A very personal diary of each person's journey

Here are the full stories of each person's experience with post-natal depression.

Write It Down!

You get to the point of no return everyday. What, who pulls you back you don’t know, you’re not even grateful. You’re not resentful either though; you just don’t have the energy to care.

I remember being there, that numbness in your mind and heart. You fight it, albeit in vain, there’s no real control. The touch of your husband’s hand awakens you briefly, but the cuddles, the radiant smiles of your two boys mean nothing. Are they really mine? They’re cute and all, but I am not watching someone else’s children? That overwhelming instinct to protect; gone! That uncontrollable urge to soothe any hurt; evaporated. Let someone else love them for a while. I feel nothing. Yet, paradoxically, that very feeling keeps me panic stricken. How has this come to pass? To feel such nothingness and yet to have no control over feeling it? What will it have me feel tomorrow? It, being the operative word. It’s a beast that consumes you, takes away all predictability of thought, speech and action. It takes away you, and any sense of you before it: Post-natal depression.

I’m back from there, but I am not yet saved. I am yet to work what ultimately saves you. Maybe it’s the unconditional love of those you carried that finally penetrates the void. Perhaps it’s the constant, undying love and support of your partner, that never bending reassuring look in his eyes that brings you back. I am back, but not completely, perhaps completely, forever, is just an illusion. But it no longer has me in full grasp and I can feel its fingers slipping. That’s the one constant that keeps me moving forward. Can never, never go back there. What happens to those without that trampoline of love and support to bounce them back? Where do they go? What evil does it end up reaping on them?

You know-I cuddled my youngest last night and he smiled at me. At that very moment I knew I was still treading up hill, but also still moving further away from that cold, cold dungeon. It was only then did I realise I had not yet loved him until this point. To know I now do lifts you higher than any disorder could ever dare to reach and pull you down.

It’s shaky ground. It’s a constant barrage of unconstants. One minute you feel you might almost have control, you almost, with that new feeling of parental love growing from your heart, believe you can now wade through almost anything, scarred and bruised but surviving. Yet the next minute you can feel yourself plummeting, reaching out your hand for someone to grab you. Only now do I know, the only real person to ultimately do that is me. She took me back there, but I now know I let her. I was temporarily lost, my crying eyes, my shaking body pleading my husband to try and bring me back. You know though, it’s not an infinite well. How many times can he do that?

You know, on your way back, you begin to see things so clearly and mentally you have it all mapped out; every action, every word. You see every pitfall, every past weakness that this time won’t defeat you. All of it though, it only equates to a tremendously hurtful fall when you realise, you’re so brave in your head, but so damn gutless, pathetic in reality.

I have fallen to her and to others, so many times. I will probably continue to do so, but I must believe in better things. I need to believe in family, in the bond created and maintained in those relationships. But most importantly I need to believe in myself. Believe I can stand up to protect those people, as well as to protect and honour the real me, with all my faults, all my ugliness. Up until this stage there were only two people who knew this real me and one better than the other. That person, to my infinite gratitude, is my husband.

It’s really quite simple now. On some days, used to be most before it moved and took over my whole being, not a thing can go wrong. Yet, there are those other days! You are loving them, enjoying them and bang, one bad nappy change, one interrupted sleep, one phone call and you’re as fragile as a crystal again. You want to break, but you get through it, body, mind, sometimes even a strained smile intact. See, that’s the difference between being here and being there. If I was still there I would not have survived the day with the ticking bomb only in my head, weighing down my body for only me to feel. I would have curled up into a little ball, retreated behind my wall of nothingness and let my children be some else’s problem. Each time this happens, I believe in something saving me. The difference as time goes on though, is that I know part of that something is now me. I am now actively using what has been taught to me, to survive and to even sometimes overcome obstacles to experience joy.

You know, having post natal, has been one of the most difficult obstacles I have ever faced. But like every journey, I have learned infinite amounts of knowledge, which given half the chance and half the inclination, will continue to make me a better person. When I say better, I’m using my yard stick. I am now measuring up to who I’ve always wanted to be but for some reason have never before had the courage to honour.

It’s about the forged part of me that I detested and sometimes still do. It’s the part that probably took me down to the depths of despair during my depression. When I wasn’t feeling that almost protective nothingness, I was at war with myself to be more me. It still is a constant battle ground. Before Post-natal Depression, I was a different person for every different person I made contact with. I was who I thought they expected me to be or me, but a weak, fake me, completely intimidated. It wasn’t important if that expectation was actually confirmed by them, or if they really were intimidating, only that I honoured those living pathological expectations in my head.

