my journey through postpartum OCD and anxiety

I wanted to start this post off by saying that I've written and rewritten and then deleted a post like this many times in the past. I've wanted to write about my postpartum OCD and anxiety I had with Evan but never hit the publish button in fear of being judged, looked at as a freak or worse, a horrible mother. Today I'm not going to press delete but instead choose to press publish. This is going to be a very raw account of both my experiences with postpartum OCD and anxiety. I'm going to say right now that this post may trigger OCD obsessions and/or compulsions in those with OCD so if you are sensitive to this, please stop reading now.

When I was pregnant with my daughter Morgan, I was blissfully ignorant towards the possibility of a major recurrence of postpartum OCD that I experienced after the birth of my son Evan. Yes, it crossed my mind on and off but I was prepared I kept telling myself. My doctor and I were ready to start my medication immediately after birth. It was going to work it's magic and I'd be on my merry way taking care of my brand new baby girl, son and husband. I'd be fine and life would be good.

But nothing could have been further from the truth.

Before I go on with my last experience, I need to first talk about my first.

Evan was born early on a Saturday morning in 2008. After several hours of pushing, I had an emergency C-section and was in the hospital until the following Wednesday. The first few days home were great. Sure I had some 'over protective' mama situations but overall things were great. Then about 4 days into our new parenthood adventure, it happened.

I can remember it clear as day. It was Sunday afternoon and Ben left to get us some lunch, we were having Togo's. I was sitting on the family room sofa watching some TV while holding Evan in my arms. I was looking down at him when suddenly the thought and urge of throwing him across the room entered my mind. It terrified me. I was suddenly frozen with fear. Panic ran waves through my body and my heart started to pound out of my chest. I was still holding him but I didn't want to. How could I hold my newborn son while thinking these horrible thoughts? And worse, how could I hold him if the possibility was there of me actually acting out these thoughts?

I spent the rest of the day and evening staying as far away from him as possible. If he was on one side of the room, I was on the other. If I wasn't near him, I couldn't hurt him. I was devastated. I waited all this time to hold my son and now I couldn't and I didn't want to.

Next, Ben and I were in Evan's nursery getting him ready for bed and Ben had Evan lying on the ground as he was swaddling him. I was standing above them watching when it happened again. The horrible thought and urge of stomping on him entered my mind. It was like a knife was being jabbed into my heart and twisted a million times. I told Ben. He wasn't worried. He knew I'd never hurt my child. I wondered how he could trust me with his son when I wasn't sure I trusted myself. I also told my sister, mom and mother.in.law. I just couldn't keep these thoughts and feelings locked inside. I needed help and talking about it somehow made me feel better.

The next three weeks were filled with these thoughts and urges. I spent this time in complete fear. I couldn't eat, just the thought of food made me nauseated. I was anxious all day. I was constantly sweating and shaking and by the end of my 'episode' I was down 28 pounds. I worried that Evan would be affected by my distance. I so badly wanted to bond with him but how could I when all I did was think of hurting him? How could a loving mother have these thoughts?

Finally I sought help of a counselor and medication and after three very long and horrendous weeks, I was feeling back to my normal self. I learned that what I was experiencing were intrusive thoughts associated with my OCD. I had been diagnosed with OCD many years ago but I hadn't really experienced anything like this. I also learned that those with intrusive thoughts and are horrified by them know that they'd never act out on them. The simple fact that the thoughts bothered me proved to me that I wouldn't. What a relief it was to know that! It's those that have the thoughts and aren't bothered by them and actually entertain them that you should be worried about. Those people lack a conscience.

Fast forward to today. Morgan is born. I thought I was prepared. Sure, I worried a tad that I'd freak out again but I tried not to worry about it too much. Turns out, I should have thought about it more.

Our entire time in the hospital was fine. Of course I was on high alert about intrusive thoughts but as soon as one entered my mind, I fought against them. I kept telling myself, "I'll never hurt my child. I'll never hurt my child." And it worked. What a relief I thought. I was doing good. Phew! Then it was time to go home. I actually couldn't get out of the hospital fast enough. I just wanted to get our lives started as a family of four. We were happy.

Once home, we started getting things set up that we hadn't gotten around too before Morgan made her early appearance. The house was a mess. Ben had gone through boxes in the garage while I was in the hospital looking for my breast pump, Evan's old bassinet, the baby swing and the monitor among several other things. I was feeling overwhelmed. I couldn't get my thoughts together. Nursing wasn't going so well so we were supplementing with formula but the bottles weren't ready.

