The lion that roars

I recognize the fact that I only write blog entries a few choice times each year, and I tell myself I will make it a more interesting online destination one day when the kids are older. Who actually knows? But once or twice a year, though my naptime respite from the minions is short and altogether precious, I decide I need to use it to write. And so here we are again.

Depression, y'all. It is a prowling lion, tail wriggling in anticipation, ready to pounce at any moment. If you read my last entry, entitled My Scar, you know that last January I tied a nice little bow on the end of my Post Partum Depression and thought I was mostly in the clear. I could not have been more wrong. And although I could try to think of something more clever, more exciting or funnier to write about, this is what is in my face and on my heart daily right now. This roaring lion that just doesn't want to shut its mouth.

About a month after I penned my last post my depression kicked up in a major way. In the nine months that followed until today I have struggled to find a good combination of medication and dosages so that I can feel like myself again. So that I can muster up some amount of motivation to do more than the bare minimum to get through each day. So that I am not frequently overwhelmed or sad or despairing.

Don't get me wrong. This is NOT a "woe is me" post. I have it GOOD and I know it! I grew up in a loving home with parents who sometimes still make me a little uncomfortable with their public displays of affection. I married a man who loves Jesus first, me second and our children third - and all with ferocious devotion. He is gracious and kind and patient when I am selfish and irritable and complaining. I have three beautiful children who, for the most part, are healthy and happy, funny and smart. So what is my problem, right? I say this to highlight the fact that depression is not rational. Nor is it always circumstantial.

I will concede that keeping three human beings under the age of three years old is not easy breezy lemon squeezy. People comment regularly to me how they and their other friend so and so don't know how I do it. Guess what. I don't know either! But honestly, I have so much support from family (hi, Mom) and friends. I am aware and remind myself nearly daily that this is a difficult season but it will pass as my babies grow. In other words, I don't believe I am in a situation that one might think warrants a depressed state.

So my depression isn't rational and usually isn't circumstantial. Another myth I'll derail is that depression is a spiritual deficiency. Mine sure isn't! I love Jesus and often experience the joy, love and victory that being in relationship with Him brings. Drawing close to Him can temporarily relieve my symptoms, but no amount of prayer or "right living" has muzzled my lion. I believe that God purposefully allows me to deal with Leo.

What should I do with all of this? It's pretty frustrating stuff. I can't fix myself with rational thinking, circumstantial change or even prayer. But I know why. I'm not meant to fix myself. Though I can pray for the renewing of my mind and know that God will be faithful to answer that prayer, I still live in a broken world and a fleshly body that will war against Him until He returns victorious over everything.

After 14 years of dealing with depression and anxiety, I am beginning to realize that it is extremely possible my lion will never fully leave me. The apostle Paul called his "a thorn in the flesh." It was an unnamed malady God allowed Paul to wrestle continually and without permanent victory. This ailment forced him to choose whether he would rely on Christ's strength or manage on his own. In regularly choosing to lean on Jesus, Paul discovered that God's "power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). It is when I acknowledge my inabilities that God can reveal His glory by giving me love, acceptance and power to overcome moment by moment.

Depression is real and hard and seemingly never completely gone. You can address it rationally (medication, professional counseling, etc), circumstantially (focus on the good in your life or remove yourself from negativity), and spiritually (pray, try to be a "good" person) and still not yank that lion by his tail and drag him away. But it's okay. There is still good news! Jesus is near to the broken-hearted. He delights in showing off His power and generosity in people's lives when we acknowledge our need for Him. I am learning this daily and want to share my heart with you. Whether you experience depression or know someone who does, look to Jesus. Try Him. Your lion's only a housecat to the King.

My Scar

Illustration: Erin McPhee

Source: www.todaysparent.com

Stigma. The Merriem Webster dictionary defines this word as "a set of negative and often unfair beliefs that a society or group of people have about something; a scar left by a hot iron; a mark of shame or discredit."

Postpartum Depression. It's one of these scars, one that many women endure silently because they are embarrassed, ashamed, frightened or confused. There is only one real purpose a scar can serve once it has formed and that's to tell a story. So in an effort to be purposeful, here is the story behind my scar.