I rarely told anyone what I really thought. I assumed being honest would make me feel worse if imparting such honesty could potentially upset them. So, in believing my honesty unconstructive to them, I was belligerent to myself. Instead, I chose to live with the all consuming torment of, yet again, not honouring the real me. That was probably the biggest mechanism in my ticking bomb when depressed. For each instance of wavering to her every demand, for allowing such disrespect to my husband and into my home, for allowing her to treat our children as fun, but not so important, the bomb would tick. As I retreated from what was in my head, what I knew I should say, the bomb ticked faster. A couple of times, when it did explode post my major panic attack, it was her I allowed to take me back to that world of inferiority, panic and a search for the nothingness. Closer, each time, to another major explosion.

You know, I say her and there really is a particular her or a him, but there are also many, some I know intimately, some not even by name. Some, realistically are an incredible negative force in anyone’s life, but the others, they were and are mostly monsters in my head. Even the real monster, I have come to realise, only lives there if I give it permission.

You see-it’s simple. Drop the facades, stand up and be counted, tell her, tell them what is ticking in your head. Let them figure it out. Once out, not in my control any longer. Out of me and that means a weight lifted, a potential bomb deactivated. But it’s not that simple, and it never will be. But it is getting better. Step by step I am building who I want to be and in return I am beginning to walk with a proudness I have never before felt. I now realize I do have control over my thoughts and actions, but not over the thoughts or actions of others. People cannot make me feel or react in a particular way, nor can I them. Just knowing that has meant a much nicer treatment of me and a refusing to any longer let the expectations or actions of others consume me.

I under went treatment with a psychologist and took anti depressants for well over 12 months. In counseling I was made fully aware of my once unconscious, inner most distorted thought processes. I was a willing learner, but my teacher was highly apt at what she did. I wasn’t made to feel degraded, or mentally inept, I was made to see that I, along with a lot of the population who choose to ignore it, was suffering a disorder, one which was just as important as any medical condition to treat. This was the beginning of me getting better in every possible way; altering cognitions and stigmatization. Because of that, along with the three men in my life, I am where I am today. Where am I really today? Well, I’m not a happy, care free person, but I don’t think, regardless of the depression, I was ever going to be or was. But I’m not there either. All I know is that I am confident of never going back there and that is a stance I am incredibly pleased about.

I now genuinely attempt to have only positive influences in my life. I have a small network of people now who either know or who are beginning to know the real me. I love them and I love them for accepting the real me, especially, my boys. They have always known the real me. Perhaps that has been the biggest factor. While many are still trying to figure me out, my boys already know. All the more reason to stay where am I and keep progressing. I never want them to guess who I am today. They are my one constant, my safe haven where I can always be me. With them I have built a solid foundation of love, a foundation that I know behind every judgment, every criticism there is love. It is the solid foundation that the world can fall apart today, but at the end of it, I still get that kiss and cuddle, I still retreat to the warmth of his love, renew and face another day. As this foundation remains constant I am free to continue building and rewarding the real me. Sometimes that building means loss of some I thought special, but mostly, to those who are beginning to see who I really am, it means one huge gain, one I would not have experienced without depression.

As I read through this piece, even as I was writing it, I was aware of swapping between writing in first and third person. Aware I also was that the time frames may be confusing, not to mention some of the content arrangement. But, I will not change it, for changing it would undermine my true experience of this rollercoaster ride. You see depression, for me used to be surrounded in stigmatism, for many it always will be. However, I know I have come along way to admit honestly this one thing: Had it not been Post-natal depression, it would have been a depressive episode at some other point, triggered by some other event. It was pending. I was hiding behind the Post-natal depression label, like it was some type of cushion. Surrounded by people ignorant of mental illness and their sometimes equally ignorant judgments I felt that Post-natal had a more medical cause associated with it. A medical cause which helped people feel more comfortable with my disorder, as it did me for quite a time. I don’t know if I did have a serotonin imbalance triggered by my son’s birth and quite frankly I no longer need to know. It makes no difference. I’m not weak for having had, perhaps even always having a mental illness. I’m strong. Stronger than I ever thought imaginable. Not only am I rebuilding but I’m throwing the challenge out there that to not communicate, to not allow emotion to touch your life, to not admit you need help is to not reward yourself with the growth that comes from it. 

