried to help me figure out how to latch and nurse my baby, without much success. And, now I was supposed to go home and try to feed this baby by myself?! The panic was rising. And...I wasn't at all packed at the time that my husband and I had agreed on. At this time, Patrick was working full-time, managing a restaurant, sick with a bad cold, AND in the middles of finals week right before his graduation! So, he was pretty dang stressed, and only had a limited time in between finals to come pick us up and get us settled at home. I remember I was so anxious and couldn't think clearly...I just paced around, alternating between trying to calm our wailing baby and helping my husband as he hurriedly gathered up my things. We left the hospital, frustrated and tense, no cute, baby-in-the-car seat "first car ride!" picture. On the drive, as our baby cried in the back seat, I tried to hold back the tears. I just kept thinking how I was soo not ready to embark on motherhood away from the sanctuary of the medical professionals.

And it stayed hard. For the next few weeks, I often wished I could put him back in my belly...where it had been sooo easy to feed him, keep him the right temperature, and--if he was wailing for hours--I couldn't hear it! Haha! He was miserable and bawling all the time, which made me feel like a horrible failure of a new mom--therefore, I too was miserable and bawling all of the time. I pumped full-time, because he still couldn't nurse, and I watched my supply get lower and lower. And, again, I felt like a failure of a mom, who couldn't take care of my baby.

Patrick was a great help when he was at home, and spent many hours bouncing our baby on the exercise ball--the only thing that calmed baby Hayden when he was really screaming is head off--but Patrick was truly SO busy with his demanding job, just trying to support our family the best he could.

A few weeks after Hayden was born, we moved to a friend's apartment for our last few weeks in town--she was working out of state, so we happily helped her out by paying her rent, which was cheaper than ours had been. So, we were in a new place. I didn't know any neighbors, and I didn't feel able to get out with my bawling baby to meet people, so I was alone with my baby most of the time.

I realized that I wasn't doing too well when I kept fantasizing over and over about falling down the tall apartment stairs and breaking both legs, or becoming very sick so that I could be admitted into the hospital to SLEEP for a week--while someone more capable took care of my infant. Looking back, it's easy to see that I was dealing with postpartum depression. I know it's an overdone metaphor, but I really did feel like I was sinking, desperately struggling to get my head above water.

Thankfully, as the months passed, I started to feel more like myself again. And, once we realized that Hayden had acid reflux and we were able to get medication for him, he did SO much better! And-- I know I'm not supposed to admit this--but quitting full-time pumping helped immensely, since my low milk supply (and how bad I hated pumping) was a major contributor to my stress and feelings of failure. Moving on from the nightmare of nursing and finally transitioning to formula full-time brought a huge sense of relief, even if I felt judged by some people. But, having to ignore some comments or pushing aside my fear of being judged, was WAY worth my relief at seeing my baby thrive and gain weight, as well as ending my daily anguish and struggle with my stupid milk supply. I could finally feel my emotional state improving!

We moved into my in-laws basement for the summer before my husband went to grad school for Physical Therapy. I know that being a basement squatter sounds not so cool, haha, but it was SO good for me! I was around people again! My inlaws supported me and loved baby Hayden--they would walk around with him and just laugh at him when he had epic baby melt-downs. This helped me soo much to not to take his unhappiness so seriously--and personally. It turns out, I wasn't a failure! HE was just a cranky baby!! (Basically: Dude, It's you, not me. ha!) Plus, Hayden was finally feeling better with the meds, and we got to enjoy him more and more! He was actually HAPPY!! He still woke up MANY times a night, so I was still exhausted, but the days were much better!

THis is when we lived with my in-laws, when the reflux meds helped our cranky baby become happier! Hallelujah!!

I would go entire days--then a whole week!--without crying! I actually wanted to be social again! I laughed again! I started getting outside and going for walks with Hayden in the stroller. I felt like I was finally able to come up for air. I was breathing without struggling! I was finally able to enjoy this little babe and being a mom! Looking back, I feel sad that for so much of Hayden's first months, I was in a sad daze--I feel like I missed much of the joy and wonder of becoming a mom.

When my 2nd, Miles, was born 2 1/2 years later, for some reason--it was AWESOME!!

I felt depressed and anxious for only like three days. THAT'S IT! I breastfed and formula-fed my baby when he was still hungry (like every feed, haha...he was a big eater!) but I didn't let it stress me out this go-around. I just fed my baby. :) He was pretty chill, and Hayden was old enough to be gentle, and just loved "his baby!" We lived in the center of town, with many friends in our city neighborhood, close to parks, stores, and the church we attended, and I pushed my baby and toddler in a junky, garage-sale double stroller all over the place. There were so many amazing and fun ladies around me, who I loved being with. Patrick was usually home by 4 every afternoon from school, so we got plenty of time together. We were super poor students, but we didn't care and life was good with our two little cute boys!

