Surviving the storm – A personal account
of postnatal depression and anxiety in a pandemic

by Sheena King

 

As we all know, March 2020 marked the end of ‘normal’ life as we knew it. The frightening reality of the Covid-19 global pandemic seeped into our daily lives and brought with it global anxiety. My existing anxieties as a pregnant young woman preparing for her first child were elevated to new levels. Among these many fears, one in particular caused me the most distress. I was terrified about the possibility of having to go through my first ever experience of childbirth alone. I began to realise that the birthing experience I hoped for was in jeopardy and I worried every single day about how I would be able to tackle this great unknown without the emotional support of my husband. The World Health Organisation (WHO) gave clear recommendations that pregnant women should not be denied the support of a birth companion. After all, “…pregnancy is not put on pause in a pandemic, and neither are fundamental human rights. A woman’s experience of childbirth is as important as her clinical care” (Tuncalp, 2020). Despite this, the emotional health and welfare of many expectant mothers have been severely compromised by Covid restrictions.

As the sun rose on the morning of Friday 1st May 2020, my husband waited nervously in his van outside our local hospital for over three hours while I was being informed that our little human was showing signs of making an appearance a week earlier than planned. Thankfully, he was permitted to join me in the delivery suite and that evening, we welcomed a beautiful healthy baby boy. No words could convey the joy of meeting our little man for the first time, and I could not imagine experiencing this life-changing event alone. My heart breaks for all those women in Ireland and across the world in the past year who have gone through labour and/or childbirth without the emotional support of their birth partner. I also feel a deep sadness for each woman who attends antenatal scans alone, particularly those experiencing health concerns and those parents who experience foetal losses or complications.

In the three hours immediately after giving birth, we soaked up every moment together as a family of three before my husband had to leave us. Even though I was prepared for the reality that I would spend the next three days without seeing any family member, this was still a very lonely and frightening experience at times. I was physically and emotionally shell-shocked and exhausted. As a new mammy, I was also terrified leaving my baby unattended for even five minutes. I had no idea what was ‘the norm’ in a maternity ward and just minutes after my tearful farewell to my husband that first night, I innocently asked a night nurse if it was possible for her to keep an eye on the baby for a minute while I used the bathroom (a scary event in itself!) Her response was one of disgust: “Oh no, we don’t do that, we have too much to be doing. You’ll have to just leave him there”. I felt embarrassed for my ignorance and I felt stupid for being frightened to leave my three-hour-old baby alone even for a few moments. For the following 24 hours, as I revelled in the awe and overwhelming love I felt for my beautiful boy, I was also hit by recurring shock waves of isolation, sadness, loneliness, fear and helplessness that felt unbearable at times. Even though I received care and support from some lovely maternity staff, I longed for my husband and my own mother. I needed to be held, reassured and nurtured by those closest to me.

Our deserted village

They say it takes a village to raise a child. I now can see why. I imagine I am not alone in my experience of feeling overwhelmed in the first few days and weeks of becoming a mother. I trudged through the muddy waters of new parenthood as best I could, taking one day at a time, one feed at a time, one sleepless night at a time. Also, like so many other new mothers, I attempted to breastfeed my little boy. I lasted five weeks before conceding that it was too detrimental to my physical and mental health and that of my family. Of course, we had some wonderful and joyful experiences in those first few weeks as a family of three, and I remember feeling immense pride for this little human that I had created. Like millions of other new mothers, I got used to surviving on minimal sleep and began to settle into my new identity as a parent. We also purchased our first home during this time and moved house with a seven-week-old baby. We did most of this without the hands-on support of any family and friends. The only person to enter our home in our first five weeks as parents was our public health nurse, whose visits were restricted to 15 minutes contact and the rest on the phone sitting in our driveway.

I feel sadness that I did not have my village around me as I tried to adjust to parenthood. I wasn’t able to access the support and nurture that my mother wanted to give to her only daughter at this special but vulnerable time. My little boy’s grandparents were not able to hold him and experience those magical moments. By following public health guidelines, we sadly experienced disconnect and distance at a time where we needed to feel held by those who loved us. The feelings of isolation, loneliness and helplessness that I had felt during my hospital stay often resurfaced during this fourth trimester, but it wasn’t until my son was four months old that these feelings became stronger.

The storm

For as long as I can remember, I knew I wanted to someday be a mother. I didn’t realise that it was going to be so hard and that I would feel so awful in it. For six months, I felt like I was in a tiny wooden boat alone at sea during a massive storm, being constantly hit by huge waves that battered me from all directions. These waves proved relentless at times, slowly breaking me into tiny broken pieces (see picture: ‘The Storm’). Most days I felt weak, worn away, broken and helpless. I was physically and mentally exhausted like never before. I was deeply depressed while at the same time experiencing anxiety in the form of restlessness and rage that I had never experienced before. My limbic brain was in the driving seat and it was speeding out of control.

‘The Storm’ by Sheena King

Like so many people, I put a brave face on as a defence mechanism. I didn’t feel brave enough to let others close to me into my inner world for fear of judgement or pity. Each time I looked in the mirror I was filled with loathing and disgust. I saw a complete failure as a person and as a mammy. I questioned myself almost every minute of every day. Why couldn’t I get my child to sleep through the night? How come my friends seemed to be managing and I wasn’t? Why was I so angry with everything? With every day and night that passed, I was running out of energy and strength to fight back the storm waves that crashed against me from all directions.