This is only a small fragment of my learning. Realising that judgment of others is often a harsh reaction and one that highlights your own insecurities more than being a true reflection of the person you’re judging, is another. Learning what is important and what you should just let go of is another. The list is much more extensive and certainly not conquered, however it’s prioritizing what is important for you that is the thing to master. Many of us waste much energy on things that in the long run, contribute nothing to your own or others’ well being. I’m still working on all of those things and it is striving for these things that makes my life more rewarding everyday. More rewarding because I know in doing this I am setting our children in such a position so that one day, they can be whoever they want to be and most importantly, be comfortable with, confident with and love and respect that person.

Is there a hidden message in there for each of you? Yes and no. What I want is for you to take from it what you will. If it makes you smile, then great, if it makes you cross, I would ask you why? If you blow it off as new age rubbish, I would ask why is it you’re judging? If you take it and learn something,  I think that is my ultimate purpose! I have learnt so much about life and about me from having suffered from PND.  Now I feel that I have been able to transform my learning into something positive and hopefully I can help others learn by it too. I guess this is my way of giving something back and in some small way helping others to understand the pain and also the growth that comes from having had post-natal depression.

I hope, that in reading this, some of you still learning about my battle with PND, will now understand it more fully. I’m hoping to increase one’s knowledge of mental illness, so that we may begin the fight to eradicate our social banishment of people suffering such illness. I’m also doing it for me. Why? I want to. I’m no longer frightened of people's reaction to it. And that, my friends, is a nice final outcome to such a long process of healing.  Kirstie Edwards age 30, Melbourne,Victoria

There Is Laughter Now! 

I was well aware of Post Natal Depression. When I became pregnant my mother told my husband to be on the look out for any signs of it, and she would too. I had a lot of stuff going on around that time, and I was feeling depressed and unable to cope - this was before the baby was even born.

I often suffer from depression before my period is due. It was the same thing. I'd often wander around the house with my hands over my face.... either trying to work out why I was walking around the house, or trying to work out what how to solve some stupidly easy problem. I had times when I felt I couldn't cope with anything. For no particular reason. I also had times where I would be so upset I'd flop onto the floor and cry. Again, for no real reason.

I am convinced it was pre-natal depression, but I passed it off as stress, since there was a lot going on in my life. We'd gotten engaged, and decided that we needed to speed the wedding along because my partner's sister was moving overseas to study and would be gone when we were planning to have the wedding. So we needed to have it before she left - which left us only 6 months to organise it (and we had a fairly complex one - it was themed). My partner lost his job. Then 2 months before the wedding, we found out I was 2 months pregnant. Which meant a complete wedding dress change (no tight corset dress for me now) - buying new material, as we'd started cutting the other dress out.. So all that was going on, then straight after the honeymoon we started house hunting, as we needed to move to a larger place for the baby (and because I needed to be closer to the hospital I had chosen). Then we needed to pack and move house. By now I was 6 months pregnant, We got broken into a week after we moved in, and spent 4 months fighting with our insurance people over certain items that were stolen (as well as the loss of some priceless items) I went into "spurious labour", and my waters didn't break (even though I was having bouts of regular contractions) for 12 days.

When the glorious moment happened, there was melconium in my waters... which quickly ended all my excitement about my waters breaking. I went to the hospital and was promptly hooked up to a monitor and made to lie still on the bed, so that they could continiously monitor the baby.

So much for my plans on a natural childbirth that included belly dancing and massage.... I had to literally beg to be allowed to stand up to change my pads even. After several hours of contractions that weren't doing anything, I was induced. Which was something I didn't want. After even more hours of painful contractions that still weren't doing anything (and more long hours of bed confinement) I was told I'd need a caesarian... another thing unplanned. My beautiful baby girl was born, but I was not allowed to breastfeed her straight away as I planned, as they took her away after I got only a brief cuddle. My husband and her went off while I was recovering (which took a long time [about an hour] because my blood pressure dropped). Finally I was able to go to my room and have a 1 arm cuddle (I was still hooked up to a drip), and a bit of an awkward feed.

Tahlia was spitting up mucous, so the midwife took her away to look after her while I slept (it was midnight). I felt guilty that I didn't feel guilty at her taking my baby away..... I wanted sleep! (and I couldn't move my body yet) The next few nights were probably the worst in my life... I'd had only 2 hours sleep at most since the day before (My waters broke an hour after I went to bed that night). I coudn't sleep during the day, and all night Tahlia would either cry and be impossible to settle, or she'd be sleeping, but would make choking sounds as she brought up more of the mucous - which meant I couldn't risk sleeping in case she choked and died while I slept. Because I'd had a caesarian it was hard to get in and our of bed quickly (or even to lean over), so I ended up sitting on the bed beside the cot all night... mostly crying or feeling depressed.

