Burn, Baby, Burn:
Creativity Fire Starters
Overcoming Post Natal Depression
Overcoming Post Natal Depression
The one thing I didn't see coming when I gave birth to my first child was a journey into the darkness of post natal depression. Whilst my depression was sparked by the demise of a relationship as much as her birth, it was far and away the most frightening, powerless, overwhelming and anxiety-provoking event I have ever experienced. I wouldn't wish post natal depression, or any depression, upon anyone. It is a plague that pulls you down so deep into a well of gloom that it seriously feels like you'll never see the sun again.
But, you know, it is also the one thing in life that I am most grateful for. For I have seen the dark side. I've lived there for quite some time (about 18 months in total) and I am ever thankful for the light that now surrounds me and I never take it for granted.
Perhaps I couldn't quite feel the same joyfulness about ordinary days with my husband and children, delight in the croaks of local frogs, smile at helicopters flying above, see beauty and creative potential in a full shopping trolley or readily accept a compliment if I hadn't fallen so low. Perhaps. I like to think the Post Natal Depression actually gave me life. I believe it did.
I sought help of course, and to those who gave of their professional time and nurturing, I am full of gratitude. But I believe recovery requires both parties to engage in the healing process so I also helped myself. Desperate to be out of the grip of this 'black dog' as I now hear it called, I searched the libraries for good books to help me understand what depression was all about and took myself off to two different self-esteem courses. Both of these groups, the first a free community service, the other a paid short course through an adult education centre, utilised the tool of artistic expression to help us work our way through the mud.
There were two 'lightbulb' moments for me.
The first was when I read that depression was 'anger turned inwards.' Anger? But I was a mum with a gorgeous new baby. How could I be angry about that? I was not angry about the end the relationship, in fact somewhat relieved but perhaps mourning the loss of a potential family. But anger? When I began to search deeply within myself, I was very very surprised to find some anger directed towards this new baby who had come and taken over my life. This shocked me. This baby had not asked to come, I had made the choice and decision all on my own and now I was feeling angry, very angry, towards her. It bubbled away under the surface, and was definitely not visible in my persona, but it was there nonetheless. (I was a very smiley and outgoing depressed mum. Watch out for that. A happy face doesn't mean a happy mum)
I was angry about the loss of freedom and travel and the loss of the potential of what I could do with MY life unfolding in front of me. I was angry that my friends were up and leaving me on their big overseas journeys as I sat at home breastfeeding. I was angry that I was all alone sitting in front of the television for company. I was angry about being a single parent, doing it tough. I was angry that I had returned to university to study and could never hang out with my study buddies as I always had to be somewhere to pick her up. I was angry that I couldn't go out at night anymore, or to restaurants, or even to the movies without having to organise someone. My, my. There was so much anger.
And all the while, I did my duty. I fed her, and cuddled her, I held her in the middle of the night when she wouldn't sleep and comforted her when she cried. I stood by watching with glistening eyes as she slowly sat up, stood and took her first steps. But all the while, I hated feeling inauthentic. I worried daily that my baby would somehow sense my underlying anger for which I couldn't do much about, and felt guilty about my fraudulent attempts at loving her. I parented through all of this with a heart that seemed encased in stone, with no power or ability to crack through my own heart's shell. Until one day I found a way.
Inspired by the love I felt for a neighbourhood dog**, a big golden haired retriever who came every single night without fail to sit with me during the late evening hours and into the early morn as I desperately completed university assignments, I wrote a list. 50 things I was grateful for. I still have it somewhere, covered in red bingo pen from one of Henrietta's finest artistic moments when she drew all over the bedroom wall and the piece that was blue tacked there. I'll never let that piece of paper go.
From memory, these were some of the things on it.
2. Hijacking Scruffy the dog from my neighbour's house and throwing sticks to her for hours on the beach down the road
3. Rejoicing in Scruffy's tenacious ability to never give up bringing the stick back to me.
4. Sitting on my granny swing chair on my balcony, having the ability to see a sliver of ocean through the buildings
5. Blue skies
6. Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate melting in my mouth
7. The ability to work on Saturdays for double time and take my child with me to work
8. My friend Kanna who always makes me laugh and with whom I share unbelievably bad (and bad for you) Kentucky Fried Chicken after a big night out, the only true hangover prevention cure there is.
9. My "Mudgee" gang- a wonderful bunch of people I've known since I was 12. Always there for me.
10. Mum and Dad. The best parents anyone could have.
11. Juicy hugs from my bub
Now, I'm not saying that writing a list of 50 wondrous moments was the magic key and that depression was gone the next morning. Not at all. But what it allowed me to do was to pour out my angry soul into something purposeful and light and gracious. To consciously focus on the good.