To my surprise, when Miles was only 6 months old, I kept feeling like we needed to try for our next baby. *YIKES* (If you want to read about that rollercoaster, click here) And since I had always wanted to have two or more years between each child, (because of my tendency to get overwhelmed when there's too much to keep track of)...I knew these thoughts and feelings were NOT coming from me,

I couldn't deny how strong these feelings were, especially since Patrick was telling me he felt the same way. I figured that if God was sending us a message to have our next baby soon, then I was going to trust that He had good reasons for that, and--even though it would probably be absolutely bonkers to have three kids, three and under--He would help me.

Soon enough I found out I was pregnant with my third. We stayed with my parents in their basement for a few months while Patrick finished his last clinical, and then he got a job 15 minutes away, and we found a wonderful home! Pregnancy was a doozy--I was bone-weary exhausted with zero energy, and I could barely keep from falling asleep all day long, even with a long mid-day nap, so it was CHALLENGING to care for my two little boys. But, we got through. :)

When Theo, our third baby, was born, Miles was 17 months, and Hayden was 3. Annnnnd, that's when the proverbial crap hit the fan.

The first thing that I noticed was that my old nemesis--anxiety--was back.

I realized this on that sob-filled night when we first brought baby Theo home. I now had three little kids needing my attention! Yes, my husband and mom would be able to help, but ultimately I was THE MOM to three little kids under the age of four.

3 kids ages 3 and under!

Now that I look back, there wasn’t anything particularly crazy that happened that first night home. My mom was there to help for several days, and my mother-in-law was able to come for a few days to help too! My baby was successfully breastfeeding, I hadn't needed stitches, so I wasn't in pain...but, my hormones were just whacked out. I found out that becoming pregnant again so quickly before my body and hormones had gotten back to normal, was making my recovery pretty difficult.

My body was kind of a wreck. And I'm not just referring to the stretched-out pillsbury dough boy tummy. (...Which I did surely have, haha!)

My thyroid wasn't functioning well, (which started when my third tri-mester began) and I was taking medication for that. For the second time, I ended up with a painful uterine infection that started a few days after delivery, and just increased till I was doubled over in pain about a week later--which finally cleared up when I was able to get strong antibiotics. My skin (which is utterly, blissfully perfect while I'm pregnant, and ONLY while I'm pregnant) was SO broken out.  I still had to take the blood thinner shots which I'd taken twice a day (I got a massive blood-clot during my 2nd pregnancy) through-out my 2nd and third pregnancies for 6 weeks after Theo was born. Oh--and my gallbladder was totally giving out on me, after giving me problems throughout my last two pregnancies. I was having frequent pain, including gallbladder attacks that sent me to my knees, crying and rocking in pain. The worst of these attacks left me sobbing and writhing on the floor, trying to hold a bottle in my baby's mouth as he bawled, while my terrified toddler and little boy kept shoving their stuffed animals and favorite blankets at me. I could only gasp out "NO, not right now! Not right now!" Which made them cry even harder. No position eased the pain, and this felt worse than any labor I've experienced. I felt like I was splitting open inside. It finally subsided, of COURSE right before my husband--who'd I frantically called at work--raced in the door. *eye roll* I was SOO glad to get that sick, chock-full of stones, functioning at less than 10%, nuisance of a gallbladder out of me when I had surgery a few months after Theo was born.

Those physical challenges were discouraging, but, the hardest part during this time was my mental/emotional health. My emotional state was not good--caused by a mix of hormones still trying to regulate, extreme overwhelm from trying to care for two little kids and an infant, and trying to cope with the physical discomfort and discouragement that came along from the other health issues. My ability to cope with stress was pretty much non-existent--which was not cool since I had a lot of things that caused me stress! It took very little for me to crash into despair and burst into tears. This happened MANY times a day. My eyes were permanently red from all the crying, and I always felt emotionally on the edge. I knew I wasn't acting or feeling normal, I just didn't know how to fix it.

It didn't take me near as long to realize that I was having round two of some pretty hefty postpartum anxiety and depression, even worse than I'd had with my first. I cried to my mom many times, how scared and overwhelmed I felt taking care of my three little, very dependent kids. I obsessively wrote out schedules trying to juggle when to feed, nap, and care for each child, just so I could feel less like I was drowning. Every day, I felt hopelessly out of control and perpetually behind. Sometimes I'd be trying to catch up on dishes or load some laundry, and my normally calm baby (thank Goodness for that!!) would go from a little fussing to full-on wailing, and I'd wonder, "Woah! What's his deal?" Then, I'd realize that it had been 4 hours since I'd fed my 3-week-old, and he was HUNGRY! *facepalm.* Other times I would be trying to feed my baby, and my older two would be fighting, whining, bawling, etc, and I'd realize that it was 1 o’clock, and I hadn’t fed them lunch yet! Of course they were cranky!