Even though I had my own room, I felt guilty every time she cried, as I worried she'd be keeping other mothers awake. Even though I could hear other babies crying all night. I thought babies were meant to be little cute cherubs.. weren't they? mine cried, didn't want to eat properly (she'd cry even though the nipple was in her mouth), and was chomping my nipples until they blistered and bled.. and made me not able to sleep for worrying about her. Finally I got to the stage I was almost hallucinating from lack of sleep.

I worked out that I must have had around 4 hours sleep in 5 days. I only managed about 30 mins sleep during the day each day while my husband was there to look after Tahlia. (Between visitors, cleaners, nurses and feeding) I stayed awake all through the night. I got to the stage I was talking and not knowing what I was saying - I couldn't hear what I'd said, nor remember what I had said. I wondered if I had even spoken..(but I had). I couldn't feel my hands - they were all numb. I am sure it was from lack of sleep (The Doctors checked me, nothing was physically wrong). So finally, on my last night in hospital I accepted the midwife's offer to take Tahlia for an hour or so to let me sleep. I felt a little guilty, but I needed to sleep!

Anyway..... at home things were better. My husband would get up out of bed, walk around to the basinette which was beside me, and pass tahlia to me for a feed, then change her nappy half way through (because she kept falling asleep during the feed) and bringing her back, even putting her back to bed- so that I didn't have to get out of bed.

It started because it was hard for me to get out of bed when my caesarian scar was sore... but it's something that still continues now 6 months later! I am very lucky! I had a wonderfully supportive husband. Although he got a new job and was then back at work when tahlia was a month old. My sister and mother were around to help. My mother-in-law offered to come over and do my housework.... I had tons of support...yet, about a month later, I started feeling depressed again.

I never had a problem bonding with Tahlia. I never felt I didn't love her. I never wanted to hurt her, or myself. I just felt I couldn't cope. She cried most of the day, or wanted to be cuddled ALL day. If I put her down while I went to the toilet, she'd scream like someone was beating her up. She often didn't sleep at all during the day, and if she did... it was only maybe 10 mins here and there. She luckily slept reasonably well at night - sleeping from around 12am to 11am - but waking every 3 hours for a feed. We all went to bed together at midnight, and occasionally we'd get to sleep through the 3am feed. I'd tell my husband how bad she was... but he never saw it. As soon as he walked in the door, it was all different. She was calmer, and they would sit and watch the news together while I made dinner.

It was about a month later that he finally saw what she was like during the day for me! I felt like a failure. She had a bit of cradlecap... which I'd read you could prevent by washing their head every day. I'd been slack and only bathed her every second day. She kept getting red skin under her neck from where she spit up milk and it stayed there all night. I felt that I should have been better and cleaned her neck more. I read that baby massage helped to make babies smarter and was better for bonding and emotional development... but I hadn't done it (I tried once, and she hated being naked, so I didn't try again). She also either wanted to feed all the time, or would cry.... my sister suggested a dummy (pacifier), which I refused to give to her. Eventually my sister offered one again, and we tried it. Tahlia's little eyes rolled back into her head in an expression of pure bliss.... the crying stopped. She unfortunately loved the dummy. But as much as I hate them, it was blistered nipples or the dummy. She'd feed but would cry when I took the nipple away. She liked to keep sucking it - if I kept it there, I blistered. I felt like I just couldn't cope.

I loved her so much, yet she didn't seem to love me. I couldn't stand it when she cried.... I'd often cry myself. One day the only thing that stopped her crying was me REALLY crying. I cried and she stopped. I cried for an hour,. and she was silent the whole time. I calmed down and stopped. She started again. So I started again, and she stopped. little terror!  I also felt like a failure because I had no idea what her cries meant. She always seemed to be hungry. She'd often go to suckle other people's chests. Male, female... young, old.. she didn't care. People would say she was hungry, but that wasn't always it. So I couldn't "demand" feed... because I had no idea when she wanted food. I ended up thrusting my nipple into her mouth any time she cried - just in case. Which just made me sore, and she still cried. If she rubbed her eyes while crying, that was obviously a tired one (plus that one was more like a whinge cry).. as for the others... I had no idea. I'd tried everything.... food, burping, gripe water, playing with her, letting her lie down peacefully... playing music, singing... taking her for a walk.... nothing seemed to help.

Mum suggested maybe Tahlia just wanted a cuddle. So I tried cuddling her a lot when she woke up. That worked. I then felt like the world's worst mother.  I'd been neglecting her in affection! But she didn't want just a couple of cuddles.... no.... she got those. She wanted an all day cuddle. She'd only be quiet when she spent the whole day in my arms. Sometimes one of those pouches/slings was a substitute... but often it had to be in my arms all day. When I put her down to go to the toilet or to have something to eat - she'd scream. So often I'd not eat all day.. I simply didn't have enough chance to make and eat something.