Somewhere inside me however, I had a courage and strength that kept me going even if it was barely existent some days. Even though I felt blessed every single day to have a beautiful, healthy child and a loving family around me, I grieved for so many lost parts of myself. I grieved for my freedom, my hobbies and the loss of the bubbly energetic young woman with whom I had become friends over the past thirty odd years. I grieved for my pre-pregnancy body and I also grieved my pre-Covid life. I grieved for human contact with my support village instead of seeing their faces on the screen of my phone. I grieved for coffee dates with friends, visits to extended families, strolls around shopping centres with my buggy. I felt disconnected from the world around me and I grieved all the hugs that I desperately needed.

Name it to tame it

Despite my years of training and experience in the field of therapy and mental health, I naively thought that I would never be one of ‘those women’ who experienced postnatal depression. Maybe my awareness of depression and anxiety would somehow give me immunity against them? Thankfully, I had the ongoing wisdom and support of my therapist who witnessed the storm in which I was drowning. With her help, I was slowly able to give this storm a name. This was a turning point in my journey, and even though it took me over a week to find the courage to schedule an appointment with my GP to explore the idea of medication, I started to see that perhaps this storm might someday pass. It was eye-opening for me to learn that my experience is more common than people even realise, and I was not alone in my experience.

Throughout this journey, I have also found some resolution in naming the lack of support that I and so many recent new mothers have received. I have needed to name my anger, frustration and disappointment at falling prey to the impact of Covid but also the gaps that already exist in our country’s public health system. In my experience, a mother suffering with postnatal depression and/ or anxiety can feel completely lost and disconnected. I felt emotionally paralysed in a state of fear and overwhelm and there were times when I felt I could not reach out for help. I needed more check-ins from my public health professionals, and I needed more support as a first-time mother in a pandemic. I felt forgotten and isolated at a time when I needed to feel supported. My husband ended up being the sole witness to my grief, loss, torment and turmoil and I feel a deep sadness that he endured so much. I was lost at sea in my broken boat and even though I knew he was nearby desperately trying to help me, I was out of his reach.

I imagine that there are so many new mothers in my position who do not have the support of a loving partner or family. There are those who, for various reasons, do not have the support of their own counsellor. There are mothers who are separated from their families and friends by land and oceans and continents. I can only imagine how many of these women may be trying to survive their own storms right now. In my eyes, they are all true warriors.

After the storm comes the sun

In her poem ‘The Storm’, Lupita Almaraz Aguilar reminds us that despite the loss and the damage caused by the storm,

…murky waters will clear

Don’t underestimate nature

The thunder will roll but then fade

Sun will come sooner or later

 (Almaraz Aguilar, 2020)

Now that my storm has passed, I have been able to appreciate the gifts that this experience has given me. Despite the isolation and disconnection which Covid gave us, it also allowed us some breathing space to adjust to life as new parents. Months of cocooning gave me uninterrupted time to get to know my little boy without the pressure of having to entertain guests or organise babysitters. And while I longed for the opportunity to squeeze my post-partum body into a figure-hugging dress and hit the dancefloor at friends’ weddings, I thoroughly enjoyed spending the past year wearing yoga pants and tracksuit tops almost every day of the week!

My use of the storm metaphor is one that was central in my work with my dear supervisor Bridget Breen who passed away suddenly in April 2020. I would like to think that on my darkest days at sea, she was somewhere nearby sending me strength and courage. I am also forever grateful to my own therapist who has held a space in her heart for me when I felt like no one could help me. She battled through the storm with me, she kept me afloat and she helped me to see that the storm would eventually pass. As a therapist myself, my experience this past year has given me the gift of a deeper awareness and appreciation for our profession. As therapists, we have the privilege of helping others when they are battling their own storms. We are often that little ray of hope and light on their darkest days.

I am so thankful that my husband stayed by my side through this frightening journey of mine. There were times where my husband was in the middle of the deep dark sea with me, and we battled the storm together. There were other times where he stood at the shore, desperate and unable to reach me. He has always been and continues to be my rock, my silent hero and my best friend. There are so many partners like him in similar positions, and as helpless as they may feel at times, they are a gift. They are often the little ray of light that comes through the storm clouds on those darkest days.

‘After the Storm’ by Sheena King

The greatest gift of all that I have received from this past year is my beautiful little boy. He has helped me to reach depths of my soul that I have never imagined. Victor Frankl spoke of how mankind is inherently motivated to endure and survive suffering when there is love. He said that “. . . love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire.” (Frankl, 1959: 37). As frightening as my experience of postnatal depression and anxiety has been, my love for my little boy has been my anchor in the storm. Part of me died and was washed away in that storm. But the part of me that remains has been transformed into a stronger human being. I am reminded of the following excerpt which I came across in recent years.

. . . and once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. (Murakami, 2005: p.4)

Sheena King is a psychotherapist, play therapist and clinical supervisor for creative arts therapies. She founded her private practice ‘Bloomhill Play Therapy & Psychotherapy’ in Co. Wexford in 2012. She graduated with her MA in psychotherapy in 2016 and is currently preparing to apply for accreditation status with IAHIP.

References:

 Almaraz Aguilar, L. (2020). “The Storm” (Poem). Retrieved on 16th May 2021. https://tamucc-ir.tdl.org/ handle/1969.6/87971

Frankl, V. (1959). Man’s Search for Meaning. Boston: Beacon Press.

Murakami, H. (2005) Kafka on the Shore. London: Vintage Publishing.

Tuncalp. O. (2020) retrieved on 2nd May 2021. https://www.who.int/news/item/09-09-2020-everywoman-s-right-to-a-companion-of-choice-during-childbirth

(C) IAHIP 2021 - INSIDE OUT 94 - SUMMER 2021