I've dealt with anxiety before, going through several separations and eventually a divorce, over a period of ten years. At the same time, my work had become extremely stressful. Even after my divorce was over, things at work kept me up at night.
But then, things started to turn around. I was finally happy in my relationship, and I got transferred to a new department with a new boss who was supportive and motivating. I felt happy!
When I became pregnant last year, I was excited and nervous. We prepared ourselves for our new arrival and I started having worries about really implausible things, like a car running me over or a piece of glass falling off a building, right into my burgeoning belly. Honestly though, they weren't that implausible because in Toronto, those things were happening to people quite frequently that summer!
Looking after a newborn was the hardest thing I've had to do. I was exhausted all the time. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. Once my husband went back to work, I was alone 90% of the time. I was overwhelmed and cried quite a bit. But, little by little things got better, except in my mind, where intrusive thoughts kept forcing themselves into my consciousness. Scary thoughts. Graphic thoughts. The image of my baby's brains spilling out of his head after someone drops him on the corner of the coffee table. The image of him falling down the stairs, limbs breaking. These were horrific and terrifying. I worried every time someone else wanted to hold him. I clutched at the railing on the stairs even more tightly. I tried to cope with things myself for several months and I tried to tell myself these were just normal first-time mom type fears. But 6 months exactly after my son's birth, I mentioned these to my OBGYN and she suggested I speak to the perinatal mental health clinic at Mt. Sinai - she made a referral for me and no one got back to me for over a month. I called again, and with apologies they said the social worker had been away and somehow my referral didn't make it to the other social worker. They made an appointment for me after a few more calls. The social worker told me that I wasn't crazy, that such thoughts were mostly normal as part of post-partum anxiety (really???) and gave me some tips on controlling them. But I didn't have a chance to practice. As I traveled home from that initial appointment, feeling slightly better, my husband texted me to say Matthew had started throwing up again - he was having an FPIES reaction to rice, but we didn't know it at the time.
My brain whirled, because I knew it simply could not be another stomach virus, and then life became a blur as I went into overdrive, researching what could cause a baby to keep vomiting, and checking my food logs and finding FPIES and making doctor appointments, armed with printouts. I remember that day well. A lady nearly ran into me and the stroller as we crossed the intersection on Eglinton Avenue to get to the pediatrician so she could refer us to a pediatric allergist. The crazy driver started screaming at me that I was an "idiot" despite her crossing on a red. I was so scared that one of my premonitions had nearly happened that I slammed my fist down onto the trunk of her car. She kept yelling at me. I was so shaken that tears started streaming down my face in the lobby waiting for the elevator. Despite my best efforts, I was visibly shaking and crying as I checked in for Matthew's appointment and continued to cry in the waiting room. Most people ignored me, but one kind mom brought me some tissues and a glass of water. I thanked her, and calmed myself. When we saw the doctor, who at first through my sniffles were due to a cold, she initially said that FPIES was rare but referred us to the allergist, who was able to give us a diagnosis based on my food logs.
After we got our FPIES diagnosis, my anxiety skyrocketed. (Let's be honest. I was already highly agitated before that, anticipating the worst.) I went crazy researching the condition and how to trial foods. I barely slept. I forced myself to get him to the doctor's appointments despite wanting to keep him safe inside the house. During this time, the intrusive thoughts diminished and I reported this to another social worker on the phone - perhaps my brain was so pre-occupied with how to manage FPIES that it didn't have time to sabotage me anymore.
But, within a few weeks, those intrusive thoughts were back and with a vengeance. Horrible vignettes would play out in my mind, despite my best efforts to push them away. People wanting to hurt Matthew, and hurt me too, so that I was unable to save him. In the thoughts, I am always trying to save him but usually I can't. Sometimes I have to physically open and close my eyes and shake my head to make the images go away. Because of the sudden return of the (even worse) intrusive thoughts, I called Mt. Sinai to make a followup appointment. I was told someone would call me back - and again no one did. I didn't let a month go by though. Within two weeks I called back and again; my message reaching out for help seemed to have been lost again! I don't know why I felt ashamed to ask for help before, but with FPIES breathing down my neck, and my return to work looming, I felt time was of the essence to get some help - I wanted Matthew in daycare at 12 months so I could go back to work!
Well, to tell the truth I do know why I was ashamed. This post-partum anxiety does not fit into the stereotypical narrative of "becoming a mother". Wasn't I supposed to be blissfully happy? I kept picturing all those mothers walking down Queen St. West with their lattes and infinity scarves and quiet, smiling perfect babies dressed like mini-hipsters wondering why I couldn't even leave my house without someone with me? During the winter, the weather was a good excuse, but it's mid July now, and I have only taken Matthew out a handful of times. In fact, today, my cousin got married, and I couldn't figure out how to go. We have four weddings this summer, and I can't figure out how to go. People with babies do go to these things...but I just can't for some reason. I feel terrible, but I hope people will understand how paralyzing this whole thing is for me.
Something else made me ashamed. When I had the courage to mention these thoughts to a close cousin of mine, his wife, perhaps not realizing how hurtful her words were, said to me "that's horrible; how could you allow yourself to think those things?" I was taken aback and told her that I certainly didn't allow it. I didn't want those thoughts. I tried to stop them. There is a reason they are called intrusive thoughts - you simply cannot stop them from entering your mind. After that, I didn't tell anyone except my husband about them. My mom once overheard me speaking to the social worker on the phone, so she knew at that point. But, I guess I felt harshly judged for being a terrible mother and person - for allowing myself to think such horrible things and imagine calamities happening to my child. I guess it's a hard thing to understand unless it's happening to you. These thoughts are like monsters that invade my brain - and I'm trying to get help to stop them.
For the record, Matthew is my life. I would do anything to protect him from harm. I would trade my life for his in a second.
I have been avoiding writing about this because I was ashamed, but honestly, if I can help someone who reads this, to not feel alone, then at least there will have been some kind of point to it all. Now, I write this to own this. This is my reality about becoming a mother. It isn't all strolls in the park, meeting up with other moms and sipping tea at playgroups. There's basically none of that for me. Maybe someone out there feels their journey to motherhood isn't what it is supposed to be and are hoping they are not alone. You're not. I try to focus on the love I have for my child, and I'm hoping the rest will come in time.
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