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Part of it might be that I took a three-hour nap this afternoon when Jamie got home from work. Whatever the reason, I left Jamie snoozing with Timothy in our bed to come out here and try to write something. I was trying to read, but my mind was racing mostly with thoughts about what I need to do with my health. My mental health.
I've been struggling with depression for many, many years. It's not a secret. It's not something I usually advertise either. But I got to thinking as I was lying there trying to concentrate on a media besides my laptop monitor that I wish there was something I could do, something more I could do about how I've been feeling lately besides take my prescribed medications and wish desperately that I could pull myself out of this funk. I use the term "funk" loosely.
You know that new commercial with the wind-up doll that looks creepily like I did before I got my hair cut? Well, I believe in coincidences. I saw that ad in a magazine yesterday, too. I also found myself googling "can i take my infant with me to the mental hospital?" Not that I expected anything to come out of it, but with the internet being as amazingly vast as it is, I came across a therapy called Mother-Infant Psychotherapy.
Given the documented detrimental effects of postpartum depression on infants and the mother-infant relationship, mental health professionals concerned with child development and families are anxious to understand models of best practices in order to prevent untoward outcomes.</em>
In examining what happens during these session and what makes it therapeutic, the clinicians cited a great deal of unpredictability, boundary fluidity and questions about role definition - experiences not found in mother-only office visits. Recognizing the mother's specific experiences or capacities, or interactions with her infant was central to the therapeutic change. For these therapists, working in the home of the client presents both challenges and opportunities, ranging from the unpredictable nature of moment-to-moment life with a baby to the clinician's role.
It makes sense, right? As much as I fought with my former OB/GYN about "seeing" someone for my depression, it has never been in my capacity to ask for help aside from hers. If I made an appointment with a mental health professional, not only would I have to find someone to watch my kids, I would also have to worry about making sure there's enough expressed breastmilk, clean diapers, get everyone dressed, fed, and make sure I get there on time. For a person like me with an often debilitating mood disorder, doing these seemingly mundane tasks is like asking for me to give an impromptu recital of all the German lieder ever written in the history of music--from memory.
This week alone, having to take the boys to choir camp, I seriously considered canceling every future obligation for the rest of the year because I was just so tired. Going to my grandmother's on Sunday looked like a monumental task second to driving cross-country in a van with no air conditioning. Putting pajamas on has become the highlight of my day.
And I've started resenting. It's the resentment that alerts me to the fact that something isn't right. But you can't just tell yourself to stop. I'm not in denial. I haven't been in denial since the first time I was hospitalized in 2003. It's being able to ask for help that gets me. God, even Oprah did a show on overwhelmed moms and suggested we all "network" so we don't feel so alone. Is it really enough to commiserate? Or should we do more to get some serious help? If so, how the hell do you do it? Why am I too proud to actually shout for help?
I don't want to admit that I can't keep a clean house, so I don't want anyone to see it, let alone clean it for me (unless, of course, they were a complete stranger). I don't want to say, "Hey, can you come over and watch all my kids while I take a nap?" I don't want to put my burdens on anyone else. But I don't want to carry them myself.
And that's the hardest part.
Cross-posted on Suzyqhomemaker.com