Then Evan came home. He seemed different to me. I don't know how to explain it. I felt like he was being taken away from me. I played with him a bit in his room and I suddenly realized that I missed him so much. I mean, I really really missed him. I missed our family of three. Suddenly Morgan felt like an intruder. I didn't want to hold her and my anxiety was rising at an alarming rate. My appetite was suddenly gone. I felt clamy. Thoughts of my mom consumed me. Why wasn't she here? Why was she gone? I couldn't do this without her. She was here when I had Evan and now she wasn't. I was so sad. A massive headache had it's grip on me all night long and I found myself in the bathroom crying. I couldn't hold myself together. No one could see me like this. I didn't want them to know I was cracking yet again but quicker this time. I had to get out of the house. I left my husband home with a screaming infant and a hungry almost 4 year old. He was frustrated but I couldn't help it. I had to get out.

I didn't understand what was happening. It was so different from before. I wasn't having crazy intrusive thoughts like I'd had with Evan. Instead I was freaking out inside. It was as though I wanted to escape my life. Anxiety was overwhelming me. This was brand new and completely unexpected.

That first night home with Morgan was rough. She was fussy when we tried to get some sleep so Ben just got up with her and let me get some rest. He came back around 9:30am and asked to trade. I remember lying there dreading the day. All I wanted to do was lie there and sleep my life away. But I couldn't. I got up and met Evan in the family room who was watching Saturday morning cartoons. He still felt different. I hated that feeling. Morgan was lying in the bassinet in the kitchen sleeping. I didn't want her to wake up.

Eeewww....just thinking of this is making my skin crawl. That morning sucked. BIG TIME. I hope to never experience one like it again...ever. Ben slept until around 4:30 but it felt like a lifetime. I felt trapped in my own home. In my own life. It was as if I'd never leave it again and that no one had ever gone through this feeling before. I was alone. Alone and royally freaked.

Over the next week things only got worse. The medicine I started taking just after birth was not working. I tried to talk myself out of it but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't. The anxiety was so painful. I'd never experienced anything like this before. I went through my day to day activities, taking Evan to school, cleaning house, taking care of my family but I was dying inside.

The following Friday night we went to my in.laws house for a visit. I had absolutely no appetite. We went out for dinner and I barely ate my tiny salad. I remember not wanting to go home. Home is where the pain was. But of course we had to go. That night I didn't sleep at all. Not even for a minute. I had suggested to Ben that we try to go to bed at the same time and not do our shifts anymore. That turned out to be a very bad decision.

I think I may have lost my mind for a brief period. I remember lying there not being able to sleep. Worrying about keeping Ben up. Worrying about the baby waking up. Worrying about Evan getting up and needing something. Then the cats decided it was a great time to start tearing up the house and running up and down the hallway. I was cracking. I had gotten up to take care of the cat situation when I ran back into my room and fell onto Ben and bawled. Loud scary sobs emanated from my gut. That was when I had my first thought of death.

The next morning when I 'woke' up, I turned over to Ben and told him I needed help. I was going crazy and losing my mind. It was a Saturday and most if not all doctor offices are closed, I called all therapists/psychiatrists I could locate on my insurances website. I was desperate. I pleaded with them on their voicemails to call me back. Of course not one did.

I called my dad that morning and asked him to come pick up Evan as I was not in any shape to care for him and I needed Ben to take care of me and the baby. It was such a huge relief for him to take him. I'll forever thank him for that.

The next day I had it and I was finally able to get in to see someone. A random general doctor way up in Mountain View. But I didn't care. I need help immediately. My appointment was for 10 that morning and once inside the exam room I spilled everything out. When I think of it now, I'm surprised they didn't hospitalize me. Send me to a mental hospital. I probably sounded like a crazy person. The doctor prescribed me two different medications. One for immediate anxiety relief, the kind they give soldiers at war and another, different anti-anxiety medication that takes up to two weeks to show it's effects. I was so thankful for that. I drove and got the prescriptions and headed home.

That afternoon I met with one of my best friends for coffee and we prayed and prayed. She saw me at my lowest at that point. No judgement. Just sympathy and a shoulder to cry on. I'm so thankful for wonderful family and friends. My mother.in.law came over and let Ben and I go to bed at 7pm and she stayed until 1 in the morning when Ben got up to take over. I slept all night. When I woke I dreaded the day once again but surprisingly, by that evening, I was feeling much better. The medicine was working and I was beginning to see the light at the end of the very long and horrendous tunnel.

Then each day after that things grew brighter and brighter until I'm here today. I made it. I made it through those dark dark DARK days. How? With the help of family, friends, doctors and the Lord. You wouldn't believe how many people were holding me up in prayer. I heard from friends I hadn't spoken to in years. They were all there for me. Holding me up, encouraging me with their words, their love, they presence. And then one day I finally realized that even though there were so many of them, it really was the Lord. He was working through them to comfort His child. Me. It was such an overwhelming experience when I finally realized that.

Now I know not all of you who may be reading this have faith or even believe in God. But I'm here to tell you my story. This is my testimony to you. That even in your darkest hours, days, month, years, He sees you. He loves you and will work to comfort you. You may not realize it at first, just like me, but when you do, it'll be amazing.

This is my story. It's honest and real. As I said before, I was scared to even write this but I knew that I needed to even if I just reached one person. If that's you today, I've done my job.