He was there. He is here.

It’s Five Minute Friday again.  On Five Minute Fridays, we write, “For fun, for love of the sound of words, for play, for delight, for joy and celebration at the art of communication.”

I wrote for more than Five Minutes this time….  There was more there begging to be written.  The prompt today was “remember.”

I’ve been thinking about how, when I survey the past few years, I sometimes seem to repeat a litany of all that has happened.  I wonder if it makes people uncomfortable.  Makes them think, “Get over it already.”  It’s felt like waves crashing onto the sand, one event after another, after another, that left me gasping for breath.  I’ve beaten myself up about repeating it and looking it over so often, sure that people are tired of hearing it.

Recently it occurred to me:  God called the Israelites to REMEMBER.  He called them to remember the plagues, their time in slavery, their time in the desert.  He called them to remember.  Not to find themselves the victims of their circumstances, but to see how powerfully God came through for them again and again.  They weren’t easy memories to relive.  Lashings and hunger…  The terror of the plagues.  Blisters on their feet.  The thirst.  The uncertainty.  But God said, “Remember.  I was there and *I* brought your through it.”

So it strikes me, that maybe when I remember….  When I call up this litany, it’s not an ongoing pity party.  Maybe instead it’s my litany of remembrance.

(Pushing past the five minutes now)

When I remember all that has happened:  My Mom’s death, and illness.  A year of loss after loss after loss.  Deployments.  Moves.  New babies and the joy and challenge of mothering.  (There are joyful memories too!)  Postpartum Depression.  Miscarriage.  Paraganglioma.  And now at this raw place where I don’t yet feel healed from the latest wave–an unexpected deployment. When I look back at that, I kind of suck in my breath and go, “That was a lot.”  And then I let out my breath and go, “But God brought me through it.

It’s not just a litany of hard things, though, they were indeed hard.  It’s a litany of thanksgiving and remembrance.  It’s an Ebenezer:  Thus far the Lord has helped me.  And with an eye to those things….  with an eye for all the places He was with me and all the places He led me through holding fast to my hand, I can look toward what’s coming.

My Mom had lung cancer.  And God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

My Mom died.  And God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

Two deployments.  God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

PPD.  God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

Miscarriage.  God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

Diagnosis of tumor when pregnant with Lainey.  God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

Lainey’s birth–snow storms and extra precautions and fear and then such beauty.  God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

Traveling to NIH to have the tumor removed.  God was there.  He brought me to the other side.

And now….  Wrapping my head around all that has changed and the things inside of me that have shifted.  Now getting ready for my love to deploy again.  God is here.  He will bring me to the other side.

It is a litany.  A long litany.  A litany of life, and a life not so unlike any other’s.  It is staggering sometimes to look at.  But HE WAS THERE.  And if he was there in ALL those places.  He is HERE.  He is God WITH me.  Emmanuel.  And that is why in the face of dread of this deployment, and uncertainty, and a heavy heart, and all that may come my way even after all of this I know that I can walk forward.  I know He is here.  Because all those times before.  He was there.  And He brought me to the other side.

Something Must Be Done

I read a suicide note written by a military spouse today. .

She was writing a farewell to her blog-friends, who in a world of transitions with moves and major life changes, were a constant.

Her husband, though not in direct combat, had come back from deployment changed. They moved to another duty station. Things spiraled downward for both of them and she found herself overwhelmed and isolated. Eventually she found herself in a place that felt like it had no way out.

An update that I read stated that somehow someone or something intervened and she was getting help. I am so glad.

Still this was too far for anyone to go before getting help. And it jarred me back to knowing that we HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!!!!

These situations happen too commonly and too easily. Considering the stress and isolation that are companions on the journey in a military lifestyle, we need to be doing more to PREVENT these situations before they happen. I’ve heard more than one story in the last week about soldiers who’ve drawn a gun on wives and children–out of touch with the world around them and still immersed in a world that they’d left behind thousands of miles away that had left battle scars on their minds. Wives are finding their breaking points. Studies are coming out indicating the extreme toll that the being part of a military family at war is taking on military kids. I’ve walked through depression in contingency with a deployment myself (for me it was PPD with a tinge of grief thrown in), I’ve walked with friends as they’ve battled varying levels of depression and mood disorders which were only made harder to overcome by the X factors involved with a military lifestyle. Some struggled through with medication and counseling, for others more extreme forms of help were needed on their road to recovery

Measures are being taken to address suicide and PTSD in soldiers. This is good. So much MORE needs to be done though. SO MUCH MORE. More help MUST be made available. On top of that, though, we have to start taking care of the family members of those service members who are so often removed from support systems that can see trouble brewing and give them the courage to reach out for the help that they need.

