Postpartum Depression: What I Should Have Said

Guest post by Jessica Arrington

Recently, I saw a fellow Facebook user post about Postpartum Week. She shared her experience. I was inspired by her courage. I liked her post, thanked her for sharing her story, and turned around to share mine.

I received some of the same feedback—people thanking me for sharing my story. From my life experiences, I have come to believe that talking about our struggles helps us. Yet, when we share our experiences, our struggles, and how we came out on the other side…that, my friends, helps others. When we make the switch from talking to help ourselves to sharing to help others—that is what changes the world.

So, when I was talking to Allison about sharing my experience on Facebook, I told her that there were some responses that I didn’t know what to do with. Comments like, “Oh, I didn’t know you went through that” or “I’m so sorry you went through that.” I just shrugged them off. In my mind I was comforted, but I felt like I was supposed to share. I thought it wasn’t a big deal. Period. End. Of. Story.

My response to them was like a slap in the face—my own face. I’m sure my response didn’t help them, either. Shrugging off these responses does nothing to change how we help mamas going through postpartum struggles right now. So, what do we DO to help Postpartum Mamas? What should we say?

What I should have said was: “Thank you. I’ve learned a lot about what we can do to help moms struggling right now.”

If you are a hubby to a new mom, or if you love a new mom, here are some things you can do:

Say nothing.

Just listen. Odds are, Mom just wants to be heard. Listen to what she is saying, and give feedback when she’s open to hear it.

Help Joyfully.

When she asks you to change baby’s diaper, take out the trash, help with chores. Complaining and grumbling may make her feel bad or frustrated. She’ll try to do it all on her own, and taking on the responsibility all on her own can cause more anxiety and depression.

Get her into community.

There are many supports out in the community to help new moms. If she isn’t doing it herself, stop by her house, bring her food, hold baby while she sleeps. Moms—new moms especially—need community. Be there fore her. She’ll join the other supports when she’s ready!

Gently let her know that getting help is okay and even a good thing.

Honestly, if she’s not ready, she’s not ready and she won’t hear it. If she’s open, let her know that getting help or seeing a counselor is good to do. Check to see how much your insurance will cover or if your employer has an Employee Assistance Program.

Let her get filled up.

Ask her how much time she needs to step away and what does she want to go do. Encourage her to do it. Lovingly tell her to get out of the house and not come back for an hour. If she doesn’t know what she wants to do, she’ll figure it out in due time.

Don’t wait.

Know the signs. Is she acting differently than before baby? Don’t wait until she’s hit rock bottom to encourage or help her. By then, it will be a lot harder and a lot more work for her to get back to her healthy self.

This isn’t an end-all and be-all. Take from it what you will. If one thing works, great! You know the “new mom” in your life best. Use your gut instinct on the things you think she needs, and just show her love.

The Arrington family welcoming their newest addition!

Big thanks to Jessica for writing this guest post! Her openness about experiencing postpartum depression has taught me so much, equipped me to walk alongside women with postpartum depression, and inspired me to keep talking about mental health, even when it's hard.

Post-Depression Recovery

Life during depression is a beast all in its own league, and it deserves every bit of awareness, support, and investment in resources.

As time passes, I’m discovering life after depression has its own unique challenges as well—and unlike periods of depression, this odd period of transition seems to fly under the radar, even among the best of Google searches.

Though I would choose the current difficulties of life any day over the darkness of depression, today’s difficulties are still, well, difficult. As I process through these challenges, here’s what I’m finding:

1. Coming out of depression, though lovely, is still a transition.

Transitions can be hard. Change brings about growth, and growth can be painful. Even though this change was desperately anticipated—and even though this pain seems minimal compared to the throes of hopelessness—I am still experiencing growing pangs.

I’m like a bear crawling out of hibernation who meets the bright sun as if for the first time, squinting his eyes and momentarily shell-shocked at the change of environment.

Like Mr. Bear, I’m reacclimating to my surroundings. Suddenly filled with long-lost energy and motivation, I’m relearning what my capacity is and how to draw boundaries. Some days, like a bear cub, I play excessively out of pure joy and then collapse into a heap for a day or two.

It’s all part of the transition.

2. I lived with depression for a long time, and it feels odd—even intimidating at times—to be without it.

It was off and on, but the struggle with depression spanned my entire adult life until this year. 

At first I was afraid to confess my happiness aloud because I was afraid the sacred emotion would vanish. Even now, a tinge of hesitancy lingers.

Adobe stock photo

Like a sparrow with a recently mended wing, I’m timid at first to launch into blissful flight. The delicate bird recalls the days of soaring in the wind, but the memory of falling sounds off the alarms in her head.

Like Ms. Sparrow, I doubt my abilities and question any sense of confidence. With time and with courage, this fear will pass. For now, I still face it every day.

3. Sometimes I’m still sad. Some days I even feel depressed again.

The arrival of days reminiscent of depression remind me self-care regimens are most effective when promoting wellness, not curing disease.

Grace and permission to struggle are granted often enough to keep the perfectionism at bay. My bed receives enough quality time to even out my mood—and to make eyes widen and mouths gape. My therapist’s office is still warmed by my presence. Recovery is gradual.

I’m like a baby sea turtle hatching from an egg buried in the sand. He undertakes the arduous trek across the beach and finally reaches the water. But even as the tide pulls him forward into the ocean, waves lapping up against the shore push him back momentarily before he can move forward again.

Like Baby Sea Turtle, I progress slowly, not in a neat, linear way but in zig-zags, lurches and pauses. Sometimes processes cannot be quantified nor journeys predicted.

Pixabay stock photo

Nevertheless, they can be one of the most important things ever to happen to a baby sea turtle. Or to me.

4. Part of my sadness involves grieving the past times of depression.

We grieve because of loss. Depression brings loss.

It brings the loss of happiness all those years. It brings the loss of truth believed about myself—truth of worthiness of life and love and much, much more.

Even elephants grieve. When they return to a site of a herd member’s death, they pause to grieve and remember. I grieve through tears and art and writing this.

Like elephants, I cannot forget; the impact of depression is stamped in the past. I never want to relive it, nor do I desire to dwell on it. But I will acknowledge it and honor the season of immense pain and suffering.

To dismiss it would be to spurn not only the struggle but also the victory.

5. Depression may have ended, but it hasn’t been erased from my past.

This is a misunderstood part of recovery. I’m still trying to figure it out myself.

No physical mark mars my body, but scars on my heart are certainly present. It’s easier to hide the season of sorrow now because it isn’t the daily donning of a mask. It’s a passive choice not to reveal the words stamped on earlier pages.

Yet these scars on my heart are not blemishes. They are part of my story, and my story is beautiful in its own rite. Without them, I wouldn’t be who I am now.

How depression fits into my story, what part of my story I’m living now, and where my story will go—these are all in the works.

Like every human, I’m still making sense of yesterday and today and tomorrow. 

It’s all part of life after depression.