Having a new baby is, for many women, the start of a happy new chapter. But for a significant number of new mothers in Ireland, it can instead mark the beginning of despair, overwhelming sadness, and a struggle to cope. Lisa from Four Walls, Rainy Days shares her postnatal depression story, in the hope of chipping away at the taboo around this subject and encouraging more parents to speak out and ask for help.
In internet circles, I find myself surrounded by some of the most amazing, inspiring people on a day-to-day basis. I interact with them in Facebook groups and on Twitter — people I’ve never met in real life but have spoken to regularly for the best part of a year.
They are strong, courageous women (mostly) who have found a way to speak out about things that aren’t normally talked about; things considered taboo. Lately I’ve found myself wanting to say the same kinds of things but have held back, unsure what to say, how to say it, or whether I should say it at all.
From authors I really admire, like Marian Keyes, to fellow parenting bloggers who’ve written honestly about their own experiences, these women have made me feel like it’s okay to speak up. That’s exactly why I’m writing this now.
Mental Illness Stigma
Mental illness is, thankfully, something that has entered the realm of “okay to talk about” in Irish society over the last few years. I’m thankful — not that it’s so prevalent (if anything, I wish for its disappearance every day), but because chipping away at the taboo around it can only be a good thing.
I’ve spent the last five years involved, in some small way, in trying to diminish that stigma. None of us can deny that it touches us in some way — everyone has a friend or family member, or their own personal story, to add to the conversation. I am no different.
My Diagnosis
I was diagnosed with depression in January 2010, in my first year of college.
It had been a rough time. I’d moved somewhere new where I knew only three people, started a college course I thought I’d love and ended up hating, and experienced my first real loss — a classmate from school whose absence I couldn’t make sense of.
Between everything going on, I became a bit of a recluse and sank into myself, feeling more and more disconnected from the life going on around me.
Thankfully, I was surrounded by wonderful people who knew what to do and where to send me. The friends I’d made in college were fantastic and pointed me towards the college counselling service, where I got the help I needed. It’s amazing how things work out. I feel incredibly lucky to have made the friends I did — that they had the contacts to show me where to go, and that I felt like I wasn’t alone or losing my mind.
Different Forms of Anxiety
Throughout college I dealt with anxiety in different forms.
In my second year, it showed up as stress migraines — no fun at all, and debilitating enough that I missed a lot of college.
By my finals, I came about as close as I’ve ever been to a breakdown, where messing up an exam sent me into a tailspin of hysterical tears that ended in the doctor’s office and being told I could repeat my exams on medical grounds.
My experiences taught me that mental illness isn’t to be messed with — it’s a demon of a thing if you lose control for even a minute. The black dog bites, and bites hard. It just needs to be trained.
Pregnancy
Less than a year after graduation, I fell pregnant. It was a shock, but once that wore off, I started looking forward to this new adventure heading my way.
Pregnancy wasn’t easy, by any stretch of the imagination — but everyone assured me I deserved a good, easy baby for all my troubles getting him here. I picked up a back injury halfway through my pregnancy, which put paid to working until maternity leave kicked in, and I ended up hospitalised near the end with dangerously high blood pressure, culminating in pre-eclampsia and an early delivery of my gorgeous baby boy.
Honestly, I was glad it was over. I remember waking up the day I had him, no longer feeling the burning heartburn I’d had for weeks, and just this overwhelming sense of relief washing over me. He was here. The hard part was gone. I was in my new life now, with my new baby, and everything was going to be fine from here on in.
Life with a Newborn
And it was — for the first few weeks. We trudged into life with a newborn, sleep deprivation hitting like never before, slowly settling into a routine of sleeping, feeding, changing nappies, repeat. Through it all I was a bit emotional, but I put that down to the baby blues and the exhaustion — sure, nobody is at their best when they haven’t slept.
Weeks went by. I started crying when the baby cried. Or when someone asked how my day was going. Or if any comment, positive or negative, was made about anything I did. And still I put it down to those baby blues, those hormones.
I’d been told it was likely I’d develop postnatal depression — both the hospital staff and my own wonderful GP had advised me to read up on it and watch for the signs. So I did — and I became determined that the black dog was coming nowhere near me, my baby, or my new life as a mother. That was to be left behind in my old life, the one where I wasn’t held together and responsible for someone else.
I became so determined that I put even more pressure on myself to seem “good” — leaving the house every single day for walks with the baby, keeping the smile on, saving the tears for when I was sitting alone on the sofa at home. I wasn’t crying, I told myself. I was just “leaking”. Those damn hormones.
My Baby’s Four-Month Check-Up
Months went by. At my son’s four-month check, the public health nurse asked how I was doing. By then I’d joined a weight-loss group and had a little more control over sleep patterns and general day-to-day life. I’d settled into being a mother. But when she asked how I was, I said, “Well, I’m only crying a little when the baby cries.”
I didn’t tell her that I resented every single time my partner walked out the door to work, leaving me alone with the baby.
I didn’t tell her about hiding tears in the bathroom, almost daily, whenever he asked how the baby was or what was for dinner. I believed that if I just didn’t let that black dog in the door of my new life, it wouldn’t be depression, and I wouldn’t be “one of those mothers” with postnatal depression. I had a gorgeous baby boy who was, by all accounts, a good baby. What did I have to complain about?
