Depression is a Dirty Word

As we packed our valuables into empty Huggies nappy boxes and shipped them off to my mother’s place in anticipation of our big move I felt exhausted. Lethargy hit me like a brick wall at different points during the regular rush of each day. I continued with our routines of preschool, swim lessons and the usual cooking, craft and games we do every week on our home days, and in between packed more clothes into bags, more precious keepsakes into empty nappy boxes and gradually wrapped more kitchen items ready to board the big truck that would relocate us within weeks.

It was December, time for my yearly check up, I left myself till last as my family are always more important to met. I sat down with my GP and told him how exhausted I was.

“I haven’t felt this exhausted since I was pregnant with our baby boy…”, I begin.

“Hmmmm, ” he replies, thinking of possible causes.

“It could be my thyroid,” I interject with an explanation.

“You aren’t pregnant are you?” he questions whilst I bounce our bubbly and rather chubby 6 month old on my lap and look over at our Miss 2 playing happily with toys on the floor.

“I’m on the mini pill….and we don’t exactly have time anyway, with the move and packing and all the usual Christmas stuff…”, I offer more explanations for my tiredness.

“I’ll run some blood tests and check”, he hands me a form and I wander down the corridor to the needle pricking room and wait my turn.

A week later I return for the rest of my yearly, but this time book in with a female GP. I trust our regular GP wholeheartedly, but for woman things I prefer to show my bits to a female doctor. Whilst this is my first appointment with the lady doctor she has a warm reassuring smile as she summons me from the waiting room. I hand my mother my baby and wave to my toddler and preschooler, “Mummy will be back soon!”.

Ah, relief, I can sit down and actually talk without distraction of beautiful starfish hands grabbing at my neck, or interruptions of “Mummy,Mummy, Mummy, Mummmmm! What’s this/Can I have….?.” We begin talking, and I am assured the blood tests all came back fine. Not even my thyroid was playing up as I had suspected  it was as it has been a culprit for weight loss and difficult sleep as well as exhaustion in the past. I am now confused. Why am I so drained? I have not felt this used up and fatigued since being 8 months pregnant with two young kids to chase around, one of whom had a fractured eye socket at the time and the other of whom was suffering from asthma symptoms.

We chat some more, this lady doctor and me. She has a way of getting me to open up as she explains there are 3 causes of fatigue once underlying physical causes are ruled out. 1. The patient is over-active, having too much on. 2 The patient is under-active, doing nothing all day also resulting in fatigue. 3. The person is depressed. I don’t know why but when depression is mentioned I feel a twang of guilt creep over me. How could I possibly be depressed. I have three beautiful and amazing kids and a wonderfully supportive husband and currently have the job of my dreams, Stay At Home Mum! What could I have to feel sad about? We keep talking, she asks me questions.

“Yes, the move is stressful, there’s so much to do……yes we do fight sometimes, mostly because his family don’t accept me, its very hurtful…..yes I do get worried about taking the kids out to say a park, what if someone tried to grab them!”

Then the doctor says she is going to give me a test, a depression test, one given to new mums and pregnant ladies to check their mood. If you’re a mum its highly likely you have had at least one of these done, even more likely you might have had several done during pregnancy and the weeks and months after birth. I answer her questions honestly, she tallies the scores then turns the computer screen to face me. There in lights, “The patient is clinically depressed.” I nod my head in acknowledgement and take a deep breath.

“So you want me to go to counselling?” I ask as I prattle off a list of reasons why I can’t in my mind. Where would I even find the time, its not like I have regular babysitting available, its not like I can leave my baby for long stretches, he’s breastfeeding on demand, I can’t go anywhere without him, it’s not like we even have the money to pay for it, and we are moving next week, and I have to pack, and clean and cook and look after the kids and , and, and…..

“There are other options available,” she replies warmly.

“I am not taking medication, I am breastfeeding,” I reply, adamant I will not be placed on antidepressants. I had tried these as a teenager following an assault and found they made me feel worse, heightening frightful dreams and making me feel unwell, but now was not the time to discuss this.

“No, no, there are other options,”, she continues reassuringly.

We talk some more and she signs me up to do an on-line course, to teach me about anxiety and depression and how to cope with it. I agree to give it a go, at the very least I would be doing something about my feelings of exhaustion, and realising that recognition is the first step in getting better. Plus I am my kids role-model, I need to demonstrate how to effectively deal with difficult feelings, and I want to be better for them.

Three weeks later, and sitting in our new home, only partially unpacked, I have just completed the second on-line lesson. So far I have learnt I need to do controlled breathing to help me relax, and also exercise to help give me energy. Daily walks with the kids have been great, it helps us all relax. My Miss 4 is great at reminding me to breathe when I start to get stressed about something. She says “Breathe Mummy,” as she waves her arms round and above her head demonstrating deep breathing, then looks a me and reminds me to “Relax!” What a gem!

I now also need to do one thing each day that I enjoy, or that I used to enjoy. I try to think of simple things, and realise how little time I have left for myself. Perhaps I’ll take a little longer in the shower, buff my feet, or paint my nails afterwards or read a book? I learn I also need to do one thing each day that makes me feel some sense of accomplishment; voilà I’m wiring in my blog! And then I need to think about my thoughts, and get rid of the negative thoughts. I’m told there will be more on this next lesson, which is good because being a mother its so easy to be critical of oneself and feel the pressure of others to be the perfect mother.

Today we attended a party for a friend of our daughters. I was speaking with another mother about mummying, and she expressed feeling of fatigue associated with a thyroid problem. I exclaim that I too had a thyroid problem after the birth of our first child and have recently felt exhausted again, unable to get proper sleep, being fatigued and losing weight. Then I stop myself in my tracks. I must not let her hear me say the ‘D’ word, its a dirty word after all. My Miss 2 demands a drink and I am whisked away. Phew! Escaped that explanation. Then later on as I sit in the car on the drive home and recant the conversation to my husband I recall how uplifting I had felt when a mother at my daughter’s preschool had openly told me of her struggle with depression. I found it so incredible that this obviously strong and resilient woman could open up and expose herself so freely. She must be a lot stronger than me, I must make friends with her I had thought at the time. And now as I remember her openness I think, why is Depression a dirty word? I know myself I had been scared that if anyone even thought for a second I had post natal depression my children would be taken away from me, an ill, unfit mother. But that simply wasn’t true. I had convinced myself it was weakness to be described as depressed, but in fact is isn’t, its more the opposite, it is much stronger to admit you need help and seek help than to ignore the symptoms.

So as I write this blog tonight I urge you to stop associating depression with weakness, and realise it isn’t a dirty word. One out of two Australians will experience depression, anxiety or both at some point on their lives. So next time you sit on a bus, consider the person next to you, next time you go shopping smile at the cashier, next time you cuddle your partner, hold them tight, as all these people might be suffering anxiety and/or depression. Being a mother it’s easy to let anxiety creep up on you, following you round like a shadow as you try to be the best in a world that shoves images of perfection down your throat the moment you log onto social media and throws concerning and upsetting events your way each time you check the news. But realise this, you are only human, and it’s okay to need a little help sometimes.