Is there something that we can do? You and me, I mean? Is there something already in place that I don’t know about that can be made stronger? Is it time to raise up a grass-roots effort to provide a life-line for military families who find themselves in these situations. I have been thinking today about the model of Postpartum Support International–an organization composed of 99% voluntteers who take phone calls from families dealing with PPD and help them to find mental health resourcen in their own communities. Could something like this be helpful? Could mental health professionals like the ones who volunteer with Give an Hour be reached in an easier way? Could a massive information campaign be launched so that even this group of stalwart and stoic people who never ask for help could find a safe place to do so?

Does anyone have any ideas, resources, or expertise to lend to the cause? Maybe if enough of us pooled together and put ideas, and resources, and thoughts on the table SOMETHING could be done…. so that these notes could become fewer, so that even in a transitional situation where military families are moving and service members come and go and support systems are hard to come by in the stressful events of life, there could be SOME PLACE to reach out for a lifeline.

If you have any ideas, I want to hear them. I am serious in hoping to get a grass-roots effort put together to offer help and support to a portion of population which protects this country with strength and resiliency, but who need life lines to reach out to when the going gets rough just like everyone else. We have to stop this from happening. We need to support one another. I just can’t help but think it’s time to DO something.

Remembering Crystal

Lauren, over at Sharing the Journey  brought this to my attention.  She asked that other bloggers would spread the word about the story of this beautiful young Mom whose life was cut tragically short, and about her father and family, who are grieving the second anniversary of her death this weekend.  To Joseph and his family I want to say:  I care.  I will remember Crystal even though I never had the privilege of knowing her myself, and I will tell her story.  This video was made my Crystal’s Dad in her memory.  It’s a photo montage telling her story.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYIRZbyXnu0&feature=player_embedded

Two years ago this weekend a beautiful woman named Crystal took her own life in the midst of a struggle with Postpartum Depression.  She was like many of us who struggle with the disease–she didn’t… couldn’t ask for help.  The changes that family saw in her were easily explained as just the worries that she was prone to have.  I don’t fault this family at all.  PPD is so tempting to hide.  Having a baby is an overwhelming experience anyway…  Of course we’re not always going to be looking or feeling our best.  And it feels so scary and hard and hopeless that asking for help just feels impossible.

But oh…  If she could have only reached out for help.  Postpartum Depression so often tells a woman that her family would be better off without her.  But that’s a lie.  The truth is this:  Your family NEEDS you.  There is HOPE.  It won’t always feel like this. 

And that’s something that I want people to understand about PPD, and about ALL depression.  So many people, when they hear of a suicide, wrinkle up their noses in disgust and say, “How selfish!”  But what they can’t understand is that from the inside looking out suicide isn’t selfish.  When your diseased mind tells you that you aren’t the best thing for your  baby or for your family, when lies whisper all day long that you aren’t good enough to do this job, strong enough to be a mother, and that if you continue in the job your child and family will come to great harm, when those are the lies that you hear, the thought of suicide isn’t so much about sparing YOU pain, it’s about sparing them.  That’s how twisted your thoughts can become when dealing with PPD. 

BUT…  Those thoughts are LIES.  You WILL NOT be sparing them.  Because YOU MATTER.  And YOU ARE a good Mom, or can be with help, and the strongest thing, and the best thing you can do for your family is to get HELP.  Your baby and your family NEED you. 

I wish it wasn’t so scary.  I wish it wasn’t so threatening.  We think our kids will be taken away.  We think we will forever be branded.  We think that there is no hope (more lies).  We have to reach out for help.  And we desperately need the people in our lives to see past our masks and our assurances that everything is ok, and to empower us to seek that help.

I wish Crystal could have.  I wish she could have gotten help.  I wish she could have found her voice.  I wish this video could be about how she overcame Postpartum Depression.

Watch this video.  Honor Crystal.  And then, ask the tough questions to the Mom’s in your life.  Let them know that they aren’t alone when the task seems impossible.  You might just be their lifeline. 