Frankly, if I didn't adhere to strict schedules, very quickly I'd be accidentally neglecting one of my children's needs cause I was too foggy and overwhelmed to remember and keep track of who needed what and when without my written-out schedule to follow! My anxiety level was totally impairing my ability to concentrate and think clearly.

Besides all the feeding, there were constant diaper changes cause my two younger boys are both super poopers. (Oh my gosh, I changed SO much pooooop!) And, I tried (mostly failed) to take care of the house and meals and keep the laundry (somewhat) going, since my husband worked long hours at the hospital and often got home late and exhausted, with hours of documenting to do. He would pitch in at home, but I tried to do as much as I could. Which didn't seem like much, since just taking care of my kids was BUSY!

Add in the constant, looming task of making sure my oldest, who was a big challenge to potty train, was making it to the bathroom frequently enough that I didn’t have to clean up an accident. All this never-ending multi-tasking made my brain felt constantly overwhelmed and unable to focus and finish any task, since there were a million other needs distracting me at any given moment.

Grocery shopping was the hardest thing ever!!

This time is another hazy fog in my memory. I do remember that my stress level was on high alert most of the time.

I was trying to do all this and be a happy, kind mom. But, I was emotionally exhausted and spent to the core! Often, when everything got loud and chaotic (so, like 847 times a day) I would yell or burst into tears out of sheer frustration. I could feel myself about to boil over--I couldn't handle one more second of the whines, needs, screaming and tattling, all directed at me. I usually yelled and/or cried before hauling my older two off to time-out. (I know, I am supposed to put myself into "mommy time-out", and not them...but, honestly if I hid in my room, they would be killing each other or breaking things in a matter of seconds!) I was so worn out and emotionally DONE by the time the kids went to bed, that I wasn't a very engaged, fun, or happy wife with my husband when we had time to ourselves. I felt like a shell, perpetually living in survival mode, just trying to get each day over with.

Feeling like a failure in every way, as a mom, as a wife, as a person, brought on intense bouts of self-loathing. I felt like crap, and I looked like crap-- and I definitely didn't shower often enough. I was deeply disappointed in myself, and every time I couldn't handle things, it drove home again to me how deficient I was, and that everyone else kept their crap together better I did. I often looked up and exclaimed towards heaven, "Why did you think I could do this?? How was three this close together a good idea?" I wasn't trying to speak disrespectfully to God, I just honestly wanted to know! I was sure that He didn't want me to be a bad mom, and He knows my tendency for overwhelm, since He made me, so why did it seem like He set me up for failure? But, I still clung to the trust that there were reasons why I had been guided so strongly to have my third this quickly.

After about 6 months, I was better able to handle taking care of my kids. Theo didn't need to eat so often and I was just formula feeding. Also, he was sleeping for 6 -7 hour stretches at night. *praise hands!* Hayden wasn't having accidents very often, just once or twice a week. I should have been feeling good! But the anxiety didn’t go away. Much of that had to do with my older two fighting so much. Over the same toy, over who smacked who, ....over who called who a booty-butt. (I'm serious...isn't that the most ridiculous burn ever! haha!) The days were generally filled with crying and fighting. I, a peaceful, non-confrontational person, was marinating in conflict and aggression all day. And it was totally getting to me. (And, every time someone says, "Oh you're lucky to have boys, cause you don't have to deal with drama!" I'm like, "....?" Um, I do deal with drama. VIOLENT DRAMA. ALL DAY LONG. Haha.)

Though I was no longer bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, I was having strange, unprovoked moments of panic. I'd just be standing in my kitchen, and suddenly I felt like I was about to step up to a podium in front of a crowd of 2000 people and give a speech…when really--I was just standing in my kitchen. My heart would race, I'd break into a cold sweat, my stomach would churn, and I'd get super light-headed. I'd have to concentrate on breathing so I wouldn't hyperventilate. It finally dawned on me one day that these were panic-attacks!

Around this time, my parents left to be full-time service missionaries in Armenia for a year and a half. While I was so excited for them (and so proud!) I was so nervous about them leaving, especially since my mom had been such an emotional support to me in the six months after my baby was born, and usually came for a couple of hours to help out at my home once or twice a week. Of course, I tried to hide my nervousness, and just show excitement for them, since they were doing such an awesome thing!!

I truly think that a large part of the reason why I needed to have Theo so quickly--aside from the fact that my health was really struggling, and I needed to have a baby and get that gallbladder out--was God's way of helping me get through the first 6 months! I don't honestly know how I would have done it without my mom, especially with my husband's demanding work schedule. If I would have waited to have Theo for when I was planning on having my next baby, he would have come in the middle of their 18 months mission!