I thought I probably had PND... but I also wasn't sure if it was just stress because Tahlia was not an easy baby...plus... I didn't feel suicidal, or that I wanted to hurt the baby.... and it wasn't all the time - it was on and off. I had good days and bad days. It was mostly not feeling I could cope... mixed with some general depression. I read about it online.

I did a quick online test, which was mostly questions like "do you feel you don't love your baby". So my score said I didn't have it. I talked to mum, and casually brought it up. Which was my way of saying "I have a problem, please tell me to go to a Dr". She obviously thought it wasn't as much of a problem as it was... so didn't really say anything about it. She'd commented several times on how natural a mother I was. How calm and laid back I seemed. Yes, I did a lot of the time... but when I was alone, I was sad and I felt like I was not coping.

I thought about how my life was going, and wondered how people like my grandmother coped. She'd had 5 children and I couldn't cope with even 1. I was always seen as a strong person... yet I felt like this was all beyond me.

My sister managed to have a baby a year before I had mine.. and her house was always spotless, her baby was fine... if she could do it... why couldn't I? (as it turns out, she didn't cope either and had PND - she had a clean house yes, but was falling apart herself - and I hadn't noticed! I feel horrible) It even flowed into my husband and my relationship. I couldn't be intimate with him again.... that leads to babies, and that leads to all this happening again!

There was no amount of "protection" that my mind would accept as being protection enough! Physically and emotionally, I just couldn't do it. Finally, it seemed like my milk was drying up. Tahlia would feed for only 5 mins each side... I also didn't feel my breasts filling up with milk. They felt the same before and after a feed. 5 mins couldn't be enough of a feed... I must be running out of milk.

That was it.... Tahlia no longer needed me if she was bottle fed. My body couldn't birth her, and now it couldn't sustain her. I was a failure! I tried expressing between feeds, and drinking herbals teas and heaps of liquids to increase my supply... nothing helped. Finally I sent my husband down to the supermarket to buy formula. Tahlia was crying and wouldn't eat and I couldn't settle her by feeding her (which usually worked). I was incredibly upset and I called my mother to cry to her. She came over and we talked. I told her how I felt - everything. She told me what the rational part of me knew - I wasn't a bad mother because Tahlia had cradlecap... I wasn't a bad mother because Tahlia cried.... I wasn't a failure because I'd have to formula feed. She made me promise to go to her house the next day, and see her Doctor, because he was down to earth and nice. Also she wanted me to spend the day with her.

I also had a good talk to my husband, and he was upset that I hadn't felt I could call him at work when I was depressed. So he told me to call him if I needed to talk, or even for him to come home early (which he did end up doing a couple of times, when I needed him to) So I did.

I went to the Dr, and told him what was happening. He looked a bit shocked when I told him everything that had happened in the last 12 months. He said "Gee... you've had just about everything happen to you" I told him how I was feeling, and even that I'd done an Internet test that said I didn't have PND. He thought that I did have it. So he perscribed some antidepressants that were suitable for breastfeeding mothers. That day mum discovered that Tahlia was teething.... which explained the crying and the feeding problems.

At my next appointment with the Health Nurse, she told me that it was not uncommon for babies at her age (3 months) to feed quickly, as they were very efficient at drinking, and because she was gaining weight, I obviously had plenty of milk. (Tahlia also wouldn't accept the formula - even though she was used to drinking watered-down juice from a bottle). So I felt better about that. So I took an antidepressant. It made me into a zombie. I couldn't be bothered doing anything. Luckily it was a Saturday, so my husband was home. I lay on the couch and could hardly move. Tahlia was crying, but the only thoughts I had about it was along the lines of "darn, I can hardly hear the TV". Not good.

My husband was great, he looked after her all day, bringing her in to me for feeds. I decided that I couldn't live as a zombie. It took 2 days to get all that out of my system. I didn't dare take another. Funnily enough, the Dr said to take 1 tablet a day and if that didn't work, take 2. If that didn't work he said to come back for a stronger perscription! If I did that, I'd be comatose! But I was feeling better... maybe just talking about it helped.

About 2 weeks later it started again. What should I do? take the zombie tablets... or be depressed. I started contemplating suicide to make it all go away. But I had a problem. I loved Tahlia so much I couldn't stand to be without her... if I killed myself, I'd be without her cuteness everyday. But if I didn't.. I'd be upset almost every day. I realised that even thinking about suicide slightly wasn't a good sign so I talked to mum again, and she suggested trying half a tablet. I was on the weak perscription, so this was as weak as I could go.

