*This post is written from the point of view of my husband during my darkest times, dealing with postpartum depression.
When Brady first asked me to write a blog post from my perspective of her postpartum, I was a little hesitant at the idea. Talking about this stuff or our relationship with someone other than her isn’t my cup of tea, but I figured I could do this small request for her and maybe get some extra brownie points.
Watching the woman I love most in this world (aside from my momma) spiral down into an abyss of sadness and confusion is one of the most emotionally draining experiences I have had to deal with. Worst of all was that it was happening right in front of me and I had no idea what was going on. In the beginning in my own mind, I blamed her for it. Little did I know she blamed herself even more – even though this wasn’t anyones fault, especially hers.
I could not understand why gradually as the days and weeks went by she seemed to become more distant, quiet, cried more than she usually does, and was just not happy. I kept thinking it was always something I did, but couldn’t rack my brain to figure out what it was. Then I started to feel like she just wasn’t grateful for this amazing life we had built over the years. In my materialistic view, I thought “well what else could she possibly want?.” We had a beautiful house, nice vehicles, nice clothes, financially stable (in a terribly unstable economy) and have 3 beautiful and healthy kids. My biggest failure as a husband and father, was not being able to recognize that even having a “perfect” life on the outside, doesn’t always mean everything is ok inside someone’s mind.
It started quietly on its own. The usual coming home from work and Brady being exhausted from looking after 3 kids and running a home business all day and I didn’t think anything about it. Sure it was hectic for all of us. I have a demanding job and couldn’t imagine looking after 3 young kids all day. She was just in a rut I thought. It didn’t take long to see the changes and the mood around the house becoming more somber, less joy filled.
I would come home and I could see Brady’s eyes still filled with tears, on the verge of spilling more right away. When I asked what was wrong, she would say she didn’t know, if she said anything at all. That just became the normal routine and the more it happened, the harder it was to be around.
I never knew what I was getting into when I got home. It got to the point I had to sit in my truck in the driveway for a few minutes before going into the house just to prepare myself. I loved this woman but I just could not comprehend what was wrong. To me we had a great life. The longer it went on, the more frustrated I started to get.
I guess that’s the odd thing about postpartum depression. It doesn’t discriminate and doesn’t care how great your life is. Once it hits you, that’s it.
Even when Brady eventually told me she had postpartum depression, it still didn’t register fully. I just assumed it would pass and that things would eventually get better. I wasn’t a whole lot of help to be honest. I had my own responsibilities with my job and our household, so I just banked on her “figuring it out” on her own. Although I could see the toll it was doing to her on the outside, I never fully grasped what was going on inside her head even though I knew it wasn’t good.
Life was tough with Brady for awhile and although I never loved her any less, it became difficult to see her in her state of mind and not have a clue how to fix it. My first reaction to when something is wrong is to try and fix it (whether I know how to or not). I couldn’t fix this though. I tried but nothing worked. When I tried talking to her about it, it just went nowhere because it usually ended up with her crying (for what I thought was for no reason). Then that just turned into me not even trying to talk to her about it anymore because I didn’t want her to cry. I didn’t understand that maybe she just needed to talk, and cry, and that all I had to do was be there. I was too busy trying to fix the problem, instead of listening.
Not all days were bad, but lots were and I should have been more understanding. The whole postpartum diagnosis stunned me since this had not happened with our previous kids, and I didn’t understand it. Like, “you have everything you could want in this world. Just feel better. It’s that simple.” I thought in my own uninformed mind.
I didn’t handle her postpartum depression very well. Mostly because I didn’t understand it, and I let my own frustration overtake my main job as a husband – supporting her. Postpartum is tough on everyone. Mother, father and kids. I thank my lucky stars that she has pulled out of it, and we are able to go back to our “normal” lives.
It was a learning experience for me as a husband and a man. I hope we never have to deal with depression in our lives again. If it does ever come back, I am confident we will all be better at seeing the signs, being more understanding and of course, being more supportive.