I’m sure I’ll continue to see as time goes on why I needed to have these two closer together, but if it was only for the reason of my mom helping me during a time when I was emotionally pretty unstable, then I’ll take it!

......

So my parents were gone, and my husband was supportive, but so busy working long hours as a Physical Therapist on the Neuro-Rehab floor of the hospital, often working 8-10 days in a row. (How women with husbands overseas or working out-of-state, or single moms survive, I'll never know! Seriously, you women amaze me!!)

And, here I was, an adult with three kids--and my anxiety, which I had thought was behind me, was getting worse. It became increasingly centered around--I know, this sounds super dumb--having to go to the bathroom. My IBS was still very problematic, and, since I had recently gotten my gallbladder taken out, (which helps break down foods) my digestion was eve more volatile. I never really knew what to expect. Some days were smooth sailing, and other days were literal shiz shows. Haha!! I'd be running to the bathroom all day long because of something I ate. (Maybe someday I’ll write "The Chronicles of an IBS Girl". Wouldn’t that be fun and trendy! 😉 haha! I don’t think the world is ready for that kind of real.)

My worries about being able to get to a bathroom when I needed to were keeping me from doing many things I wanted and needed to do. Long road trips. Sitting far into a long row of people. Religious services where you listen for long periods of time and it's hard to leave for a bathroom. Teaching an art class or a class in church. Hiking, which is my FAVORITE outdoor activity, became so anxiety-inducing. (WHo wants to have to squat 5 times in one day in the forest??) Ugh. So many things. I often had panic attacks in these settings. And, sometimes, just the thought of, "Oh no, what if I have to go to the bathroom?" or "Oh freaking heck, am I about to have a panic attack now?" would set my stomach to churning, and I'd get the sweats and dizziness, and--if I couldn't calm myself--I'd have to leave.

This went on for months, till I finally just got so sick of it all. I wasn't myself and I knew my hormones were wacked out. When my oldest was about a year old, I made an appointment at my OB's office desperately seeking help. After describing all the anxiety and skin issues, as well as a few other hormonal issues I was dealing with, I was shocked to hear these words: "My dear, it sounds you are dealing with Postpartum depression, as well as anxiety. And I think you have been since your third was born."

I was incredulous. I thought, "You can't still have postpartum depression a year after your baby is born!" and, "My first couple months were bad, but I'm ok now, just a little anxious. No. Surely not. I've never been depressed."

But, in the weeks that followed, I reluctantly researched symptoms of depression, then honestly evaluated myself day-to-day. To my surprise, I slowly came to see that she was right. I checked off almost every symptom on every list. I wasn't just anxious--I was depressed.

I felt generally subdued and flat and weary--like I couldn't feel the normal joy, passion, and excitement that are a big part of my personality! When I was around other people, I started to feel back to normal and pretty happy, since being social brings me up! Honestly, my church responsibilities (working with the young women in my local congregation, then after that working with the adult women) were HUGE blessings to me. I feel like this saved me. God knew I needed both of these callings. Every week, it forced me to leave our home and be around people, and get a break from being momma for a little while!! I was always so uplifted by every activity, and to spend this time of reaching out, serving, and just talking with the young girls and ladies! (Girls are in short supply in my home, haha!)

But, by the next day, back at home, surrounded by kids and chaos, I usually slipped back in that low-energy, overwhelmed weariness.

Though I struggled to feel joy much of the time, unfortunately I could strongly feel negative emotions. I snapped so easy, and felt rage with others and myself. Often, after yelling at my kids, I'd started bawling out of complete frustration with my kids and my weakness for yelling at them again. I was so deeply disappointed at myself for losing my temper at my beautiful, precious little kids so often. On bad weeks, that cycle happened several times a day.

One of the most baffling and discouraging sides of depression for me, was that I struggled to feel my normal joy and motivation for spiritual things. This broke my heart, because my faith has been the foundation of my life, ever since I was a senior in High School and developed a relationship with God of my own. I normally loved going to church and learning about the gospel. And, now--I still made myself read my scriptures and pray daily out of habit and because I wanted to do the right thing, but I didn't FEEL it like I usually did. When hearing gospel teachings, I often felt skeptical and uninterested--it was hard for spiritual things to penetrate my heart. This bothered me so much!! :(

I battled a complete and utter lack of motivation and desire to do the things that I was previously sooo passionate about and had worked hard at a year earlier. (Like teaching art, making art, facepainting, and blogging.)

My sleep patterns were ridiculous--I had an addiction to taking a daily nap (for an emotional break) and staying up insanely late every night as a desperate attempt to have time alone and postpone the stress of facing a new day. Which made me more tired and wanting a nap.