As Lauren says on her blog: 

“If you, a loved one, or a friend are coping with the recent loss of a loved one to suicide, please read this from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

If you are contemplating suicide, there IS hope. There are people who love you. People who care and want to help you heal. Need someone to talk to right now? Click here for a comprehensive list of resources in the US.

If you are struggling with a Postpartum Mood Disorder, contact Postpartum Support International’s warmline at 1.800.944.4PPD. (I may just be one of the people to return your call – I’m a volunteer for the warmline in addition to providing support in my home state of Georgia)

Bottom Line here? There is hope. There is help. And above all, you are absolutely NOT to blame. And above that? You WILL be well.”

Read more at Lauren’s Blog.

Read more of Joseph’s story in his own words, here.

Why Support the MOTHERS act?

• Because postpartum depression is THE most common complication of childbirth. 
• PPD affects approximately half a million women per year in the US.
• 10-15% of women who give birth will experience a postpartum mood disorder
• Postpartum mood disorders negatively affect mothers AND children
• Postpartum depression is frequently unreported and under diagnosed. 
• Postpartum mood disorders are TREATABLE

Need more reasons?

• Because no woman should suffer the sadness, guilt, and anxiety that postpartum mood disorders bring
• Because children need mommies who are able to care for them
• Because being a parent should be a joyful experience
• Because chances are someone you know will experience postpartum depression

You can even read the bill yourself! 

Please support the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERs act.  How can you do that? 

Again, it’s easy! 

Go to the DBSA and sign the petition.

E-mail Susan Stone at susanstonelcsw@aol.com and put your name on the state-by-state list of people who endorse this bill–be sure to include your name and state.

Call and write your senator or Congressperson

Write about the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act in your blog.

Call or e-mail every one of your organization’s members today and tell them to get up and get to work for goodness sake.

Join Postpartum Support International as it works to create more and better services and education for the women who suffer.

More Goodies:

Sharing the Journey–A fellow PPD survivor, PSI coordinator, and PPD Advocate who is heading up this week’s movement to blog for the MOTHERS Act

An interview with Mary Jo Cody

Susan Stone’s Perinatal Pro

Senator Menendez’s enorsement

One more edit to add:  I just got done calling a good 3/4 of the H.E.L.P. Senate Committee (including getting yelled at by a very annoyed but official sounding somebody when I fat-fingered a number…  *sigh*).  I’m a girl who wets her pants when she gets pulled over by a policeman, and gets sweaty palms just driving by them. I’m afraid of important people.  If I can call a few Senators, I know you can!

Because Information Empowers, The MOTHERS Act, and my story

I’ve started several posts about the Mother’s Act today.  I’ve spent some time reading things that those who oppose it have written, including one of the articles which comes dangerously close to libel against the fantastic Katherine Stone.  That’s a line I didn’t expect to see crossed, and it saddens me that it was.

What rattled me almost as much today were assertions that were made essentially suggesting that postpartum depression is not a real medical problem, and that the difficulties women may face during the postpartum period could only come from Western Medicine’s mishandling of pregnancy, labor, and birth.  In light of that, I thought I’d share a bit more of my story. 

With both of my  daughters we faced the real possibility that my husband would be gone during their births  So….  I sought out a doula each time.  I wanted someone WITH me.  Along the way I learned a bit about doulas…  I learned about how they decreased the rate of C-sections significantly, about how they often help Mom’s find ways to endure the pain of childbirth without using epidurals or other medications.  And you can’t learn about doula’s without learning a bit about the ‘natural childbirth movement.’ 

When my second daughter was born, I did most of my laboring at home.  Our doula was fantastic.  She kept me calm and focused.  I spent most of the labor on an exercise ball or curled up on my own couch.  I took showers to deal with the pain, and to stay relaxed.  We actually ended up planning our trip to the hospital around the opening of the military base’s gate that was closest to us.  I arrived still minimally dilated, VERY quickly transitioned from 2 cm to 10 cm, pushed for a reasonable amount of time and held my baby girl in my arms just two hours after getting to the hospital (with a total laboring time of 10 hours–I have to get my full credit!).  I didn’t get an epidural, or any other form of pain relief.  My labor went as close to going ‘as planned’ a labor possibly can. 

