And then I said it. “I think I have postnatal depression.”
The words hung heavy in the air between my husband and I. They just tumbled out of my mouth. Neither of us knew what to say next.
It’s not the first time that I have dealt with postnatal depression, or depression for that matter. However. each time. it creeps up on me. It always catches me off guard.
A few instances occur where I shock or disappoint myself, strange, insecure thoughts start to haunt me, anxiety starts to clench at my chest, until I have so many bad days that I realise it’s deeper set than something I can just shake off. The hardest part is often acknowledging it, and then talking about it. I found sharing it was a big step towards accepting it myself. But then came that common question, “Why do you feel depressed?” It doesn’t make sense. That’s the hardest part. You try to make sense of it but you just can’t. You want to lock your head in you hands and feel in control. But you’re swerving on ice with no breaks.
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