Let's just say, I was not coping well. Yes, I was taking care of my family. I didn't stay in bed all day. But I was so, so weary and dragging myself through every day.

Learning more about depression helped me see that I had already gone through a couple periods of depression in my life, without realizing it. The first was when I was a new missionary. Serving a mission was amazing and life-changing, but full of many daily challenges--like a rigorous, extremely structured schedule, and emotionally difficult situations and conversations everyday, like feeling constantly rejected.  The second time, was when Patrick and I were first married and I was student teaching. Again, like the mission, I was constantly being shoved out of my comfort zone. I was nutso busy with developing my own curriculum for two different Jr High subjects. I was teaching in a challenging school, where only the tough teachers survived. As a newbie in this tough school, though I was able to be warm with my students, I mostly had to be over-the-top assertive to command authority. Otherwise they would walk right over me. Being tough was emotionally taxing for me everyday. I never felt relief from the high level of anxiety,  especially with all the other changes and adjustments in my own life with living in a new place, being newly married and living with a BOY (haha).

I recognized that in the past years, I had been depressed during any time that I could remember my thoughts frequently dwelling on wishing I could somehow get hurt or even be in an accident and die and be delivered from the hard things I was drowning in. The pattern that emerged, was that when my anxiety stayed at high levels for long periods of time, I started slipping into depression.

So, now I knew that I was depressed. And this actually gave me some relief to know that there was a REASON I was struggling with motherhood so much. I wasn't a horrible selfish person who didn't appreciate my children--I just was suffering from depression and anxiety. My hormones and brain chemicals were imbalanced, and my natural tendency for anxiety had pushed me into depression.

I talked to a several close friends and family members who had been open before about their journey with depression and/or anxiety. These are strong, rockstar women (and a guy or two! haha!) who I trust--talking to them helped immensely!! How grateful I was to learn from their wisdom and feel not so alone!! Because they had been open about their own mental health journey, I knew exactly who I could confide in when I was given my own (surprising) diagnosis. I told these trusted friends/family members a little bit about my own struggle, but I kept it vague and brief, since I was still fighting a lot of shame around the whole thing. So, even though I didn't tell them much, these angel friends/family members still offered me love and encouragement--which was so meaningful to me! Several checked in with me often to see how I was doing, if I'd made any treatment decisions, etc. But, I still didn't know what I wanted to do for treatment, so I always kind of told them I wasn't sure. Still their love lifted me!!

Unfortunately, knowing that I was depressed didn't make it go away. And, I didn't feel very equipped to do anything about it, because thinking about making the right decision for treatment was so overwhelming. I'd try to do research, then become paralyzed by all the information and opinions, then I couldn't make ANY decisions. So, though I had started out well with talking to my doctor, opening up a bit to people I trusted, and researching treatment options, I made no decisions, therefore I made no progress...and eventually got worse.

Truthfully, and this is scary to admit, but I think it's important to tell the truth about this because I know many others deal with this--there were a few weeks here and there where I felt like I just couldn't keep living. I literally would fixate on thoughts of wanting to go back to God, where I could rest and just be at peace. I'd think, "Can I just come and be with you, Jesus? I'm so weary." It scared me during those low times, that many, many times a day, from the moment I woke up to the time I wearily crawled into bed, my thoughts constantly returned to how I couldn't go on anymore. On these few bad days, it was literally hard to speak and move. I felt like I didn't have air in my lungs. I spoke quietly and had to force myself to talk louder so I would seem ok to others. Daily life was such a struggle.

Two different times, I had a few days where persistent suicidal thoughts kept coming into my head. That is so hard to believe now that I am so far out of that frame of mind!! Those thoughts would come completely without me wanting them there. I would be utterly horrified every time one of the thoughts came. I'd forcibly scold myself, "Stop thinking like that!!! What's wrong with you! Thinking like that is sooo wrong! Would you abandon your family?!?" And I'd force those thoughts out by getting busy and making myself think of something else. Annnd, soon the thoughts would come back to my head. Thoughts like, "Your husband and kids would be better with someone else anyway. You are constantly overwhelmed with your kids, you aren't fun or sexy with your husband, they deserve better. They'd be better off if you were gone." And, I would tell myself again, "Stop it!! You can't think this way!"

It's hard to express how unwanted these thoughts were. I wasn't dwelling or wallowing in them, I was trying SO hard to NOT think them, to push them out, and not even let them into my brain...but they came anyway. It was exhausting, mentally and emotionally to be battling my own thoughts all day. This exhaustion made it even harder to be a good mom. Which made me feel even more like a failure and deeply disappointed in myself...which cycled back to more thoughts of how "I can't do this. I am so bad at this. They'd be better off with a different mom and a different wife."