And this brings me to the second lightbulb moment.
Expression, in whatever form it takes, is a healthy thing. When you find a way to clear out the garbage and make way for the light through creative expression, life has a chance to take hold again.
It was this thing, creative expression, that filled my deep murky well with crystal clear water and allowed me to swim up with the incoming tide back into the land of the living.
Creative expression. I don't care what form it comes in. I don't care if you colour, or paint, draw or cook, sing or dance, or play the bongos or write songs or swivel your hips in the hula or chant om. However you get your creative kicks is fine with me, so long as you do it.
Because the one thing I have learned is that when you embrace creativity as your religion, and you actively seek out ways to pour out your soul into your artistic tasks, this is as good as any apple, organic or not, that you may eat. Your art becomes part of your heart, and you have a two-way communication channel to understanding yourself that may just help you if that black dog ever calls again. Perhaps it won't but even if it does, you won't be alone. For by harnessing your creativity and imagination, you have access to your deepest self and a way to channel and make sense of dark, dark times. For all of this, I am ever thankful.
It has led me to build a life that has become all about this creative process and in both my professional work and my personal life, I aim to inspire and support women (and children) around the world to once again pick up the sewing needle, the paintbrush, the pen, the music tape, the instrument, the cookbook. If you haven't already, why not do something today?
**By the way, the dog's name was Reggie. He resided in the big beach house at the very end of Sunbright Avenue where I lived. His owners never seemed to mind that he spent those nights with me. I couldn't even push him out. He refused to go. But would be waiting by the door wagging his tail every morning when my girl woke up, ready to greet the world again. Sunbright Avenue, it really was the place that brightened my life once again.
There were two 'lightbulb' moments for me.
The first was when I read that depression was 'anger turned inwards.' Anger? But I was a mum with a gorgeous new baby. How could I be angry about that? I was not angry about the end the relationship, in fact somewhat relieved but perhaps mourning the loss of a potential family. But anger? When I began to search deeply within myself, I was very very surprised to find some anger directed towards this new baby who had come and taken over my life. This shocked me. This baby had not asked to come, I had made the choice and decision all on my own and now I was feeling angry, very angry, towards her. It bubbled away under the surface, and was definitely not visible in my persona, but it was there nonetheless. (I was a very smiley and outgoing depressed mum. Watch out for that. A happy face doesn't mean a happy mum)
I was angry about the loss of freedom and travel and the loss of the potential of what I could do with MY life unfolding in front of me. I was angry that my friends were up and leaving me on their big overseas journeys as I sat at home breastfeeding. I was angry that I was all alone sitting in front of the television for company. I was angry about being a single parent, doing it tough. I was angry that I had returned to university to study and could never hang out with my study buddies as I always had to be somewhere to pick her up. I was angry that I couldn't go out at night anymore, or to restaurants, or even to the movies without having to organise someone. My, my. There was so much anger.
And all the while, I did my duty. I fed her, and cuddled her, I held her in the middle of the night when she wouldn't sleep and comforted her when she cried. I stood by watching with glistening eyes as she slowly sat up, stood and took her first steps. But all the while, I hated feeling inauthentic. I worried daily that my baby would somehow sense my underlying anger for which I couldn't do much about, and felt guilty about my fraudulent attempts at loving her. I parented through all of this with a heart that seemed encased in stone, with no power or ability to crack through my own heart's shell. Until one day I found a way.
Inspired by the love I felt for a neighbourhood dog**, a big golden haired retriever who came every single night without fail to sit with me during the late evening hours and into the early morn as I desperately completed university assignments, I wrote a list. 50 things I was grateful for. I still have it somewhere, covered in red bingo pen from one of Henrietta's finest artistic moments when she drew all over the bedroom wall and the piece that was blue tacked there. I'll never let that piece of paper go.
From memory, these were some of the things on it.
50 Things I am grateful for (1996)
1. Laughing with a bunch of good people on the deck of my best friend's parent's house, just up the road2. Hijacking Scruffy the dog from my neighbour's house and throwing sticks to her for hours on the beach down the road
3. Rejoicing in Scruffy's tenacious ability to never give up bringing the stick back to me.
4. Sitting on my granny swing chair on my balcony, having the ability to see a sliver of ocean through the buildings
5. Blue skies
6. Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate melting in my mouth
7. The ability to work on Saturdays for double time and take my child with me to work
8. My friend Kanna who always makes me laugh and with whom I share unbelievably bad (and bad for you) Kentucky Fried Chicken after a big night out, the only true hangover prevention cure there is.
