World Maternal Mental Health Awareness Day

I never imagined this would be me...

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of intrusive thoughts and miscarriage

Did you know military mothers are 2.3 times more likely to suffer from Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders? Studies have shown that 1 in 5 mothers experience maternal mental health troubles.¹

When I became a mother, I didn’t know these statistics. I’m a Registered Nurse. I’ve worked in Emergency Medicine and seen mothers come in to be treated for postpartum psychosis. I’ve worked in family medicine at a military clinic and helped people get medications as they settled in at the new duty station.

I knew some of the warning signs of Perinatal Mental Health Illnesses, but I never imagined I would be affected. All I dreamed of was being a wife and mother, and getting pregnant with our first was a dream come true. How could I be 1 in 5 when motherhood was my lifelong dream?

As our son turned six months old, my husband asked, “When are we going to start solids?”

I felt my heart cinch at the thought. My baby wouldn’t be my baby anymore if he started eating food other than the milk from my breasts. I gave my husband a vague answer: “Probably soon.” I sat with the idea for a little longer. I knew it was an important next step, so I looked up solid starts and figured out how to start him on solids, all the while feeling my heart break, believing this was the beginning of the end of infancy.

On a gray, cold, misting, and windy day, my husband sent me out to do something for myself, as my mood reflected the weather. I bundled up and walked through the cute little town of Newport. I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I knew that movement helped. I walked and walked until I felt the tightness in my body start to soften. I turned around, and by the time I returned to the hotel, I felt better.

At the last well-child check before our big move to Sasebo, Japan I remember filling out the maternal mental health questionnaire. I crossed and un-crossed my legs and fiddled with the pen the corpsman gave me to fill out my paperwork. I’m one of the only ones in there, my son contentedly resting in his car seat next to me.

In the last 2 weeks, have you felt down, depressed, or hopeless?
I think “well, yes, but we just got over COVID”, so I picked the answer that says yes, some of the time, giving one point. I go through the rest of the questions and find myself thinking, “Not in the past week or two, but over the last two months, I have felt this way.” I don’t know these doctors well, as we’re in this transitory state, so I don’t know how to approach asking for help.

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I’m standing over my kitchen sink, filling my cold brew coffee container with water, setting it up to steep, and tears stream down my face. I’m tired. Every bone in my body seems to ache with fatigue. My husband is working longer days and more hours than either of us expected. Another time, standing over the sink again, scrubbing dishes, tears fell from my eyes. I force myself to stop, so my son doesn’t see. Later, when he’s asleep, and I’m showering off my day, I let myself sob.

I reached out through Military OneSource to talk to a counselor. In my one and only session with her, I explained our extensive transitory state with this particular PCS, the loss of my grandmother, and the fact that I can’t stop crying unprovoked. She tells me that it sounds like I’m responding normally to my circumstances, that she doesn’t think I need repeated appointments, and to reach out as needed. As we’re about to end the call, she asks me if I think I have postpartum depression. I felt so defeated from being told my response was normal that I said, “No, I don’t think I do.” I didn’t try counseling or therapy again for three years.

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In October 2022, my husband was in South Korea. We’d be joining him in a few days. He texts me, “Do you know if you’re pregnant yet?” I had a faint positive test that morning, it was still really early, and my period wasn’t even due for a few more days. I was trying to wait so I could tell him in person when we got to South Korea, I wanted to put our son in a big brother shirt. I responded, “It’s still too early,” and he said, “Can’t you just take one and see?” Because of his persistence, I told him via text message that I am pregnant, and sent him a picture of the positive test.

I’d felt ready for another little; however, as the first trimester progressed and fatigue set in, I questioned our decision. I was pregnant and breastfeeding. I continued to breastfeed through the first trimester, and weaned at the beginning of the second trimester. I went on a walk or run daily in order work through a lot of the emotions I was having. Intrusive thoughts took over sometimes, and I would find myself hoping that a little cramp was the start of a miscarriage. I would consider asking friends to adopt our baby. I felt wholly incapable of becoming a mother to two. I know now that a lot of that anxiety was exacerbated by weaning. I kind of knew that weaning could trigger postpartum mood and anxiety disorders, but never expected to be one to suffer in this way.

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When our second was about seven months old, we took a trip to Beppu, a tourist destination near Sasebo. I’d recently started having more intrusive thoughts. One instance I was having a hard time letting go of happened when we were in the pool. My husband was with my oldest in the water, and I was watching from the sidelines. They were having a blast playing when my brain created an image of my husband throwing my son and his head hitting the edge of the pool, where he busted his head open. I thought about this for days, continuously reminding myself that it wasn’t real. As we were packing and loading up to take our trip, I found myself paralyzed with anxiety. My instinct was to cancel our trip and stay home in our safe little bubble. My husband, thankfully, was able to coax me out of the house, and I sat in the passenger seat with a comfort blanket on my lap and meditation beads in my hand, trying to calm myself.

When we returned from that trip, I called and made a doctor’s appointment. I knew at this point that it was time to start medication. My anxiety was interfering with my ability to do and enjoy anything outside of our normal weekly structure.

On a dreary January day. A thick fog has settled over the city. I feed the baby, remind my husband of the time to pick up our toddler from daycare, and get in the car to drive to my doctor’s appointment. I don’t want to go. I’ve contemplated canceling several times. I know I need to go.

At every well-child visit, the mom fills out a questionnaire to attempt to assess her mental health. Every time I fill out, I never fully trigger it because my darker days never align with the well-child visits.

The waiting room at the doctor’s office is relatively empty. I fill out the paperwork I’m handed and then open my Kindle, reading my book until they call my name. I relay enough of my situation to the corpsman as he does my vital signs and checks me in.

When the doctor comes in, I tell her the full details of what’s been going on and I tell her I want to try medication. I’m training for a 10K, I lift, I journal and practice gratitude, I meditate, I breathe. I lead a very holistic life. I prioritize my health in a multitude of ways, and these things are still happening. We agree to check some labs and start on zoloft.

On my drive home from the appointment, the dense fog that had been sitting heavy over the city began to lift. As I exited the expressway, the grayness that clouded the green mountain lifted above. Quite literally, the fog lifted as I drove home with my little green pills.

That night before I bed, I opened my bottle, pulled out one pill, and whispered, “Please work.”

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A year and a half later, in the third trimester with our third and final baby, I have had the easiest pregnancy of my three in regards to mental and emotional health. I take my little pill every night and have bi-weekly therapy sessions. I look back on my motherhood journey, and often think, “I didn’t know I could feel this good as a mother.” A part of me wishes I’d sought help sooner. I share my story in hopes that someone may be able to seek help sooner than I did.

Today is World Maternal Mental Health Awareness Day, which is why I’m sharing this story today.

This year, I have chosen to volunteer with The Climb from Postpartum Support International to plan and host a climb. If you are local to San Diego, consider joining us this fall. If you are not local, look to see if there’s a climb in your area. If you’d still like to support me, consider donating to PSI through The Climb.

As I turn 32 later this month, I’ve set a goal to raise $320 this year, and would love your support in helping reach that goal. You can help me reach my goal by clicking here.