I was prepared to experience PPD when I gave birth to my first child, Brooks. Depression runs in my family, and I have been on medication for anxiety and depression for 14 years now. Thanks to an amazing psychiatrist, really good medicine and years of figuring out what action steps work for me, I only sometimes experience the lows that depression can bring. I expected that to change with childbirth. Thankfully, I was wrong. For the first year of Brooks' life I definitely felt the full gamut of postpartum emotions that all mothers know - extreme exhaustion, fear of failure, intense love and protectiveness, triumph at small victories and tears shared with an inconsolable babe. But I could fairly easily bounce back from anything unpleasant. Most often I was happy and content to be a mom. I worked part time, cared for my son, stayed engaged in my marriage and continued leading worship at my church. I felt like myself.

Fast forward 20 months to the birth of my girls. I had come through the postpartum months with Brooks relatively unscathed. I knew, though, that gestating two babies quite literally meant I had twice the amount of additional estrogen coursing through my body. Again I prepared myself for the worst. And again I was wrong...at first. Keeping two newborns and a young toddler alive for those first two months was the most insanely difficult thing I've ever done. I was breastfeeding, pumping, supplementing, consoling one baby who cried day and night, and oh yeah, keeping my almost two year old entertained. But I was doing it (with a crazy amazing load of help from my incredible husband, mom, mother in law, etc). I was exhausted, slightly scared and often frustrated. But I felt like myself.

I reached 10 weeks postpartum and began to emerge from the newborn fog. I looked around at my day to day, in-the-trenches life and inwardly smiled. I've got this. I'm making it. Everything is going to be fine.

And then it began.
It crept up subtly at first.
I became easily annoyed.
Someone sitting beside me chewing a sandwich
A baby who supplied an encore poop when I'd just changed her diaper
Someone talking when I wanted silence
...All of these small things began to bother me.

Over the course of a few weeks, the emotions escalated. I was no longer annoyed several times each day. I had quickly progressed from annoyed to agitated to angry. I was ANGRY.

Initially I chalked it up to exhaustion. I was perpetually tired physically, emotionally and mentally. Of course I was irritable! Who wouldn't be?? I counted to ten and moved on.

After a while though, I realized that the anger I was feeling wasn't normal. I realized that I didn't feel like myself anymore. I was no longer simply feeling angry. Anger gripped me, roared up in me like a consuming flame. I wanted to spit, scream, cuss. I wanted to drive away from my house with no intention of returning. Then one afternoon, I mentally visualized squeezing one of my children until they stopped making noise. And that terrified me.

I knew something was wrong. My husband and my mom had both noticed this change in me and had gently asked me about it. I couldn't ignore their concern or my own. I wasn't tired. I was sick. I needed help.

I made an emergency visit to my trusted psychiatrist and explained what was happening. The diagnosis: Postpartum Depression. I couldn't believe it. PPD? But I wasn't sad or suicidal. I wasn't crying all of the time or craving sleep (more than the mom of a newborn should). I was just mad! However, my doctor was correct. He adjusted my medication and we discussed practical coping strategies. I went home and got better. Within a few weeks my emotions were coming under control and I felt like Tori again.

Today, my girls are giggly six month olds and my son is a well-adjusted big brother. My husband and I keep the love alive in between diaper changes, bottles, tickle fights and naps. I am healthy and whole. Life is one challenge after another, but I can honestly say that I am often happy and nearly always content, even if I am also frustrated or exhausted or annoyed.

So why am I yanking this skeleton out of my closet and putting it on display? I've decided to share my postpartum journey because someone needs to read this. Some woman out there is struggling through the postpartum months and doesn't feel like herself. She is too sad, too angry, too something. And she needs help.

Postpartum depression doesn't look the same for everyone. And it doesn't always hit in the first few weeks or even months after a baby is born. It can creep up slowly and then intensify rapidly. PPD doesn't mean you are inadequate or broken. But it does mean you are vulnerable. And it's okay, no, necessary, to get help. Please do. You will look back on this brief but dark time and be incredibly glad you did.

Here are a few resources to help you get started:

Postpartum Support International,  1-800-944-4773
Postpartum Progress
Mental Health America,  1-800-273-TALK