But as I said in an earlier post, it felt different from the start.  I felt panicky with my baby in my arms.  When I got home, I found the only time I felt really ok was when I was snuggling my tiny miracle and she was content.  Months went by and I attributed my feeling ‘off’ to the anniversary of the death of my mother, to my  husband’s deployment, and to countless other things only to find when life ‘settled down’ that I still didn’t feel right.

It took weeks of me looking online for people with stories like mine before I got the courage to call for an appointment.  I didn’t have the symptoms I expected to have for a diagnosis of Postpartum Depression.  I felt sad, but I didnt’ cry all the time.  I was irritable and angry too often.  My default setting for life was more negative than positive.  But mostly all I could say was that I felt off.  I wrote more about how I felt in this post.

I was lucky to see a compassionate doctor who was aware of depression and postpartum depression.  When I went to the doctor, I expected to have to convince HIM I had a problem.  Instead he listened to my symptoms and my conclusions and spent the next half-hour or so helping me to understand WHY I was feeling that way, and explaining the avenues of treatment available.  I left knowing that I had a REAL problem and that HOPE was available.  I wasn’t always going to feel like this, and the fact that I did feel like I did WASN’T MY FAULT.

I write all of this for two reasons:  1)  Because I had a pretty minimally medically invasive labor and delivery.  I was in no way, shape, or form a “victim of Western medicine.” (the fact that Western Medicine, while it can be flawed, can also be a life-saving Godsend is really for another post.  In the meantime, go read what Liz at Mother is Not For Wimps says about CesareanAwareness Month).  Yet even with this non-medicated, “natural,” doula-assisted birth, I STILL experienced Postpartum Depression.  I STILL felt off.  2)  Had it not been for me becoming informed little by little, and then having the luck of seeing a physician who both had a clue and gave a damn, I wouldn’t have known I had a problem or believed there was hope to deal with the problem.   For me, information was power.  Denying the problem left me hopeless.  But, armed with the knowledge that I had a REAL physiological condition that could be TREATED a variety of ways left me empowered.  And gave me the chance to dig out of the ‘offness.’

 

The MOTHERS Act was written for women like me.  It was written so that women who might not think they fit the mold for a problem like postpartum depression can become informed, and ultimately empowered.  It was written to bring awareness to health care providers so that a greater number of them will have a clue and give a damn.  It wasn’t written to drug women into mindless zombies or so that health care providers could dupe women into taking drugs they don’t need to pad the pockets of the evil entity known as “Big Pharma.”

Education is Power.  Even more, Education EMPOWERS.  That’s why I support the Mother’s Act.  That’s why I encourage you to speak louder than the opposition.  How can you do that?  Stealing from the, now infamous, Katherine Stone: 

Here are ways to take action:

• Go to the DBSA and sign the petition.
• E-mail Susan Stone at susanstonelcsw@aol.com and put your name on the state-by-state list of people who endorse this bill.
• Call and write your senator or Congressperson
• Write about the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act in your blog.
• Call or e-mail every one of your organization’s members today and tell them to get up and get to work for goodness sake.
• Join Postpartum Support International as it works to create more and better services and education for the women who suffer.

Turn on the Lights

Somehow or another, this is the first time I’ve seen this video which was put together for Postpartum Support International.  It’s beautiful…  To see all these Dad’s and family members coax Mom’s out of the darkness of postpartum mood disorders.  I’m lucky that my own husband cared that much.

But the other thought I had as I watched this video was this:  I am *SO* glad for the opportunity to be a coordinator for military families with PSI.  Because so often, when a military spouse goes through postpartum depression, she goes through it alone.  So often it happens when the person who would normally be the primary source of support and help is thousands of miles away and in harms way.  The photos that are taken so often for military spouses in this position aren’t of Daddies doing the work and forging on while Mommy heals, but of Mommies marching on and trudging through and doing the best that they can with little help and less sleep.  They are one handed photos taken in self-portrait mode with forced half-hearted smiles…  Or photos taken of baby with an extra found piece of energy because you know your husband needs to see his little  baby.

And when you’re in that position, as I was because of a deployment and detachments,  you still desperately NEED someone to coax you out of the darkness.  You still NEED someone to care, and to say you’re not alone in this.  Sometimes you just NEED somebody to hold the baby because for so many days it’s been just you. 