It was a week day, and my husband told me to call him at work and he'd come home in a second if I started feeling like a zombie. I could feel when the tablet kicked in... I took it at night, when I was on the computer... I was reading a reasonably funny webpage, and I suddently found it so hilarious I nearly fell off my chair. my "happy pills" had certainly kicked in, but I felt very relaxed and calm.. not "zombified", and found jokes much funnier than before! So I tried taking another half tablet the next day.... basically the same thing. It relaxed me, and made me just see things as a bit funnier. I no longer felt sad, but not as disconnected as I had felt before. So that is what I did, life dramatically improved.

I occasionally skip one (or two) days... and I don't really see much difference now when I do take them. I am not sure what did it though.... as a few things happened at the same time. 1).

I started putting Tahlia to sleep in her new cot during the day - before she was put down in either her basinette or just left to nap in her bouncer in the room I was in. 2). When she cried (when I put her down to sleep), I'd walk away. I couldn't let her cry before, now I could cope with her crying for a few mins. Often she'd cry for maybe 1 minute, then she'd sleep. Any longer and I'd go back in, put her dummy in and stroke her for a moment. 3). She obviously got to the age where she could start to hold and play with things, so started playing with toys, which gave her more interesting things to do. 4). She started sleeping!!! Usually 1-2 hour sleeps during the day in her cot. 5).

When tahlia wakes up for her morning feed (usually after my husband has gotten up or gone to work) I feed/change her and bring her into bed with me, and I ask her how her dreams were, and kiss her lots and we play for about half an hour, then we snuggle up and nap for another hour or so before we get up.

So I don't know whether me taking my pills made me calmer and that made her calmer so she could sleep. But I didn't have my upset days all day every day - and she never slept that well during the day.... Putting her in the cot might have helped - because it was in her room, not in our bedroom - so she'd only ever been in that room to sleep (unlike our bedroom where the change table is also). It could also have been that she passed into the next phase of life where she just got calmer and more sleepy.... or it could have been because she could now play with toys she was more contented. I have no idea.... but..... to end an epic story..... now I couldn't be happier. It's been about a month now since everything sorted itself out - for whatever reason it did.

Tahlia babbles away happily all day now. She'll often lie on her rug and play with her toys alone for 2 hours! She smiles at me all day, and is no longer the "daddy's girl" that is grumpy all day with me and all smiles for daddy. We giggle and play every morning before we even get up. She rarely cries now, but when she does, I can handle it. It's funny, She's on solids now, and she enjoys eating so much that she often cries after I stop feeding her (I usually have to give her the dummy for a few seconds, then she'll usually smile it out).

I can just laugh at her for that now though.. the cries don't eat into my soul like they used to. In the last month I have started to actually enjoy being a mother.

Every day is wonderful. In the car she sings along to the radio, and my husband and I just look at each other and smile, often we'll quickly hold hands... silently both saying how lucky we are (I know I am). My depression wasn't as bad as some people's is... but suffering is suffering, no matter how "bad" it is.

I look back and wonder if I could have enjoyed life like I do now - if I'd just saught help earlier. My main help has been that Tahlia is no longer the screaming handful she was. I don't know why... whether it is because she was sensing my stress (even though I didn't think I was stressed out most of the time), or because she's just come through a phase.. I don't know. I hope it lasts.... I have decided to continue taking my tablets (my half ones)... at least until my perscription is finished (which will be a while, since I get twice as much from one pack!) I told a friend I was taking medication, and she started into a lecture about taking antidepressants.

My Health Nurse wanted me to speak to a Social Worker. I think a social worker would have told me what I already knew when thinking logically and rationally.... I wasn't a bad mother... I was coping... As for taking medication.. that's a tough one. I normally don't like taking medicines.... if I have a headache, I'll drink a cup of herbal tea, or suffer through it... but this is different, and I have not only my life to consider, but my families life. If I suffer, they do too.... and even if I can justify suffering because I don'rt want to take drugs, I can't make them suffer.

My mum always says.... "you wouldn't tell a diabetic not to take their medication... so why is taking anti-depressants any different." I could probably stop taking mine now... I am not sure. but I figure I'll keep taking them for a little bit longer.

