My mom's thoughts on PPD

In honor of the fact that my mom is celebrating her birthday this week, I thought I'd share a guest post she sent me a little while back. My mom is a wonderful and amazing person; I can't imagine having anyone but her as my mom and I'm so blessed to have such a supportive woman in my life. Please welcome my mother, Sharon O'Neal.

I would like to share some of my thoughts about PPD, in hopes that it'll be helpful.

I experienced some mild baby blues after my second baby's birth. They would happen unexpectedly at the strangest moments, but then pass in a short while. I'm sure my two-year-old daughter wondered why Mommy would tear up while reading about cars, planes, and trains! But, within a few weeks or so, they were gone, and life was wonderful and busy. 

Life happened and time passed, and I didn't think about it very often. Then, when our granddaughter Elizabeth was three months old, we received a call from our son-in-love letting us know that Esther had gone to the hospital to seek help for Postpartum Depression and he was at home with the (breastfeeding) baby. I promised to pack some things and go the next day. I stayed with them, helping with Elizabeth. 

When we got clearance to go visit Esther at the facility, we would go and take turns visiting Esther while the other one waited with Elizabeth in the waiting area. I remember the first time I saw Esther after her admittance. She had the bleakest, most lifeless look in her eyes. The despair in her was almost physically palpable. It broke my heart to think of how much she was and had been suffering. As I think back now, I have tears in my eyes, and I remember thinking, “We will do whatever we need to do to help this daughter and her precious family.” 

The following season was one of the hardest in my life. But, when I see how hard Esther and Eric have fought this disease, and how passionate she has become on behalf of others, I am so thankful that she had the courage to say, “I need help and I deserve help.” And that's the message I now try to pass on to others: no matter what you're dealing with, you are loved, you do deserve help, and there's no reason to feel any shame or guilt for this problem. If there's a family member of a woman with PPMD who needs someone to listen, I'm here for you.

I can't put into words how grateful I am for Mom's love, support, and acceptance during that difficult time, and ever since, extending now to how grateful I am for this post. I love you, Mom!

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 night I wanted to kill myself.

It was the middle of the night when I drove up and parked at the Emergency Room at Wilford Hall Medical Center on Lackland AFB. It was dark outside, and humid. I parked the car, turned it off, and just sat there for a moment, staring at the doors. "I don't have to do this. I could just turn around and go back home.". But no, I knew that I had to do it. I got out of the car and slowly walked inside. I know it only took a minute but each step seemed to take an eternity. I went inside and stepped up to the desk, sat down and produced my military dependent id card, and started filling out the paperwork that everyone has to sign when they go to the ER at Wilford Hall. The person on the other side of the desk asked something along the lines of "What are you here for today?". I took a deep breath, hesitated, and said "I'm 3 months postpartum and I want to hurt myself.". The hardest sentence I'd ever spoken. 1 year earlier, I'd been sure that nothing would ever be harder to say than to tell my parents that my then boyfriend (now husband) and I were pregnant, but I had found a phrase that was more difficult to utter.

I don't really remember too much after that. I remember that the chaplain was there with me, having woken up in the middle of the night to meet me at the ER so that I wouldn't have to do it alone. I remember that they took me straight to the back instead of leaving me in the waiting room. I had my vitals taken and gave my medical history and then I was told that I was going to be given to the Charge Nurse. I don't remember her name, just that she was an officer in the US Air Force and had blonde hair and a very kind face and compassionate tone. She embodied what a nurse should be. She walked me back to a room right outside of one of the desks so that they could have eyes on me at all times. I was given a gown to put on. The Nurse asked me more questions about what was going on. I was crying. I told her my story. I told her that I felt like such a horrible mom and wife for abandoning my husband and baby daughter, that I felt so ashamed, that I was worried that someone would come to take my daughter away, that I was concerned that my husband would lose his security clearance because of me, that I was scared. The truth was, I wasn't scared. I was beyond terrified. I was terrified of how I felt, of what I might do to myself or my baby, and terrified that this would never end.

She was so kind to me. She told me that she had dealt with PPD and that there was nothing wrong with me that couldn't get better and that I hadn't done anything wrong but that I had done something very right by coming to the ER. She told me "I had PPD really bad and now look at me, I'm an officer in the Air Force and a nurse.". That was slightly reassuring. She told me "You will get through this, it won't last forever." and then wasn't offended that that was hard for me to believe.

