Me & PPD

Thank you to Kiinde Kommunity member Ashlee W for sharing her story

 


 

 

My mind wanders, causing flashes of sights I never wanted to see. Images as clear as a memory, day dreams so real my body shakes. 

I beg myself to stop, stirring happy thoughts up, only to fall right back.

 

My youngest daughter was nine weeks old the day I realized I have postpartum depression. I was sitting on the couch with her and my husband. He asked a question so insignificant I can’t even remember what it was. Instead of answering the question I snapped at him with a look that would have scared the devil himself. That moment I realized this wasn’t the first time I treated my husband so badly over nothing. 

 

At this point people would assume I must have a reason to be so short with him, I absolutely do not. He has been a godsend since the moment I met him. Through our pregnancy he was tentative and understanding. After our daughter was born six weeks early he was thoughtful, caring and remained by our sides the whole way. Now we are home and he has taken on cooking and cleaning, he helps with diaper changes, feeding and endless amounts of cuddles. I’m telling you he’s the most amazing person. 

 

So how is it possible that I continually unleash my anger on him? Why am I even angry? I don’t even feel angry! I honestly feel happy, the happiest I have ever been in my life. I have everything I’ve ever wanted in a family. Yet here I am. 

 

Here I am staying up till 4am watching my daughter breathe. Here I am up at 7am to check on her again.

 

Here I am crying to myself in the shower. 

 

Here I am telling myself over and over ‘I’ll be okay’

 

Here I am making trips to the store just so I have 15 minutes alone so I can cry without anyone seeing. 

 

Here I am yelling at myself in my head because ‘seriously dude why the fork are you crying again?!’

 

Here I am burying myself in doubt and self pity. 

 

I know why I’m angry, why I’m sad, why I’m lashing out. 

 

Because I’m not good enough….. has been branded into my brain since I was a child. Because you can’t do that, you’ll never make it and who do you think you are, were staples of my upbringing. 

 

No matter how many times my husband tells me I’m beautiful, I never feel it. 

 

No matter how many times my daughter tells me I’m perfect, I feel like a failure. 

 

When my now 4 month old looks longingly into my eyes as if I am her whole world, I’m remembering all the things I’ve messed up. 

 

Even when my friends and family tell me how proud they are, I feel its back handed. 

 

Knowing these things about myself means I can make progress. I can face my self doubt head. At 30 years old I still have room to grow, I still have things to learn. I am not my anxiety, I am not my depression. Everyday I can, and will get better. I will stop and think before I speak. I will look at myself in the mirror and tell myself I am good enough. When I daughter tells me I’m perfect I will believe her and when my husband tells me I’m beautiful I’ll kiss him. 

 

I’m 4 months postpartum and I’m still fighting….fighting myself. I just keep reminding myself that small moves can create big changes.”

 

My mind wanders, causing flashes of sights I never wanted to see. Images as clear as a memory, day dreams so real my body shakes. 

 

I beg myself to stop, stirring happy thoughts up, only to fall right back.

 

My youngest daughter was nine weeks old the day I realized I have postpartum depression. I was sitting on the couch with her and my husband. He asked a question so insignificant I can’t even remember what it was. Instead of answering the question I snapped at him with a look that would have scared the devil himself. That moment I realized this wasn’t the first time I treated my husband so badly over nothing. 

 

At this point people would assume I must have a reason to be so short with him, I absolutely do not. He has been a godsend since the moment I met him. Through our pregnancy he was tentative and understanding. After our daughter was born six weeks early he was thoughtful, caring and remained by our sides the whole way. Now we are home and he has taken on cooking and cleaning, he helps with diaper changes, feeding and endless amounts of cuddles. I’m telling you he’s the most amazing person. 

 

So how is it possible that I continually unleash my anger on him? Why am I even angry? I don’t even feel angry! I honestly feel happy, the happiest I have ever been in my life. I have everything I’ve ever wanted in a family. Yet here I am. 

 

Here I am staying up till 4am watching my daughter breathe. Here I am up at 7am to check on her again.

 

Here I am crying to myself in the shower. 

 

Here I am telling myself over and over ‘I’ll be okay’

 

Here I am making trips to the store just so I have 15 minutes alone so I can cry without anyone seeing. 

 

Here I am yelling at myself in my head because ‘seriously dude why the fork are you crying again?!’

 

Here I am burying myself in doubt and self pity. 

 

I know why I’m angry, why I’m sad, why I’m lashing out. 

 

Because I’m not good enough….. has been branded into my brain since I was a child. Because you can’t do that, you’ll never make it and who do you think you are, were staples of my upbringing. 

 

No matter how many times my husband tells me I’m beautiful, I never feel it. 

 

No matter how many times my daughter tells me I’m perfect, I feel like a failure. 

 

When my now 4 month old looks longingly into my eyes as if I am her whole world, I’m remembering all the things I’ve messed up. 

 

Even when my friends and family tell me how proud they are, I feel its back handed. 

 

Knowing these things about myself means I can make progress. I can face my self doubt head. At 30 years old I still have room to grow, I still have things to learn. I am not my anxiety, I am not my depression. Everyday I can, and will get better. I will stop and think before I speak. I will look at myself in the mirror and tell myself I am good enough. When I daughter tells me I’m perfect I will believe her and when my husband tells me I’m beautiful I’ll kiss him. 

 

I’m 4 months postpartum and I’m still fighting….fighting myself. I just keep reminding myself that small moves can create big changes.”