Everyone told me how wonderful he was, how he smiled up at everyone. Nobody else saw him crying for hours at home, unsettled, seeming to say, “You’re a bad mother — if you were any good, you’d make me stop.”
When I stopped breastfeeding, people praised me for keeping it up as long as I did. I even wrote a post about how relieved I felt, and how he was finally gaining weight. I didn’t mention that his rapid weight gain on formula made me feel less relieved and more angry with myself for not being able to give him that, for failing at yet another thing.
I Was Unfair to Myself
My parents and my partner were amazing, telling me I was doing a great job — and all I kept telling myself was, “But nobody else’s baby won’t settle and cries all the time.”
At the time, I was part of a Facebook group of mothers who’d had babies around the same time as me. They wrote about their babies sleeping through the night, while I was up every hour. Theirs were thriving; mine was refusing feeds and not gaining weight.
Looking back, I now realise Facebook only shows you what people choose to share — and many of them have since admitted their life with a new baby wasn’t as perfect as it looked either.
But at the time, I felt awful. I was crying for no clear reason, resenting my child for keeping me at home and, in my mind, not giving me the affection he gave his dad. Worst of all was the guilt — I knew it was wrong to resent my innocent, gorgeous baby, and I couldn’t get away from that guilt no matter what.
The public health nurse told me the baby blues should have passed by now, and suggested it might be worth talking to my doctor about postnatal depression. Honestly, I dismissed her — in my own head, I decided she was exaggerating and that this was something I could handle myself.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when I found myself crying while walking down the street because the baby wouldn’t settle in the buggy, that I admitted maybe what she’d said had some truth to it. As much as I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t have it all together, I knew I was, perhaps, a little in over my head.
Finally, Going to My GP
I made an appointment with my saint of a GP and headed along to a ten-minute appointment where I cried for most of it. At the end, she told me everything would be okay, wrote me a prescription, and told me I needed to accept help where it was offered instead of trying to do everything myself. She was right — I needed to start admitting I wasn’t okay, and asking for help, which I have done.
It’s now just over two months on. The cloud has lifted. Medication has definitely helped, as has shifting my attitude about how I think people see me and my way of mothering.
I’ve gone back to work, which has helped because it’s given me back a sense of myself outside of being a mother. I check in with my GP regularly. That’s not to say it’s all roses — the medication is good, but it doesn’t magically make everything perfect. If it did, I imagine they’d charge a lot more for it.
As with everything, I have my ups and downs. But I’m now loving the time I get to spend with my baby, instead of resenting it, watching him grow and learn every day.
You may also like: How Counselling Can Really Help Postnatal Depression
Postnatal Depression Is Extremely Common
Postnatal depression is far more common than most people realise, and it’s estimated to affect somewhere around one in ten new mothers in Ireland, sometimes lasting well beyond the first few months after birth.
It’s just one of those things we don’t talk about enough — everyone wants to be seen as coping, as doing well with their new baby, as if it’s easy, as if it matches that perfect picture we imagine during pregnancy. Nobody factors in the sleep deprivation, the screaming (baby’s and yours), and the wall-to-wall nappies when they imagine new parenthood. It’s tough.
If you’re reading this and you feel like the walls are caving in, and that black dog is barking at the door, please tell someone.
I promise you, it will be okay. Telling someone, and admitting you’re in over your head — as tough and as difficult as that feels in the moment — is the first step to getting through this. I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m on medication daily, surrounded by help and listening ears, and I still find it a rough ride sometimes. But it does get easier, and at some point soon, you’ll start to feel those dark clouds lift, even just a little.
If you’d like to talk to someone, your GP or public health nurse is a good place to start, and Nurture (formerly PND Ireland) offers information and peer support specifically for parents experiencing postnatal depression in Ireland.
This post is by blogger Lisa Ryan, mum to one small boy, aspiring superstar, and tea addict trying to hold it all together as she journeys through motherhood. You can read her blog, Four Walls, Rainy Days, and follow her on social media.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is postnatal depression common?
Yes. It’s far more common than most people expect, affecting a significant number of new mothers, and it can develop weeks or even months after birth rather than right away.
How is postnatal depression different from the “baby blues”?
The baby blues usually pass within the first couple of weeks after birth. Postnatal depression tends to last longer, feel more intense, and doesn’t lift on its own the way the early baby blues do.
What should I do if I think I have postnatal depression?
Talk to someone — your GP, your public health nurse, or your maternity team are all good starting points. Naming what’s going on, even in a short appointment, is often the hardest and most important first step.
Does postnatal depression mean I’m a bad parent?
No. It’s a common, treatable experience, not a reflection of how much you love your baby or how capable you are as a parent.
Where can parents in Ireland find support for postnatal depression?
Your GP and public health nurse are a good first point of contact, and Nurture (formerly PND Ireland) provides information and peer support for parents in Ireland experiencing postnatal depression.
Related Articles
- How Counselling Can Really Help Postnatal Depression
- Coping with the Emotional Rollercoaster of New Parenthood
- Building Your Support Network as a New Parent
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