Today I sit here and think of my foster daughter. She turned ten on Saturday. She was in my life for a year and I haven't seen her for almost six. That's the funny thing about love and motherhood, it doesn't have to be biological and it can happen in a short time. I will always think of her as my daughter. She was a part of my everyday and my number one job was to take care of her. The foster agency asked me if I wanted to adopt her because her parents couldn't handle the responsibility for their own reasons. I hadn't thought about adoption, I wanted to, but it wouldn't come to be. The grandmother that didn't have time for her when she went into the system now wanted to adopt her. She would be transitioning out of my home. About a month later she was gone. Her grandmother was not happy that her granddaughter had been in the system and called me mom. As if it was my fault, she wanted nothing to do with me and I have not heard from them in more than five years. How is my foster daughter? Is she doing well? How could I love her and not the son I gave birth to?
As I continued therapy, I continued to learn what things might have contributed to my fears and depression. I hadn't thought about it, but I had lost my foster daughter and miscarried my first pregnancy. Having a child, up to this point, had ended in tears and heartache. I was terrified that it would happen again. These things paired with the c-section and blood pressure complications could have caused these struggles. There is no way to know for sure and I don't dwell on the "why". I might have ended up with Postpartum Depression even if everything was easy and I didn't have this history.
Each time I had therapy I felt stronger. I was learning and I was growing. Soon I was down to going once a week and then every other week. We continued to explore techniques that I could use at home. My therapist suggested that I write letters to Philip about the things I was looking forward to. I wrote about his first vacation, Halloween, Christmas, and visiting the pool. I started to look forward to things instead of dreading them. I don't know when it happened, but one day as I held Philip in my arms, I felt love. It hit me like a flood. I looked at him and thought he was the best thing I had ever done. He wasn't just the cute baby that I was caring for. He was my baby! It took me longer than I thought it would, but it came! I love my son! Life is not hopeless! I am strong!
I am not saying life is perfect, because frankly whose is? I enjoy being at home with Philip and watching him grow and learn. We have traveled to many places this year and I have enjoyed every minute. Even with all my struggles, this has been one of the funnest years of my life. We have been to Oklahoma City, Nebraska (twice), Colorado (twice), Chicago, and England!
At this point, I feel better, but my day is still shaped by Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. It comes back to the pills. I am hard on myself and want to be done with them. I also feel like others are judging me and my handful of pills in the morning and again at night. I stopped taking my anxiety medication for two weeks and started having problems at night again. I hadn't tied myself to my bed for a while, but I couldn't quiet it. I needed the medication, I still couldn't do it alone. I went back on the medication for a few more weeks and decided to try stepping down again. I am now off my anxiety medication and my sleeping pill. I'm sure it will be a while before I am off medication completely, but I am working on it!
Until next time...
So I had everything I needed - a psychiatrist, therapist, and pills. I didn't feel better, but I was ready to take life day by day. How long would it take for me to feel better?
Ryan's mom arrived a couple weeks after I got out of treatment. She helped me with my process to feel normal again. It sounds bad, but when she first arrived she took care of Philip. I was free to go to appointments and do things around the house. I felt relieved to have her taking care of him. It was still too hard for me to handle. I could cook and clean and distract myself from the truth... I was a horrible mother.
In the beginning, I had therapy two times a week. I had never been to therapy before. I had to sit there and tell a stranger all about my problems. I was lucky, the woman I had chosen due to my driving preferences was a great fit for me. I was comfortable talking to her and sharing the horrible thoughts I was having. It was hard to say some things out loud. Every session it got a little easier. It felt freeing to put everything out there. I started to tell Ryan and his mom more and more too.
We talked about my upcoming psychiatry appointment. I was still tying myself to my bed at night. The room crashed in on me daily. I couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen. Would this ever stop? Can I be a good mother? Will I love my son? This is where my sleeping pill was useful. I couldn't stay up all night drowning, I was knocked out in about thirty minutes. My therapist said that I might ask the psychiatrist about medication for anxiety.
The day came for my first psychiatrist appointment. As I waited, I was again struck by how "normal" everybody looked. There were children, men, and women. All ages and races were represented in the chairs around the room. Each one had their own struggles that they needed help to handle. Mental health does not look a certain way. I don't look "broken" and neither did any of the other people. When it was my turn, I sat down with another person to tell them what was going on. She increased the dosage on one of my medications and added one for the anxiety.
You shouldn't drink much alcohol while on any medication. That was okay, I hadn't had any since before Philip was born. The psychiatrist made a point to mention that with my new anxiety medication that I shouldn't drink at all. It was six weeks after my c-section. I was starting to get my body back and wasn't having pain very often. I have never been a big drinker, but I was disappointed to hear this. Ryan's mom was going to watch Philip while we went on our first date night since Philip's birth.
As I progressed with medication, I continued to feel better. Each day I was trying to do more with Philip. I would feed him his bottle, let him fall asleep on me, and just spend time holding him. It wasn't easy, but I needed to do it. I was starting to feel less hopeless. I wanted to get better... I needed to get better. Ryan's mom left and I continued to get better. I was taking care of Philip during the day, by myself, with no babysitters.
I would calm myself with adult coloring books and thought stopping. When thought stopping, I would picture a stop sign and then think positive thoughts. I was not "healed", but I was getting better. I felt stronger! I would take life day by day; I could handle one day at a time.
Each time I had therapy I felt stronger. I was learning and I was growing. Soon I was down to going once a week and then every other week. We continued to explore techniques that I could use at home. My therapist suggested that I write letters to Philip about the things I was looking forward to. I wrote about his first vacation, Halloween, Christmas, and visiting the pool. I started to look forward to things instead of dreading them. I don't know when it happened, but one day as I held Philip in my arms, I felt love. It hit me like a flood. I looked at him and thought he was the best thing I had ever done. He wasn't just the cute baby that I was caring for. He was my baby! It took me longer than I thought it would, but it came! I love my son! Life is not hopeless! I am strong!
I am not saying life is perfect, because frankly whose is? I enjoy being at home with Philip and watching him grow and learn. We have traveled to many places this year and I have enjoyed every minute. Even with all my struggles, this has been one of the funnest years of my life. We have been to Oklahoma City, Nebraska (twice), Colorado (twice), Chicago, and England! 
At this point, I feel better, but my day is still shaped by Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. It comes back to the pills. I am hard on myself and want to be done with them. I also feel like others are judging me and my handful of pills in the morning and again at night. I stopped taking my anxiety medication for two weeks and started having problems at night again. I hadn't tied myself to my bed for a while, but I couldn't quiet it. I needed the medication, I still couldn't do it alone. I went back on the medication for a few more weeks and decided to try stepping down again. I am now off my anxiety medication and my sleeping pill. I'm sure it will be a while before I am off medication completely, but I am working on it!