I’m so glad that PSI is dedicated to ‘turning on the lights’ for women in this position, and so grateful to be a part of that.  And I hope that women facing postpartum depression while their spouses are deployed, or even with a spouse who *is* home, but facing a postpartum mood disorder along with the extra challenges the military throws at you… along with female service members with new babies who find themselves dealing with PPMDs in their own lonely situations know that THEY aren’t alone, even though our lifestyle can so easily make us feel that way.

How I Found My Primal Dreamy Rocky Feelings

Not too long ago I was sitting in the living room of a friend’s house, watching her snuggle her two year old son.  “I love you SO much,” she said over and over again.  Later that evening, she looked at me and with a dreamy quality to her voice she asked me, “Did you know it could be like this?  Did you know you could love someone SO much?!”

I was surprised by my answer, “Yeah…  I mean, I guess I did….”  I was surprised by the lack of feelings in my voice.  My thought process was logical.  Cold.  I loved people very deeply before I was a mother.  I loved my parents.  My husband.  I *did* expect to love my children as I do….

Cold logic though?  When it came to thinking of how I felt about my babies? 

I came home and I wondered and I stewed and I obsessed for days.  Was it possible that I didn’t love my kids like other Mom’s did?  Had my bout with Postpartum Depression permanently damaged the relationship I had with my kids?  Could I never get that bond back?  Was I just unfeeling?  Callous?  Was I missing something basic to my nature as a woman and as a mother?  I thought over a billion scenarios and knew that I too had the mama bear instinct.  But where was this primal rocking, this dreamy voice quality?  Why was I not in the same sort of maternal bliss that my friend was in? 

What was I doing wrong? 

 

Tonight, at bedtime C was chatty and stalling.  She looked at me and said, “Mama…  When I get bigger…  Who will I marry?” 

“Who do you think you’ll marry?”

“Maybe Daddy…. ” 

Long deep breaths, another turn.  More stalling.  “Mama…  When I’m bigger….  I wanna be a doctor.”

Instant heart-rush.  Agonizing ache.  “Mama, when I’m bigger…  when I’m married…  when I’m a grown-up?”  Where was this coming from?  Where had my baby gone?  When had she shifted into this big-girl stage of development?  When did she start thinking her own thoughts and stopped parroting what I told her about the world?  Where was the pudgy-armed two year old that I drug back to bed 57 times in one night only to have her stay up screaming for another hour reducing me to a nub of exhaustion?  Where did this wide-eyed thoughtful little girl come from…

And then after that one started snoring, the other one:  Not quite two, but very language proficient trying her best to sing along to her lullabies, “Flowers in the sunshine, Boats upon the lake…  Sleep my little baby, I’ll see you when you wake.”  Or in her version:  “Flowwwwrsshine….  BOOOO…  see you wake…” in the dreamiest little girl voice.    She insists that I sit with her until she’s so rock asleep that she doesn’t know I’m sneaking away.  Any little movement away from her elicits the tiniest, but completely unignorable, “Mama.”  I freeze in my steps and resume shushing.

I’m leaving these girls for four and a half days the day after tomorrow.  When I made the arrangements and bought the plane tickets all I could think of was freedom.  My turn.  I’ve sat through how many phone calls with my husband in port or on detachment?  He calls from Greece, or Spain, or even Dubai.  His time on the boat is far from glamorous, but his time off most certainly IS, at least sometimes.   He would tell me of the amazing things he saw–cathedrals, and mountains, and historical relics, or even just…  you know…  really cool restaurants that don’t feature high chairs and oyster crackers to keep screaming at bay…  He would tell me about these places and I would murmur back excitedly with all the convincingness I could muster and look around at my surroundings.  Here I was, up to my ankles in diapers…  while he was, kid-free seeing the wonders of the world.  But then…  this was my lot.

Tonight I can hardly stand it:  this thought of leaving in two days.    I’ve gone from excitement about my ‘freedom’ to agonizging over the thought of missing out on these precious moments and thoughts for even a few days.  For a week now I’ve been trying to chase away anxiety.  I’m  not worried about leaving them with my husband.  He’s a capable guy.  He pretends to be overwhelmed by them, but they’ll find their way through.  But me missing them.  How can I enjoy anything 2000 miles away and missing them?  The thought of them missing me, is equally troubling.  I have said for so long that I was the constant when Daddy left.  What will they think if Mommy goes too?  And even worse–what if they DON’T miss me?  What if I come home and they’re mad at me?  Or they only want Daddy? 