I didn't want to tell anyone about these thoughts--I didn't want anyone to know! I felt so ashamed that I could ever think these (what I perceived as) cowardly and selfish thoughts. My life is so blessed!! My family, my faith, my home, financial security, a functioning body...how could I admit that my thoughts were telling me to give up on this life to save myself from the hard things? No. No one could know. I definitely never wanted to tell Patrick about these thoughts, because I was so deeply ashamed. How could I be fixating on leaving the life that we had built together? And, my depression was not caused by him at all, so I didn't want him to think that he was to blame in any way!!! It was quite the opposite--He was my rock that got me through--though I didn't talk about my depression to him much--he lifted me up just by loving me and picking up the slack when he could tell I was having a really rough day. He did so much to try to lighten my load, and held me in the hard times.

I prayed for help--but in this time when I needed to feel God's comfort and peace the most, I was still struggling to feel and focus on anything spiritual. It was like my usually open heart was blocked. My thoughts just circled back to how I couldn't go on.

Obviously, I wasn't thinking logically or in a clear state of mind. And I definitely wasn't thinking like myself! The real me loves fiercely and would fight like mad for my life and to be there for my family! The real me would do ANYTHING to keep my spouse, my children, my parents, and my siblings from being hurt--not obsess over something that would hurt them so much.

I have gone through a few pretty hard things in my life: the loss of my niece when I was a freshman in high school, as well losing a good friend my senior year, and losing one of my grandmas and my grandpa after watching their physical and mental health deteriorate. I've also overcome huge challenges, like getting a college degree, serving a year-and-a-half mission surrounded by strangers and away from my family, and learning how to live (and even harder, date!) with anxiety. I've moved pipe, hauled hay, and picked spuds from dawn to well after dark. I'm a hard worker, I persevere through trials, and I'm typically quite optimistic! But, during this time, where were these qualities!? This is how strong depression can be, and how mind-altering it can become. I didn't recognize or like myself, and didn't feel like I deserved to be loved.

During one of these times when I struggled with suicidal thoughts, I was praying--begging God for help--and I miraculously felt Him lift me in a pretty cool way.

I had been having a VERY discouraging time mothering my kids for a few weeks, and was really struggling with dark thoughts of wanting to give up on this life for my family's sake.

A few months earlier, I had been scheduled for an interview with one of my local church leaders. I always look forward to these--it's gives me a chance to talk one-on-one with someone I look up to about my spiritual well-being. It's also a chance to ask questions and be mentored and encouraged in my walk with the Lord. But, this time, I was so low, I didn't want to leave the house, let alone muster the strength to talk about my feelings to someone I didn't know terribly well. Plus, I think in the back of my mind was the fear that if I told someone how bad I was doing, I'd have to get help, but...I just didn't have time for that! I mean, I had three little kids, my husband had a demanding job which was supporting our family, and my parents were on the other side of the world! In my mind, it just wasn't a possibility. I needed to continue functioning for my children--and I needed people to think I was fine.

But, I didn't cancel the interview--I felt compelled to go. (Thank you Heavenly Father!) The man who I ended up interviewing with, was someone I knew a little...he was actually my kid's dentist! He is kind and welcoming, so I immediately felt comfortable. We talked for a while and he asked me questions about how I felt I was doing with my spirituality and relationship with God. We had a good discussion, but I didn't disclose anything about my depression. As we were wrapping up, I had the strongest feeling that I should ask him for a blessing. (In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints those that hold the priesthood power are able to give blessings, like the ones Jesus gave in the New Testament--see Mark 6:13 and James 5:14 &15 for examples. They pray over you, and the priesthood holder speaks words that he's inspired to say, through the Spirit. Blessings are so special--I love them!) I felt hesitant to ask, since I could have just asked my husband, but I felt so strongly to ask this man, right now! So, I got the courage to ask him, and of course he willingly agreed. He asked if there were any specific things he should know about before he gave the blessing, and I just told him with a choked voice that parenting my three boys had been really hard lately. That's all I could really get out.

He began with the blessing. I don't even remember many of the specifics now, but I felt God's love through those words. He talked about things he could not have known about me--I knew these words were inspiration from my Heavenly Father. He also talked about how I should continue on and not give up. The significance of these words, thought they were simple, sunk deep in this moment and the tears poured down my face. The words that meant the most came when he told me that God loved me and that He was pleased with my efforts as a mother. I honestly was shocked that God felt that way. For months, I'd been convinced that I was an utter failure of a mom--especially during my most depressed times when my fuse was short and I struggled to find any joy in parenting, which I knew my sweet boys didn't deserve! But, the Spirit brought these healing words in to my heart, and I had to believe Him--I knew God meant it! I mean, He doesn't lie! And, He actually knew better than anyone else how bad some of my mothering days had been, but He also understood better than anyone else the battle I was waging with myself--that my daily efforts were actually pretty monumental, considering what I was struggling with! He was seeing me for the good and the effort I was putting in and that I had chosen not to give up, and seeing my failures with compassion. OH how I needed to hear that. The blessing also counseled me to remember to rely on my Savior, that Christ had already suffered for me, and that He was always there for me.

