CALL IT BY ITS NAME

article by Meredith McKinnie

Carrying a baby to term, delivering and caring for the baby and breastfeeding for a year is an adventure, one I underestimated, yet completed. I learned pregnancy in my mid-thirties is harder on the body. My girlfriends who were pregnant decades apart noticed a significant difference in ailments, fatigue, hormonal imbalances, etc. My pregnancy experience was painful, a time I don’t remember fondly. I can feel blessed I got pregnant and honest about its physical difficulties and emotional toll at the same time.

We’ve heard about postpartum depression. I didn’t experience it. I was anxious when I was first alone with her and questioned my instincts. I cried more easily and exacerbated emotional issues in my mind. With nothing to do but nurse and heal, my mind stayed in motion. I had low points, but they were brief, and I could see my way out. I never felt lost or hopeless or that the feeling was permanent. I know many women do. What I did experience a year post-birth is a suppression of self, which lasted quite a few weeks. I woke up in the middle of the night, and sometimes stayed up for hours. It was lonely. I wasn’t excited about anything, easily irritated, what I would imagine depression might feel like, but I was a year removed from the birth. I wondered, Am I “too-post” to be postpartum? Two weeks after I stopped nursing, I started to decline mentally. I expected enthusiasm. The pump was safely stored on a shelf deep in my closet. I didn’t have to answer the swell in my bosom by finding privacy and refrigeration. I had my body back. But my mind remained elsewhere, not catching up to its newfound freedom, or not sure where to go.

It’s called post-weaning depression. I’m an avid reader of mommy blogs and research developmental changes to educate myself as a caregiver. I hadn’t come across post-weaning depression until a co-worker said she felt the same way after she stopped nursing. I spent hours reading about it. I had the symptoms. I was already following most of the suggestions for getting through it. I exercise, try to eat well, and allot enough hours for sleep. But what helped the most was knowing it was real, finding a name for the condition. I immediately felt better – heard, understood, and hopeful. When our bodies act differently, we want an answer, a source, a path to remedy or a story to relate to. New illnesses are frequently followed by hours on blogs, getting buried 100 comments deep, reading other stories, fearing the worst, unable to look away.

When I bled 18 weeks into my pregnancy, I freaked. I remember being in the stall, seeing the stain, feeling alone, running back to my office, googling what color blood is of concern. Apparently, it’s bright red. Do they mean tomato red or eggplant purple, and what about brown? When you find yourself 100 images deep in blood stains, that’s desperation. When my nurse returned my call, she said it was fine, common, and not to worry. Instantly, I felt relief. She didn’t know for sure, but she was confident, and I so wanted to be. It was 11:00 a.m. on a Friday, and I went into the weekend with less worry. I relied on her experience, and I wanted her to be right. She was, and months later I delivered a healthy baby girl. 

Now, I use the term, “post-weaning depression” casually in conversation. The first week of school, when they asked how I was doing, I shocked everyone with, “School is good, but post-weaning depression is hard. I’m finding my way through it.” I want people to hear the term, say it back to me, question what it is, and then commit the knowledge to memory. Perhaps one day when someone else is searching for an answer, that knowledge will save that “too-post” mother from feeling alone in her sadness. Calling it by its name is a start.