Silly, irrational thoughts that all Mommy’s think at one time or another in one form or another.  It’s nothing new.  Daddy will do fine.  They will do fine.  It will be good for them.  It will be a time to make special Daddy-daughter memories.  It will be a time for Daddy to gain confidence and find out that he CAN handle them on his own.  And it WILL be a time for me to relax and have some fun outside the realm of Mommydom.  (Have I mentioned that the thought of a plane ride with no one on my lap makes me monosyllabic with glee?)

But I see tonight–savoring every moment of the silken moonlight, relishing the words of the lullabies we sing and truly not minding bedtime taking over an hour before they both slip into calm, long, sleepy breath-patterns—that I *do* love these two tiny beings with every fiber of me.  The feelings don’t always bubble up naturally….  I’ve had long nights and days and weeks and months of being THE parent of two busy little girls.  I’ve had my share of Mommy burn-out.

Still, those deep, primal, dreamy, breathy, rocking feelings…  That bubbling up of spontaneous unstoppable “I love yous.”  That feeling of unimaginable love that my friend expressed…  I DO have it too.  It’s there.  When the burn-out feelings reign I don’t locate them as easily, but in the quiet of the night, snuggling up next to their soft, glorious little bodies, I find it again. 

I love you girls so much…  SO MUCH. 

I really, really do.

Disappointed but Not Surprised: My Take on Private Practice’s handling of PPD

As a coordinator for PSI, and a fan of Private Practice, I was excited to see that Private Practice was doing a show spotlighting Postpartum Depression. I was even more happy to hear that they had contacted PSI about doing a PSA for the website. PSI was not allowed to know of any of the content of the episode, but they put together a very well written PSA nonetheless. The PSA was excellent. I wish I could say the same about the episode.

Now, I’ve watched medical dramas long enough to know that they go for the most sensational cases most of the time. My own struggle with Postpartum Depression wouldn’t have garnered many ratings. How many people would really want to watch a woman walk into her doctors office and say, “I just feel blah and I don’t really enjoy being a Mom, can you help me?” get the assistance she needs, fight the good fight, and get better. Not so exciting, I suppose. In short, I wasn’t particularly surprised that ABC chose to write a storyline based around a woman with Postpartum Psychosis. Even so, I sure wish that the media would stop placing all the focus there as 99% of postpartum mood disorders don’t involve any form of psychosis and it is the truly rare case that a woman with a Postpartum Mood Disorder would try to harm her child. Certainly the perpetuation of the myth that all Postpartum Depression involves this extreme sort of action or fantasy is a disservice to women suffering.

Several things really DID bother me. First of all it was terribly irresponsible that the terms Postpartum Depression and Psychosis were used interchangeably. What does it say to a woman who has just been diagnosed with Postpartum Depression to see this? In what is already a frightening and overwhelming situation how dare ABC add fuel to the fire of women struggling by putting women diagnosed with a PPMD in the position to wonder if she too could do that to her child. Furthermore, it bothered me that such a large thrust of the episode revolved around whether or not the troubled mother should be able to be around her child, and it ESPECIALLY bothered me that the makers of this website would put a thoughtless petty poll about whether or not those who viewed Private Practice think a woman should be allowed access to her children when dealing with mental illness. The poll when coupled with the excellently written PSAdoes nothing but further stigmatize this disease, which was certainly exactly the opposite of what Postpartum Support International was going for when they agreed to write the PSA. Even worse it has the potential of frightening women who desperately need help and reassurance when facing a postpartum mood disorder from seeking the help they need. Having been there and done that (to a far milder degree than anyone who had watched this episode would expect–I certainly needed help, but I certainly did NOT want to harm my child), I can speak from experience that the fear of having my child taken away from me made it very hard to reach out for help. Guilt and fear are two of the most debilitating and harmful aspects of PPD and this episode did nothing but perpetuate both AND add to the stigma that women with Postpartum Mood Disorders already have to overcome.

I can’t say that I’m surprised by this television take on the subject, but I’m certainly disappointed that Private Practice portrayed things the way they did. Past that, I find it highly upsetting that even though they featured a PSA on their website, that the matter of Postpartum Mood Disorders was so trivialized throughout the show and especially on the websites poll. I know the sensational cases bring the better ratings, but if you must be sensational at least be responsible. Even more, don’t trivialize the incredibly difficult struggle of mother’s fighting to come back from PPMD’s with a fear-mongering witch-hunt poll.  

