"Almost Gone" - Reflections on Acute Postpartum Depression
This was taken two weeks before I was hospitalized for acute postpartum depression.
My husband was attending a conference in Virginia Beach and we had booked a hotel room from which you could walk to the beach. The sun was warm in the morning even if it was April and we even saw dolphins jumping in the water from afar -- unless, maybe, I'm making this up and my memories are too blurry to remember correctly.
Because the truth is: I couldn't feel a thing. Not the sun, not the joy of watching dolphins, not the cuddles, the seafood or the stroll on the boardwalk. Nothing.
I vaguely remember people commenting on how cute my diaper bag was and how lively my infant looked. I remember nursing her at dawn when the sun rose.
But mostly, I was numb.
I didn't believe others when they said that it would pass, that I'd sleep again, feel a wide range of emotions, that I'd love my child more than anything in the world and be proud of who she would become.
I couldn't fathom one more day caring, tending, changing, swaddling, nursing... but I could also not imagine another day doing something else. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't do *all* of these things?
I was stuck.
A big part of my recovery was about leaning into the boredom and tediousness of my daily life while gaining some perspective (hope) about the future.
It was not rocket science, but I had been "almost gone" for so long that I had to re-learn how to simply exist in a space that was uncomfortable.
Five years later, I do not miss the newborn phase. Ever.
Sure, I miss the tiny toes and the smell of her scalp, but not the sense of loss and imbalance.
It passed, just like others had predicted.
And when I look at this picture, I mostly want to hug the person I was back then.
I want to tell her it's alright. That she can simply be, right there, numbly watching dolphins playfully jump out of the ocean, holding her sleepy infant, quietly dissolving into ashes.
That she has the right to fall apart. Or just survive.
That I'll be right there, on the other side, waiting for her.