The power of a good man's support

In the discussions about PostPartum Depression, the focus is often on women and the struggles we face (go figure). Today, though, I’d like to focus on some people who are too often overlooked: men.

Recently, a friend of mine read one of my blog posts and related an experience he had with a friend who was dealing with PPD. The discussion was on Facebook and my mom commented with something I completely agree with: never underestimate the power of the love and support of a good man.

I was fortunate to have the support of several good men when I was fighting my own battle with PPD. First and foremost, my husband. He had to learn as much as I did, he had to pick up the slack when I couldn’t cope, he had to deal with my mood swings, he had to learn to deal and cope just as I did. He did so with an incredible amount of grace and strength. He was always there for me, always loved me, always supported me. He never blew me off or told me to just suck it up. He listened to me and heard me on a deeper level than just the words I was speaking, he heard what I meant.

I didn’t tell very many friends or family what I was going through because I was afraid that none of them would understand or that they would turn their backs on me or (in one specific case) use it against me in a fight or something. Of the few friends I did tell, one of my dearest friends is like a sister to me and she helped us watch Elizabeth the second time I was in the hospital. Naturally, her husband knew what was going on and he was nothing but supportive of me. He prayed for me and made sure we knew that he supported us through it all.

My dad was one of the only family members who knew at the time and he was also supportive; our family didn’t really know a lot about PPD at that point but he never let that stop him from just loving on me and making sure I knew he was there for me. He happily let us borrow my mom when we needed help with Elizabeth during hospitalizations.

The Elders/missionaries from church (we’re LDS) were incredibly supportive as well. They offered to come visit, give me a blessing, pray for me, help with the house, or do whatever we needed. Most of all though, they never once made me feel like my PPD was a sign of a lack of faith or need to pray more or a consequence of sin or any of the other lovely things that Christians too often insinuate and/or outright say when a woman is dealing with PPD. They were just there.

These men are far from the only examples I have of people who loved an supported me through my journey, but they are the men who first come to mind with regards to the particular topic of this post. See, you don’t have to be a woman to support someone through PPD, and you don’t have to be her husband or even family to love her and support her.

So to all the men out there who feel helpless and powerless, who feel like “There’s nothing I can offer/do to support the woman in my life who’s dealing with PPD”, please just toss that concept right out the window. You can be just as much of a help and support, your love and kindness can make just as much of a difference to her as that of the other women she knows.

The voice of a friend

A very dear friend read my blog and shared with me her point of view on my PPD, I thought it was very good and got her permission to post it here.

So I went to see my friend and her baby at the hospital. Both looked tired but happy, but birth is such a wonderful thing you focus on the positive.


Then a couple of days later, when my friend got home, I brought her food for a couple of days. Instead of being her over the top grateful self, she was a little more like, "yeah, fine, thanks." I felt like I was intruding.


So about a week after the birth I came by to see what I could do to help and to get my cooler and dishes. This is the first time I never saw my friend smile. Not even a tired one or a faked one. But I wrote it off to the fatigue of being a new mom. I don't have kids so I don't know how it is. I didn't want to be that childless friend who started telling a new mom "how it is".


After picking up my cooler, I went home and spoke to my husband. He looked at the situation very matter of factly. DH asked, "What would you do if someone said I am worried you have psych issues?" And honestly, as much as I hate to say it, I would be taken aback. I would like to think that I would know that the person was coming to me with my best interest at heart, but I don't know if I would.


Over the next couple of weeks, my phone calls were going unanswered. Even offers to come over and clean, do dishes, do laundry didn't get a reply. With my background in medicine, I knew about PPD, but reading it in a text book or seeing it in a patient with severe psych issues is different. My friend had no prior psych issues that I knew of, but I was too scared to ask. How do you ask someone "Hey, have you ever had a problem?"


So I started doubting myself. "Did I do something to step on her toes?", "Am I 'smothering' her?", "Maybe she and her husband really have everything under control and don't need help, but don't want to call me back because they feel like I am begging an invitation over."


By about the six week mark, I took it personally. My friend still wasn't returning calls, so I stopped really calling. Occassionally I would check in with her husband, but even those conversations were 'off'. He was short, terse with me. When I asked how things are, I got a lot of one word answers. Again, instead of seeing this as a sign I needed to step further into the situation, I saw this as my cue to exit.


A few months after the baby was born, I hear through the grapevine that my friend went to the ER and has been hospitalized. I have pretty extensive medical knowledge and this scared me. I felt shame. I should have seen this. I should have helped her stop things sooner. PPD shouldn't be that tough to "diagnose", I was failing her as a friend for not catching this. But once again, I figured if she was in the hospital the best I can do is support her amazing husband. He welcomed the support with open arms.


When she got out she was better, but things still weren't right. And I knew I wasn't seeing the worst of it. I knew she wasn't sleeping, but what could I do. I knew she was having anxiety issues, but again felt like my hands were tied. Then I began to wonder if there was more than I was being told about.


Unfortunately there was. She ended up being hospitalized a second time. This time I stepped up. I finally asked myself, "Would you rather be 'hated' for helping too much than for not being there when she needed you?" And my answer was clear.


Her husband and I went up to visit her. (And I had my first experience with a diaper change requiring a bath.) I had some worries about going to a psych hospital. What if someone I know sees me going in there? What if I say something to make her worse, are they going to kick me out and make a scene? What if something about me sets off a trigger and they think I need help?


After that I babysat (as much as I could). I would make it a point to talk to my friend at least once each week and actually talk. I would inquire how things are and if I felt she was giving me a "one word answer", I would push it. "No really, I want to know how you are." I would offer to come over and help clean. I would encourage her to come out with me.


This was a learning experience. This woman and mother is my closest friend where I live now. I fear I could have lost her because I was too scared to ask the questions. I was terrified to honestly tell her that I saw a problem.


To be blunt would you rather:
A) lose a friend who is wandering through a dark place, looking for help and not seeing it, and eventually comes to a choice that will alter her life forever
Or B) lose a friend for being too interested, too helpful, or too honest?