To get the facts on Postpartum Mood Disorders, or to find support for those struggling with them check out PSI’s website at www.postpartum.net

One more thing:  This is of course only MY feelings on the subject and in no way reflects the ideas or opinions of the PSI organization as a whole.

Embracing The Muddling

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

The year after Mom died, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” became my holiday theme.  Not surprisingly, as the Holidays draw near again, it’s resurfacing for me.

Husband and I watched The Family Stone last week during a cheap-skate date (dinner and a movie in, free babysitter–gotta love that!).  I’d kind of forgotten that it had the whole ‘terminally ill woman spends Christmas with her family’ theme going on with it.  I’d never seen it before.

I would have been fine with the whole thing if “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” hadn’t been prominently featured in the film.  I really would have.  But there was Judy Garland singing her heart out, crying those beautiful vintage tears and bringing me back to reflect on the Muddling of it all.

“Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow….  Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow….”  (I’ve quoted that line here before….  It’s a recurring theme, what can I say?)

I laid there that night, after we watched the movie, after I heard the song that packs such an emotional punch for me and all I could think was how prominent the concept of “muddling” has been to us.  And I cried and bawled and wailed, and poor Husband didn’t know what to do with me.

Muddling.  I feel like my whole marriage with Husband has been muddling.  Not because of Husband of course.  Our marriage has played out against the backdrop of a Navy lifestyle, the death of my mother, five grandparents, and several other significant friends and family members.  We’ve experienced the stress of raisingn two young children while enduring the yo-yoing of separating and coming together again with deployments and detachments.    Maybe it’s because I’m codependent and I like to create my own chaos, or maybe it’s because life has really been bits and pieces of chaos.  I just always feel like we’re muddling.  Just doing what we can to make the best of it.  Trying to embrace the beauty and the mess of it all. 

This year, the mess is me.  It’s us.  The mess is our healing.  The mess is Husband and I trying to reconnect as Husband and wife in the wake of all the previous mudding.  It’s the exhaustion and the frustration and the stress and the joy and the exquisite tenderness and the pure amazement of raising our two beautiful children. 

Muddling feels something akin to just surviving.  And my ideal is to do more than survive, but to really live.

But it occurs to me that maybe muddling IS living.  It is part of living life abundant.  Of feeling the heights of the joy and the depths of the pain.  Of facing the messiness that is you. 

It’s not that all has been joyless.  There has been much joy–exquisite joy.  Discovery, and abundant love, and wonder and amazement.  It’s not that the difficulties we’ve faced have been so extraordinary.  We have a very ordinary set of troubles.  We do.

This Christmas song that I love so much isn’t about muddling.  It’s a song about looking forward with hope despite less than ideal circumstances…  and living fully in the joy of the present in the meantime.   It’s not about having joy because of an absence of muddling, but about holding onto the light of now in the midst of it.

I want to learn to, or remember to, or continue to joyfully embrace my muddling.  I want to continue to look forward with hope…  to days of being together with people that I love, both on this side of Heaven and beyond…  to days of feeling together and not like an unraveling mess…  Days of sinking in solidly to the feel of my husband’s arms around me without a burden of cares and worries and disconnections between us.  In the mess and the muddling in the meantime, I want to grasp the reality of the joy of right now with both hands and hold on tight.

Forward Movement

When my summer ran away with me, so did my momentum for working the PPD problem in military communities.  Then last week, I had my first conference call as a PSI Coordinator for military families (how cool is that?!).  That lit a fire under me, and I’ve spent the week beginning to work the issue through–calling folks to find out what resources are out there, and hatching little plans in my head to increase awareness of the issue.

I’m starting at home, because that just makes sense, and things are starting to happen.  I’m hoping that eventually, I’ll be able to present some material to the powers that be, and to people who are in a position to help Mom’s dealing with PPMDs.  I’ll have a meeting this week with a social worker on base to talk about setting up a support group.  Things are going to happen.  My awareness and advocacy buttons are all pushed, and I’m ready to yell loud…   Actually, I think I’m channeling Mom.  😉

It’s exciting.  And for the first time since I stopped teaching, I feel  purposeful and fulfilled and like I’m doing more than spinning my wheels. 

I love it.