After the blessing, this kind man and I talked about parenting, and he shared some funny stories of his own parenting discouragements and fails from when his kids were young. (...which I loved! He actually had me laughing, and before I'd gotten there, I could barely smile!) I left that meeting feeling 100 times lighter.

This experience helped me so much, and for about a month or two, I did really well! BUT, as time went on, I started to get bogged down again. It always happened when I had too much on my plate and my anxiety was too high for too long.

The second time I spent a couple weeks stuck in dark thoughts, once again, it was the Lord who lifted me through another person.

As I described earlier, I had been struggling to feel the spirit during church meetings for a while. (...and not just because of my kids squaking and fighting over fruit snacks and crayons the whole time, haha.) One sunday, I sat on a pew with my family, feeling an empty despair. I had been battling the suicidal thoughts for about a week and I was sooo soul-weary. The whole congregation was listening to our speaker tell about his daughter. He spoke about when his beautiful little girl had been a fragile, premature infant lying in the niccu, barely hanging on to life--but she was a fighter! She wasn't giving up on this life. He felt that this was because she had important things to do in this life. He talked about how how grateful he was that she had fought for her life, though her body was so frail and had many obstacles ahead of her. And he was also so grateful that it had been in God's plan for her life to survive!

Suddenly, blessedly, like a ray of light penetrating a dark fog, his words struck me right to my soul! In that instant I KNEW that darkness was trying to keep me from my life, my purpose, and the good I could do! I knew that God was giving me a miracle at that moment...He was lifting the haze that depression was causing to surround my heart, so that I could hear--but more importantly, FEEL--this message! And it washed over me with a spiritual intensity I hadn't felt in a long time.

I felt like that little baby--I needed to fight! My life was worth fighting for!!! I FELT this conviction bloom up inside of me! And, I WAS going to fight. Just like it wasn't this tiny baby's fault that she was born premature and struggling for her life, I too was being affected by the human frailties of mind and body--things that I definitely hadn't asked for--but I was NOT going to give in and surrender!

It was like the way I'd always known that I'd do anything in my power to protect someone I loved--that I would give my own life--I suddenly felt that kind of intense protectiveness and fierceness for my own life! Once again, I could see that God had never abandoned me, and I had never abandoned Him--depression had just blocked Him from my view.

God perfectly understands the psychology of our brains--He made us after all!! He knows how depression, loss, trauma, grief, anxiety, etc affect our mortal minds and can hinder our ability to think and feel clearly. Since these are the ways that He normally communicates and connects with us-- through our mind and heart--He is so patient with us when we are struggling with mental illness. He knows that our communication "channels" are messed up, jammed, and full of static! This is why I had a hard time feeling the Spirit! But, again--He is patient and loving and finds ways to reach us through other people, since we have such a hard time in that state to reach Him.

This day, for whatever reason, through the words of another person, I was finally able to hear His message to me loud and clear, with no interference. In that full room of people, with my kids milling around me, my heart burned and tears poured down my face.

This experience turned a corner for me.

The fire was lit, and I went on a quest to reclaim my life and my mental health. The determination that burned in me was finally stronger than the apathy from depression. I still felt heavy anxiety and some depression, but now I felt strengthened. The waves were still crashing against me, causing me to sputter and cough at times, but I was staying above water, and swimming with determined strokes toward safety.

I decided I was going to do things that felt impossible to do. Of course I didn't FEEL like doing hard things--I was depressed and had no motivation! But, dang it--I was finally in the right state of mind to fight for my life! (Sounds dramatic, but this is exactly how it felt!) So I decided to choose baby steps, and--a little at a time--MAKE myself do stuff, though I didn't want to do them! Haha! I could finally now do the work to heal my life since I was now completely convinced to my core that my life is absolutely worth living and fighting for. (And, hearing the words to the chorus of Rachel Patten's "Fight Song" during this time made me full on weep!)

It felt so good to be on the offensive, and taking control of my mental health struggles, not just being a victim of them. The path ahead of me was going to be hard, but I was excited!

As I moved forward, I knew that I hadn't tried many things that were in MY power to change to lessen my anxiety/depression--so I decided I wanted to try those strategies first! I set forward with a goal to lower my cortisol and raise my endorphins.