9. My "Mudgee" gang- a wonderful bunch of people I've known since I was 12. Always there for me.
10. Mum and Dad. The best parents anyone could have.
11. Juicy hugs from my bub
Now, I'm not saying that writing a list of 50 wondrous moments was the magic key and that depression was gone the next morning. Not at all. But what it allowed me to do was to pour out my angry soul into something purposeful and light and gracious. To consciously focus on the good.
And this brings me to the second lightbulb moment.
Expression, in whatever form it takes, is a healthy thing. When you find a way to clear out the garbage and make way for the light through creative expression, life has a chance to take hold again.
It was this thing, creative expression, that filled my deep murky well with crystal clear water and allowed me to swim up with the incoming tide back into the land of the living.
Creative expression. I don't care what form it comes in. I don't care if you colour, or paint, draw or cook, sing or dance, or play the bongos or write songs or swivel your hips in the hula or chant om. However you get your creative kicks is fine with me, so long as you do it.
Because the one thing I have learned is that when you embrace creativity as your religion, and you actively seek out ways to pour out your soul into your artistic tasks, this is as good as any apple, organic or not, that you may eat. Your art becomes part of your heart, and you have a two-way communication channel to understanding yourself that may just help you if that black dog ever calls again. Perhaps it won't but even if it does, you won't be alone. For by harnessing your creativity and imagination, you have access to your deepest self and a way to channel and make sense of dark, dark times. For all of this, I am ever thankful.
It has led me to build a life that has become all about this creative process and in both my professional work and my personal life, I aim to inspire and support women (and children) around the world to once again pick up the sewing needle, the paintbrush, the pen, the music tape, the instrument, the cookbook. If you haven't already, why not do something today?
**By the way, the dog's name was Reggie. He resided in the big beach house at the very end of Sunbright Avenue where I lived. His owners never seemed to mind that he spent those nights with me. I couldn't even push him out. He refused to go. But would be waiting by the door wagging his tail every morning when my girl woke up, ready to greet the world again. Sunbright Avenue, it really was the place that brightened my life once again.
If you need help or support regarding depression, visit Black Dog Institute
8 thoughtful sentiments from YOU!:
Thank you. I agree to - it's a great teacher, and also a motivator to commit yourself to wellbeing. Also you've been in the dark, so you don't have to fear it in the same way, you know that you know how to get through things and past them. That is a blessing of self knowledge. Fliss
Thanks for sharing this small part of the large journey that is your life. It was interesting and inspiring. I don't think I had Post Natal Depression. I know I had many moments of feeling overwhelmed and my trouble with breastfeeding upset me to the point that I think I had a few micro panic attacks. I have read accounts of women (and men) with PND and I cannot imagine what it would be like to feel that way. I hope I don't ever have to.
I type this as I am just about to get out my Speedball and my rubbers. I am carving a collection of stamps to make Oakley a memory game. I have purchased some wooden discs off Etsy and am waiting for them to arrive. If you had not taught and inspired me, I would not be doing this. I have always wanted to be a crafty person and honestly believe that if it were not for you I would still be in my craft cocoon, waiting to emerge!
Anyway, enough blah!
Just a little note from one of your creativity religion disciples ;)
Hey Fliss, you are so right. I think when you've been to the dark, you also learn to hold onto your own little bit of light so you can always see a way out. Strength, I think it might be called.
Sharni, thank you for sharing. Can't wait to see your memory game!! Take some pics to share.
Thank you so much for sharing.
x
I'm so very glad you shared thia story, the more these things are spoken about, the more it becomes normalised and hopefully one day depression will be seen as any other medical condition, one that needs support and help to over come and not just 'soldiered through'
Luckily, I have a voice now. I remember though that it wasnt easy to speak up during the dark times for fear that my child would be taken away, as though my depression made me a 'bad mum'. An irrational fear that one, but a fear that may also prevent other women speaking up too. I tell you, women experiencing post natal depression do not need any more guilt. We feel guilty enough!
This is a great piece - thank you so much for sharing your story - and the ways in which you helped yourself.
I work with women with PND and so much of what you have shared here will be a beacon of light for sufferers. Not only that but anyone trying to help a sufferer will benefit from your insight too.
Great work. thanks for being vulnerable with us all. Empathy is the balm of shame. love and light Sarah xx
Thank you Sarah. It is possible to come out of the darkness and find a new light. Thank goodness for that . I hope my story might hold a beacon of hope for some of the women you work with. Thank you for doing this job. It is not easy but you are the kind of person we rely upon during the dark ride. It's so much easier with a hand to hold. Amber
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