Sometimes we wear our identities like cloaks: I am Happy Mama, I am Nurse… I am School-teacher, Good Cook, or Missionary… We hide behind them, making sure that is what others see–not the insecurities, the sickness, the fears. When God changes our identity, or takes away something we want to cling to, or introduces a difficulty we would not have chosen, sometimes we struggle alone. Let’s lay aside our cloaks and remember we are all Daughters of God. I want to begin again with the view of each one of us Precious–each with a story and an identity given by God alone. I hope you enjoy this sisterhood of stories! ~Alison

On Postpartum Anxiety

God had given us the dearest pair of babies–a happy three-month-old and a talkative two-year-old. My life-long dream of being a mom had come true, and I was the happiest girl alive.

Or was I?

I recognized the goodness of my life, but instead of propelling me toward joy and gratitude, this goodness settled like a stone in my stomach. I read a book about American prosperity set against the need for people to spread the gospel in unreached areas of the world. The richness of my life rose up and mocked me. Could God even accept someone who possessed so much? I wasn’t suffering for His sake like I should be.

Maybe I could persuade my husband to give all of our money to foreign missions. Would that be enough to save us?

Other worries haunted me. I would jerk awake in the black of night, quaking at the image of our car stalling on a railroad track with not enough time to extract both of the babies before the train smashed us all. Which one would I reach for first? 

Or what if something awful happened during the day when my husband was at work, and I died? Nobody would know, and our babies would cry all day long until their dad came home. They couldn’t even get their own drinks. Imagine the horrors they would endure!

Or cancer–what if that horrible disease were growing in my body right now? What would it be like to leave my husband and children behind? Wrenching goodbye scenes played through my tired 2 am mind.

This torment continued for months. I mostly kept my thoughts to myself, because of course no one would understand. I would have told anyone who asked that I didn’t struggle much with postpartum depression. I had no desire to lie in bed all day, and I didn’t feel overwhelmingly sad–just terrified, and only for perfectly logical reasons.

Much later, after my world righted itself, I discovered that depression and anxiety are related, and that anxiety can settle in during the postpartum period just as depression can. It all made sense then–the distorted thoughts, the inability to shut off my mind and rest, the rush of fear that would leave me cold and trembling. I could see that my mental imbalance was related to fluctuating hormones. Yay! I had learned something important, and I would never be caught off guard again.

We had two more babies, and the horrible fears did not return, at least not in full force. I gave myself more grace in the immediate postpartum weeks. I recognized the fragile condition of my mind and tried not to take myself too seriously. I read only light, cheerful books while I nursed my baby. I had this thing figured out.

Then, after a seven year gap, we discovered we were to be parents again. We were thrilled.

I enjoyed a healthy pregnancy, and we proudly brought a big baby boy home to his siblings, some of whom were teenagers and adolescents by now. I settled contentedly into the familiar role of mothering a newborn, feeling wise and knowledgeable. This was work I knew how to do, unlike the recent foray into parenting teenagers.

The trouble started with insomnia. I would wake at 2 or 3 am, often to care for the baby, and that would be the end of my night. The anxiety returned, and a chronic knot formed in my stomach. 

The fears took a different form this time, in some ways. Mostly, I was terrified about our health. The world was still in a turmoil over COVID, and I worked myself into a frenzy over the possibility of any scary virus paying us a visit. All of them could potentially be deadly to a newborn baby, according to the warnings that flashed before my eyes daily on my phone.

Then RSV descended, and our baby went to the hospital for five days. I had a cancer scare that meant scans in a cold metal room. I couldn’t eat or sleep properly. My stomach churned, and I dreaded nights.

My fears were real, imminent threats, weren’t they? No, I did not struggle with depression. Didn’t depressed people sit around a lot and feel unmotivated? Morning was the most welcome time of the day, when I could  push aside my terror temporarily and lose myself in the busyness of the day.

I don’t feel so wise, now that I’ve been broadsided twice. Our hormones can take us for a ride, and the best Christian can find herself in a low spot emotionally. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But often when we are in trouble, we fail to recognize it. Our feelings become reality to us, and we don’t see how mixed up we are. 

I wish I had fresh advice for anyone going through something similar, but I don’t. Take your vitamins, especially magnesium and vitamin D. Try to get your rest (unhelpful, I know, when you spend half of the small amount of time you have in bed staring at the ceiling). Read the Psalms, or listen to them if that’s easier. Talk to a friend who is kind, but honest enough to tell you if you are believing lies. Try to get fresh air and exercise every day (I know how hard this is when you have little ones, but it might be the most important thing you can do). Eat your vegetables and plenty of protein. And please talk to your doctor if you can’t get on top of it.

And if your own mind is clear, it might not hurt to check up on your postpartum friends, even the smiling ones. We aren’t that different from each other, but it’s easy to forget that and pretend that everything is fine when it isn’t.  I don’t fully understand why it’s so difficult to admit to being in a low spot mentally, but it is. Be that friend who provides a listening ear and support for a fellow woman in trouble. 

And love those sweet babies. They are worth every sleepless night and anxious thought.