I started talking to people and opening up. I especially began to talk to my husband about how I had been struggling. I worked at getting more sleep, since--as he pointed out--I was chronically sleep depriving myself. He was so right. I knew that my mental/emotional health had to come with improving my physical health. I got a gym membership, (with childcare!) and began working out in earnest and eating better. I started planning a few get-togethers with family and friends! I cut back on goals and obligations that were stressing me too much, and started giving myself boundaries. I prayed. I listened to God's word. I started doing things I missed, like singing more and taking a few dance classes! Patrick and I made going on dates a priority. I got FUN back into my life! This list only scratches the surface of the work and effort I put in for about a year, often making myself do things I didn't "feel" like doing, all with the goal of being mentally/emotionally, physically, and spiritually healthy and happy! And, it was working! The fog was lifting. Slowly but surely, my bad days were happening less and less, and I was starting feeling back to my normal self!

And, now that my mind is clearer, and I am better at making decisions, I was able to prayerfully choose a counselor, and I called and talked to insurance! I made those intimidating phone calls after putting them off for 9 months--thanks to the encouragement of my brave cousin, Brittany, who is on the recovery side of some horrible depression, and shared her story on Facebook. I've had such a good experience with the counselor! I went a few weeks in a row to work through some issues, and now, I've gone to once a month appointments to check in and work on my strategies and tools for managing anxiety.

So that's my story. In my final post of this series, I'll go into a bit more of the practical ways of HOW I was able to get back to a good place emotionally and mentally. I know I had wanted to read REAL ways that other people (especially moms of young kids) were working to overcome anxiety/depression as I was starting out on this path of healing. So hopefully you might find it helpful to hear what worked for me. :) If there is another person out there struggling with feeling depressed or like they are drowning and can't come up for air, then maybe my story will help them recognize that they needs to talk to others and get help!

This story for me continues. I am still seeking help and resources for my mental health. If the time comes that I find myself crashing down again and I can't come up, then I will look at other options, including medication. I know that everyone who deals with depression and anxiety will have a different treatment plan that works best for them, and that sometimes we have to adjust and take a change strategy if what we were doing isn't working anymore.

But, for now, I am just so glad to be doing so much better, and have been for probably half of a year. It feels GOOOD to enjoy my life!! :)

Though the past few years have been rough on my body and mind, I do NOT regret having my three beautiful boys. They are worth every sacrifice. When I look at the light in their eyes and see their goodness and joy and think about all the good they will have and be in this world, everything else falls away. They are a part of my soul and a huge part of God's purpose for my life. They have made the world, and my life, a better, more joyful place! And now that I've been working to heal my mental health, I can FEEL that joy again and better cope with the tough parts of motherhood.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I'm so ok with being done having babies. (which was a decision that my husband and I made a huge matter of prayer, and we felt VERY divinely guided in!) And other times, I don't even feel guilty, I'm just glad! Haha! I was told by my Heavenly Father to not run faster than I have strength. I just want to do all that I can to care for the children that I have, and keep myself healthy for them, for my hubby, and for me. EVERY soul is important to God, and has infinite worth--And that includes our own! Yes--we sacrifice much to bare and raise children, but we are people too!!! We MUST take care of our physical, mental, and emotional health too. God gave us our body, our mind, and our life as gifts to love and care for. We need to be our own advocates--don't wait for someone to give you permission to figure out how to improve your mental or physical health and act upon that. Just do it!! It will be hard work, but SO FREAKING worth it. Do it because you deserve it. God doesn't ask us to be a parent at the expense of all joy. He wants us to have joy in our life AND with our families! And, if we can't feel that joy anymore, it is up to us to advocate for ourselves, to seek help, and to FIGHT for this life.

Thankfully, we don't have to do this alone. There are so many who love YOU--please believe that even if depression is feeding you lies, and you can't see how anyone could love you...know that those thoughts are not true. The truth is that YOU are so worth loving and worthwhile and that your life is meant to be! You have gifts and a perspective that nobody else does, cause you're the only you in the world. And we need you. Please never forget that.

Thank you SO much for reading and caring about my story. This is SUPER SCARY for me. Like I feel sick to my stomach, cause I'm too scared to push publish! Ya'll heard some RAW, REAL-LIFE from me! BUT, I know this is important, and we can do hard things!!!

Please share this if you know of anyone who could use some encouragement and might benefit from my experience. :)

Love, you friends!

PS. I'd LOVE to hear your own thoughts and experiences with depression/anxiety. This is something that most of us will deal with sometime in our lives, so I feel like we should be open about it! How else can we help each other, if we never know that someone needs help?? And how can we reach out for help ourselves if it feels like a subject that is not ok to talk about?? I love to feel and give understanding, support, and connection with other mental health warriors!! :)