A few days ago I came across a Romper article about a mom who had the cops called on her for seeking help for Postpartum Depression. As I read her story, I could feel the blood boiling in my veins and by the end of it, I was absolutely furious. She recalled having her postpartum checkup re-scheduled multiple times by the provider (inexcusable in-and-of-itself), and when she was finally seen and explained to the practitioner that she was struggling significantly with fits of anger and despite not feeling the urge to hurt her newborn daughter or herself, she was clearly concerned and wanted to discuss medication. According to the mom, the practitioner hurried out of the room without explanation and returned with police officers! From there, the mom was escorted to the emergency room, supervised by a guard at all times, and after a grueling and unnecessary process, was sent home with the “normal” diagnosis of Postpartum Depression (PPD). Various news outlets and parenting blogs have since shared the story and the mother in question has received an out-pour of support in the online community, as she should.
I haven’t stopped thinking about this story over the last few days: looking back to my own postpartum visits to my practitioner, it took me until about 6 months postpartum to really realize what was going on and seek help, and since I too experienced fits of significant anger and frustration, this mother’s story could have been my own.
In my third trimester I received a packet of information, which included a standard information sheet about PPD: how to differentiate it from Baby Blues, what symptoms or thoughts to look out for, and when to seek help for possible treatment options. Although I had a fantastic and well-rounded prenatal care and we reviewed the information sheet with my OB, I was clueless as to the potential of anger and frustration being a symptom of PPD. It took me weeks to figure out why I was flying off the handle about the smallest of things, why I was breaking down in angry tears at every little bump in the road, and why I spent half of my sleepless postpartum nights screaming and punching into a pillow. Similarly to the mother’s story on Romper, I never felt as if I was going to hurt Alice or myself, but the anger was constant and I felt as if no proper outlets existed for it.
After much research and piecing bits of information together, I found a postpartum support website which detailed the various kinds of symptoms that manifest with PPD, and anger was at the top of the list. Finally! Finally I felt like I wasn’t actually going crazy, like there was an explanation for my seemingly crazed and intense feelings and behavior, and finally, I knew I had to seek help. My OB recommended a variety of treatment options, though her initial go-to was medication. (I discuss my experience and thoughts on meds here). I sought out counseling, and with the help of a well trained and wonderfully understanding therapist, I had found adequate ways to cope with my PPD. With time and treatment, most of the symptoms have eased up significantly.
But what about the mother mentioned above? And what about the mothers who are unwilling or too fearful to seek help? There’s something about postpartum depression in particular, that elicits significant feelings of shame and guilt and prevents mothers from asking for the help and treatment they desperately need. According to the CDC stats, about 1 in 9 mothers will develop symptoms of postpartum depression and even then, only about 15% of those seek treatment. And the efficacy of said treatment? The follow ups? The data is quite sparse. So what happens to these women? Do they suffer in silence? Do they spiral out of control? Do they simply suppress what they’re feeling and survive motherhood rather than thrive and revel in it? I don’t know… we don’t know.
The issue isn’t just in the stigma or the fear of admitting the PPD and asking for help. Practitioners are not screening adequately for postpartum depression symptoms and vulnerable mothers are falling through the cracks. Just take the mother from Romper as an example: her postpartum check up was rescheduled multiple times, being pushed later and later, while she suffered through her symptoms. And upon meeting with her practitioner, she brought up the potential PPD diagnosis herself, without undergoing the seemingly “standard screening” process. I had a similar experience. I knew about the diagnostic tool/questionnaire from my psychology background and when it was not part of the six-week check up, I just thought “oh well”. And this was the case despite my risk factors for developing PPD (chronic anxiety) which were known to my doctor. It wasn’t until 4 months postpartum when I had already self-diagnosed PPD and sought out my OB that she finally had me complete the questionnaire and to her “surprise”, I did in fact have classic postpartum depression. Wow. Who would have thought. And let us not forget the fact that both the mother who wrote the Romper article and myself had adequate access to postpartum medical care. What about mothers who do not? Ones from disadvantaged socio-economic backgrounds who likely already suffer undue added stress due to their life circumstances? What happens when they experience symptoms of PPD and not know what it is or what to do or where to turn?
Our treatment of postpartum depression in general, and those mothers suffering from it in particular, is unacceptable. Child welfare and ensuring the safety of a baby are of utmost importance, I understand, but calling the authorities on a mother who suspects PPD and is seeking help and support and is cognizant of not wanting to hurt her child and herself is barbaric. When the medical personnel respond that way to a struggling mother, dozens of others will remain quiet for fear of being treated in a similar manner.
I personally have heard a handful of moms voice their concerns that their ability to raise their children would be questioned if they mentioned symptoms of PPD, or worse, their fears of losing their children to social services due to their suspected conditions, and those same thoughts crossed my mind around this time last year. We have to become better educated about supporting mothers suffering from postpartum depression. Our healthcare providers and professionals must be better trained to diagnose and treat postpartum depression, to respond in compassionate ways, and to uphold their oath to do no harm. Harm was done to the mother who shared her story on Romper; harm is being done to every mother who is afraid of seeking treatment because of the stigma, because of the shame, because of the possible repercussions.
Postpartum depression is hard enough on its own without compounding difficulty in seeking treatment and understanding. It is impossibly difficult to reconcile the feelings of anger, or shame, or exhaustion, or sadness with the incredible joy and gratitude a mother feels for her new baby. I was instantly in love and in awe of Alice the moment I saw her emerging into the world, and yet I had days where I questioned my ability to be a mother and whether Alice would be better off with another “parent”. To this day those feelings and thoughts upset me and bring me to tears, and I cannot understand how I could feel so damn angry when I was so overjoyed by this little person in my life. She is my entire world and my gratitude for her existence knows no bounds. That made postpartum depression that much more confusing and overwhelming: why did I feel like such crap when I was so incredibly blessed?