Journey Through Depression Part 1

Every second was excruciating. Aware of the little ones needing my attention, I struggled to stay awake. “Mommy, I’m hungry.” I looked at my little boy, the one with blue eyes that melted my heart. I sighed. “I know, Baby.” I took his hand, gathered the babies, and headed downstairs. I was longing for the moment the husband would arrive so I could crawl into bed and close my eyes.

Day after day I fed babies, changed diapers, read books, and tried to keep the house clean. People would ask how I was doing and I’d respond, “I’m fine.” The husband would come home and ask, “Just what did you do all day?” I silently cried myself to sleep.

The voices in my head would not silence. “You’re not a good mom. Your children need a mother. YOU are not a mother. Your husband doesn’t love you. Why would he? Look at you. What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.” I began to spiral into a dark abyss, submitting to the darkness.

Journey Through Depression

I remember the day. The day the voices sent me over the edge. I was tired. I snapped. I became the very parent I didn’t want to be. Unable to face my failure, I walked slowly toward my bedroom. I had no fight left. Desperation. Shame. Despair. I was overwhelmed. I was done. I began to think how easy it would be to have the pain over with. I walked to the window. Looked down. It was a 45 foot drop to the ground below. I felt nothing. No fear. No emotion. I opened the window. Pushed the screen and watched it fall to the ground.

The boy appeared. “Mommy?” I looked at him. “Mommy?” he whispered, tears in his beautiful blue eyes. I looked at the ground. I looked at him. My heart came roaring back to life. What would happen to the boy, his sisters? They would fall through the window. I slammed the window shut. Locked it. Picked up the boy, went to his sisters’ room, sat on the floor, and cried. The boy sat there, patting my face and saying, “Mommy.”

I called my midwife the next day. She saw me immediately. I told her I was crazy. She replied I simply had Postpartum Depression. NO. I insisted, I’m crazy. Please help me. I was desperate. I wanted the voices in my head to stop. Within 24 hours I was in a psychiatrist office. My journey to healing began.

I want to share my journey with you. It’s as raw and painful for me to write as it will be for you to read. I want to write for YOU. The one who wakes up every morning and prays for the moment she can close her eyes again. The one who believes that she is not enough for the journey she walks. I want you to know that YOU are not alone.

My desire is for you to hear that small voice cheering you on, telling you that you are INDEED stronger than you ever thought possible. I want you to know that there is hope so amazing, beyond anything I can describe. Most of all, I want to tell you about my Jesus, the one who held my hand and helped me to walk this journey through depression. I stand today, healed and redeemed, because He was there.

If you are showing signs of clinical or postpartum depression, PLEASE seek help from a professional counselor or doctor immediately.

  • Psych Central Depression Screening Test:  A brief 18-question online automated quiz to help you determine if you may need to see a mental health professional for diagnosis and treatment of depression or for tracking your depression on a regular basis.
  • Psychology Today ~ When Depression Hurts:  I was surprised to find that my physical body was also affected by depression.  This article from 2002 is still one I recommend.
  • Postpartum.net: Website dedicated to helping women who suffer from postpartum mental health issues. This website is a great resource for finding local help.
  • Encouragement for Depression: Written by Candace Crabtree, this is a series of blog posts to encourage women who are struggling with depression.

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2 Comments

    1. Thank you Candace for your willingness to be transparent for so many of us. I pray that many find the freedom to walk their journey…even if it means embracing right where they are for a little season.

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