Meeka’s Story

You will be well. We are living proof.

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I stood in the bathroom at work, stared at the pink line and fell to the floor. I was stunned and overwhelmed. I burst in to tears and called my husband. They were not tears of joy. Being pregnant was the last thing I wanted. My family and my husband’s family were thrilled. So the guilt of not feeling happy about a baby started in those first few moments of my pregnancy. Why was everyone so happy when I felt so lousy?

I spent the rest of my pregnancy with mixed emotions. As the delivery date got closer I was beginning to panic. Three weeks before she was born, I stood in my kitchen and told my father that I was afraid I wouldn’t love her. He assured me that when I held her for the first time it would all come together and that I would fall in love. I had always believed my father–he is a wonderful man with so much wisdom.

Imagine the horror when that didn’t happen. It was the one strand of hope I was holding out for. I looked at her and felt nothing. The only thing that went through my mind was “I must feel so disconnected because I didn’t want her. How could a good mother not want her baby??” I had a supportive husband, was financially stable, a close family that lived only minutes away. I had everything,–but I had a dark and terrible illness too–Postpartum Anxiety and Depression.

As the weeks passed I became more and more sleepless, more panicked, more depressed, and more overwhelmed. Each day was a drudgery and each night was so dark and lonely. I was obsessed with the idea of getting sleep. Actually I obsessed about everything. I thought that if I slept well everything would be better. I was too tired to shower, too afraid to be alone, too confused to drive a car. I couldn’t be anywhere comfortably, not even in my own skin. One night Jeff and I went out for dinner, thinking that a “date night” might lift my spirits. Instead, he stared across the table and said “I feel like I am on a really bad first date.” If only I could make it better. I couldn’t and his words crushed me. I didn’t want to go home that night or anywhere else for that matter. As we drove through an intersection near our home, I briefly had a flash that a car accident might be a relief. When Mary was 6 weeks old I told my husband that it might be better if he and Mary didn’t have me around anymore. I was a burden, a horrible mother, unhappy, and useless.

By then my family was out of options and ideas. When Mary was 7 weeks old I was in a doctor’s office sobbing. She looked me in the eyes, and said 16 words that I will never forget–”I went through this with my second child, and I made it. You will get better.”

And I have!! My recovery was long. I didn’t know what I needed to get better. I had a random combination of drugs and occasional therapy AND none to talk to that had gone through the same thing. Now I know what is required to have a quicker and more successful recovery and I want to make sure other women know–so they don’t miss the things I missed in the first few years of my daughter’s life. Since December of 2000, my darkness has been replaced with happiness, hope, and a craving for life.