I was given a gown to change into and my clothes and shoes were taken away, they made sure that there was nothing in the room that I could hurt myself with. They drew blood and ran an EKG on me, explaining that it was to make sure that there wasn't an underlying medical problem causing this. Everything came back normal and a doctor came in and talked to me. I said that yes, I would consent to being hospitalized and off he went to find out which facility out in town had room for me since neither of the military hospitals in town accepted dependents on a Psych hold, only Active Duty. Eventually, I was told that I was going to go to Laurel Ridge. The Chaplain prayed with me and eventually went home while I tried to get some sleep. Really I just laid there in the dark feeling so upset and ashamed, so weak, broken, feeling like a failure, waiting for the ambulance to come pick me up to transfer me to Laurel Ridge. That wouldn't happen until about 8:00am.

It was the longest night of my life. I laid there thinking that it was one of the worst nights of my life and that nothing would ever be the same again, that nothing would ever be better. I felt like I had let my family down. I can't really put into words properly all the emotions that were running through me, I can't depict how it felt. I was lying in a room by myself in the dark where I had to have the door open at all times, I had no privacy. I had to let them know if I needed to use the restroom. I felt dirty, ashamed, broken. It was one of the most humbling experiences I have ever been through. I can't even remember every detail, there's so much about the months leading up to that night, and that night itself, that are a hazy blur. I was there and I hated myself for it. I cried the entire night and a very good portion of the next day. If I finally settled down, someone could just glance in my direction and I would start back up again. I felt every emotion I possibly could and yet I felt nothing. I second guessed whether I should have gone. I was sure that I would regret it in the morning. I kept waiting for someone to ask me where my daughter was so they could take her away. I hated myself, what I had become, what I had almost done, and what I had done. Anyone who thinks that it's easy to admit to having suicidal ideations, PostPartum Depression, needing help, is mistaken. I literally felt like I was in a deep, black hole without any windows and without any sunlight even coming in from above. I wasn't sure I would survive.

I did.

I don't tell you this story to scare you if you need to seek help. I tell this story because I want people to know that I have been there. If you're there now, you will make it through. There is hope, there is help. If you know someone who is in this place right now, don't judge them. They're already doing a good enough job of that on their own. They need your help to be strong.

I tell this story to tell the world that not only did I survive, I came out a stronger and better person. I am a fighter. I am a warrior. I am a survivor. I am proud of it.

It's just a game, a joke, right?

If you're on Facebook, I feel pretty safe in saying it's a sure thing that you've seen the various FB status games where there's a circumstance and you tag people from your friends list as certain characters in the situation. I didn't paticipate in most of tem, although I did do the Zombie Apocalypse one b/c, well, it's Zombies. Most of them I just ignored, unless I was tagged in one and then I laughed at being the sniper or whatever. However, there is one that I've seen that bothers me a little


You're in a mental hospital use the first six people on your list on your profile.
1. Person who drove you crazy:
2. Person who signed you in:
3. Your doctor:
4. Person in the corner drooling on themselves:
5. Your roommate:
6. Person who helps you break out:


I think my first problem with this is that there's still such a big stigma associated with mental health problems and being admitted to a psychiatric facility that I don't think it's something that should be made light of and used as a joke. And I think it was Number 4 that bothered me the most: "Person in the corner drooling on themselves". In both my stays at Laurel Ridge, there wasn't anyone drooling on themselves. And if there were, it wouldn't be something to laugh at and make fun of.


I'm sure I'm taking this one personally because I've BTDT. I've been admitted to a hospital twice. I've struggled with the shame, guilt, and fear of telling anyone that I had PosPartum Depression. I've struggled with the shame, guilt, and fear of even asking for help. When I did ask for help, I was terrified that they were going to take my daughter away or get CPS involved and say that until I was "over" the PPD I had to move out of the house and not be around her. I dealt with being upset that I had to stop breastfeeding my daughter at 3 months old because the meds they put me on weren't something I could take and safely nurse her. I've dealt with the people who say "Just make up your mind to get over it". With this last pregnancy, I struggled with deciding whether or not to take Zoloft at 38 weeks as a preventative measure. I'm sure that most people who are posting this aren't trying to mock those who have dealt with mental health problems, but the fact is that things like this do make light of it, and they can be very hurtful to those who have struggled with PPD, BiPolar, PTSD, MPD, etc. I doubt that people even realize that this type of thing can help perpetuate the stereotypes that need to be dealt a death blow: It's something to be laughed at, it's not serious, it's a joke.


Please know that I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad, I just want to try to shed some light on it from another perspective.