At the moment we are looking for a house to buy... which is a bit stressful.... then there will be packing and moving (hopefully... if we ever find a house!)... I think it's probably wise to keep taking my tablets until I have settled down in my new house....then I can go about trying to go off them. So that is my story.... long as it is    Obsidian, Melbourne, Victoria  

I feel like I'm Drowning

I read your excerpt in the Sydney Child Magazine last month and it struck a chord with me.  I am actually unsure whether I have ever had or even am currently experiencing PND.  What I have been feeling is nothing compared to the severity described in what I have read or heard of in the past, including your experience, however the problem for me is that though I have not suffered severe symptoms which came and went in a matter of months I have had something else going on which has been with me for years- since my children arrived (4 years ago). It feels like a mild PND where I dread my day to day life at most times when I am to face the day alone with my 2 adorable boys, aged 4 & 2.

I know that it should be expected that as mothers we will be exhausted but I see my life as taking a complete backflip and now it is filled with the burden of cooking, cleaning, feeding, crying, appeasing etc.  Of course there are lovely times that are sprinkled in between but for the most part there is a sense of mild depression, isolation and basically the feeling that I have been left to drown here.

The problem is I have a fantastic husband who helps when he gets home. A mother who is up the road and helps at least one day a week and my kids are in daycare 3 days in a row.  However, I still feel like I am sprialling out of control. Is this normal? Is it a form of low grade but prolonged PND? I don't know. On the outside I probably look like I'm doing okay but on the inside I know it is not okay. Do other women feel this longlasting low grade something?

I would however like to add that despite the doom and gloom, I am optimistic about the future and feel like eventually I will get there, but I guess right now I just need someone to point my in the right direction.   Anastasia age 37, Sydney, NSW

My experiences- there is hope.

I have never posted any messages on any PND website I have visited, but I was so taken with this one that I thought I'd write in. I opened my mail today which included a semi-regular real estate newsletter which I normally just throw straight out. My eyes however, sparked up when I saw the bit about "Mothers In Need". I know Paul that Melinda's husband that she mentions on this web site, he has sold several properties for us. I was so surprised to find that there are other people with successful professional partners, (or successful proffessionals themselves) who have been affected by this illness.

I am so sick of hearing of statistics such as 1 in 10 or 1 in 7 mothers are affected by PND. Until my hospitalilization I had not met a single other woman who admitted to having suffered. I go to mothers group every Thursday and look at the other women, all seem to be coping so well, all rave on about how wonderful motherhood is. Why don't I feel that way

I have a 3 year old daughter. After she was born my whole world fell apart. I spent the first 3 months in tears, and the next 3 months hating her for ruining my life. It was only after 6 or 8 months that I felt any sort of affection or any bond towards her. I was breastfeeding and hated it, I hated everything about being a mother but of course, could never admit this to anyone. I never let on that I was suffering, not even to my Mum. My husband knew of course, he bore the brunt of my tears, my irrational behaviour, my fidgeting and lack of concentration, my desire to do everything and not allow him to do a single thing.

With time my behaviour improved and my bleak mood and mood swings became part of life. We learnt to deal with them, but they never really went away.

4 months ago I had a second baby. Emma was another girl, I had so desperately wanted a boy. I knew from the 12 week scan that she was a girl but it didn't make it any easier, I kept hoping the doctors got it wrong. The four days in hospital were great. I had all those instant feelings of love and overwhealming sense of joy that I had missed out on with Annabel. When I got home everything fell apart.

I had convinced myself that this baby was going to fit into my life, I wasn't going to alter my weekly routine and the baby would just fit in. Anyone who has ever had a baby knows that this isn't possible. I was plunged into really deep depression. I am ashamed to say but I actually contacted an adoption agency trying to give Emma away. She was only 8 weeks old.

Mine is a long story and I feel I have prattled on long enough. I was fortunate that Greg, my husband was very supportive. He and my GP (I agree with the person who said a female GP with kids of her own is ideal), organised for me to go to hospital. Well it wasn't really hospital, but a home like environment for mothers and babies. It was really difficult for me to leave my 3 year old at home, to be cared for by a combination of mother, mother in law (admitting to her that I wasn't coping was one of the toughest times) and Greg. Banksia house was fantastic. At first I thought it was the worst place in the world, pretty dull and dingy, but the staff were fantastic and it just gave me time to spend with Emma without the pressures of everyday life, no housework, no laundry, no friends or family making demands of me. The real reason for my improvement was some greatly needed sleep and medication. I too, like Melinda, didn't want anti-depressants. Surely I wasn't at the stage that needed medication, but all doctors and my husband insisted that I try them. I now take 250mg (quite a high dose) of Zoloft, which is the commercial name for a drug known as sertraline. I have no idea how it works but it does. It has improved my life 100 fold. I still have my down days, days when I feel like someone has laid a blanket over me and I can't see out, I can't breathe and I can't see how things will improve in the future. But to anyone else resisting medication, or resisting hospitalization I now know it was the best thing that could have happened to me. All those around me thought I was a potential danger to myself and my kids. I'm not sure I would have ever acted on it, but I did map out a plan to end it all, not just for me but my whole family. Who knows, the support of a loving husband and a great GP may have saved us from the unthinkable, maybe I would just still be struggling on.

To those resisting it, medication can help and hospitalization might make a difference. If nothing else, my 2 week stint in Banksia house showed me I was not alone, there were other women out there suffering like me or worse. Other women had their own set of problems and issues to overcome but we all seemed to bond a bit, knowing we had a common condition and that we weren't "crazy" and this phase was just temporary, all we needed was a bit of help. I have made a good friend from my time in hospital. Someone who I feel I can talk to honestly. If I'm having a bad day I can ring her or text her and tell her how I'm feeling. Likewise she can do the same. We often spend afternoons together at eachother's houses, now at least, we can joke about our time in hospital, but deep down I know it was the best thing for me.

I guess what I'm trying to say is give all treatment options a try. I used to be a very confident, reliable, upbeat and intelligent woman. PND reduced me to a quivering mess of tears, anxiety, fear and stress. I have been taking medication for about 3 months, I still see a phychiatrist once a fortnight and my GP once a month but I am getting there. At least I can see some hope in the future, and one of the biggest achievments I have made is being able to admit to others, I am recovering from Post Natal Depression. I have even told the women from my Mother's Group, and that really is an achievment!

My apologies for such a long story, but it is quite therapeutic to write it all down.  Miriam age 29, Melbourne, Victoria

Love Lead Me Back to Reality!

I’m now 32yrs young, when I was 21 my mother had a mental  breakdown, unfortunately she was never able to fully recover from her depression. I guess in the back of my mind I knew this increased my   chances of getting PND. After being married for 6 years the time had   come to start a family. I enjoyed being pregnant and it was a wonderful time in my life.

Well the time came, and I went into labour. It was a difficult, traumatic experience, which lasted for 22 hours and I ended up having a forceps assisted delivery, it had taken every last bit of strength out of my body to deliver my baby but finally it was all over, I had a little boy, we named him Jack.

In the following days everything seemed so hard, even the simplest thing, such as using the telephone. I was physically exhausted, every muscle in my body ached. I struggled with my emotions and my poor little boy’s eyes were both battered and bruised from the forceps.

I don’t know how I even managed to look after him during this time. By the fourth day in hospital things got worse. I had not been sleeping as I was having terrible nightmares. I was also having frightening thoughts and hearing voices. By this stage it was clear that I was not myself, so the midwives arranged for me to have a Psychiatric assessment. I was then told that I was suffering from Postpartum Psychosis. This was such a relief, as I thought I was going crazy.

I immediately began taking medication and my condition quickly improved. Because of the medication I was unable to breast-feed my baby, so my husband would prepare the formula and sterilize the bottles. My husband and sister supported me 100% through this difficult time. It was their love and support that lead me back to reality.

I spent 4 days in a Mother & Baby Unit at the Mercy Hospital. By this time I was feeling much better and I was now able to begin bonding with my baby, looking after him on my own. The environment in the M&B Unit was quite and peaceful, it wasn’t at all like a hospital. During my stay I received much needed counseling. I came to realize that my illness was different to my mother’s mental illness.

Finally after 14 days in hospital I came home and I never looked back. I still had to see a private psychiatrist for a while, after 3 months I no longer had to take medication. At this point I knew I had fully recovered and it was a good feeling. My physiatrist gave me the best advise he told me to move forward with my life and not to view myself as the " Mother who had a mental illness’’ but to see myself as a regular mother just like everyone else, so that’s exactly what I did.

Because of my experience I am now a much stronger and positive person. Being able to deal with the every day demands of motherhood gives me confidence and I’m proud to say I’m a fulltime mum, after all it’s a bloody though job. I’ve had my share of ups and downs, there were days when I doubted myself but I managed by taking one day at a time.

I consider myself to be very lucky that the Psychosis hit me so quickly as I was able to receive the right support and hospital care that I so desperately needed. Jack is without a doubt the biggest achievement in life. I adore him and I enjoy every moment we spend together. To see his smile and to hear his laughter makes everything I went through all worth it.I hope my story gives inspiration to others. There is light at the end of the tunnel and it’s filled with LOVE.  Sharon P, age 32, Victoria