My Testimony

(I wrote this Saturday, January 4, 2014)

This evening as I’m writing my eyes are filling up with tears. In fact, the tears began while I was nursing my daughter before bed. I sat in her room in the glider rocking chair, just as I normally do; and as she drifted off to sleepy land I held her and stared at her sweet sleeping face. Then it hit me. I almost missed this. I almost didn't have this moment to embrace and to cherish. I almost missed it.

Usually, right before I sit down to nurse my daughter, I grab my cell phone to entertain myself. Not every time, but most of the time. I like to read articles, search the internet, check Facebook and read devotions. I like to be busy. But earlier today, I read an article that basically discussed the importance of engaging more with our children by putting down the devices, particularly cell phones. So, I thought I need to work on that, yet when I went to nurse her this evening I still grabbed my phone, but this time it wasn't charged—it cut off as soon as I picked it up. I thought: Okay, that’s cool. I will spend this time with God and my baby. I’ll pray.

I prayed and I prayed a little more. Then, I started mediating, thinking and thinking some more. Then, I felt God speak to my spirit, you almost missed this. The tears started running down my face. I started to praise God for my sweet baby girl and for the moments I have to bond and grow close to her and my son. I began to cry a little more and to worship a little more, because God was bringing to attention the many blessings and opportunities afforded to me, especially those that involve my family. Then, I heard it again in my spirit, you almost missed this.

And, that’s when the tears burst from my eyes and I began to sob.

I was still holding my daughter in the cradle position, so I picked her up, laid her against my chest and wept. I tried to be quiet to not alarm my son and hubby who were downstairs at the time. I also didn't want to awake my sleeping baby. But, I continued to weep. The more I worshiped the heavier the tears streamed down my face and the harder my body jerked. It was a such an emotional-worshiping experience.

At this point, I wasn't sobbing and worshiping God because I almost missed this sweet moment with my daughter due to the distraction of  my cell phone and the latest Facebook update, but I almost missed it because, not long ago I almost chose to not be here with her--with anyone. I almost missed it because not long ago I was very close to walking away from it all and ending my life. Not long ago, ending my life was a possibility for me. Not long ago, I almost lost all hope. 

I battled with postpartum depression with both my son and my daughter and each time I seriously contemplated suicide. I contemplated it once with my son and once with my daughter, but I remember each of those days very vividly.  The first day I made my mind up that I would end my life, my son was only a few months old and I was lying in my bed. I had visualized myself taking a bottle of pills so that I would never wake up. I remember thinking: I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. I remember lying there, but I couldn't move. My legs and arms wouldn't create motions, so I lay there—praying, until I fell asleep. When I woke up, the desire was gone and I never contemplated it again until after I had my daughter, 3 years later.

I remember I came home from being out, she was only a few months old, and she was asleep in her car seat. I carried her upstairs and I took my son up to the top level of our home to lay him down for a nap. I remember sitting there attempting to read him a story (we always do story-time before bed) and I turned my face away from him so he wouldn't see me crying. Tears were streaming down my face as I read through the book.  I finished the book, hugged him for longer than usual—as if I was saying, “good-bye.” I cried even harder, but never did he realize that I was crying, because if he had noticed, it would have upset him. I didn't want him to be upset. I know it’s very irrational to think that I didn't want to upset him by allowing him to see me cry, yet in all reality taking his mother away from him— forever would devastate him.  But, when you are in a dark place of depression, rational thoughts flee from you.

I went downstairs to check on my daughter who was still asleep, and then the tears broke through like a stream of gushing water. I couldn't even look at her because I was filled with such shame. She was sleeping so peacefully and I gazed at her for a quick moment, turned my head and thought:  "I can’t take her mother from her," I thought, “what if one day she feels this way and she doesn't reach out to me, to anyone,” I thought, “ I never want her to hurt like this.”  I couldn't look at her because I was filled with hurt and shame.

Hurt from the postpartum depression and what it was doing to my family & my life and the shame of the suicidal thoughts. The shame of suffering with a debilitating mental illness that robs the joy from your life and trades you despair for peace. The mental illness that no one likes talking about, yet many women suffer in silence. The mental illness that leaves you with irrational thoughts and fears that disconnects you from others and isolates you from the people who care most. The shame was heavy and the pain was real. I suffered for over a year with severe postpartum depression and anxiety after having my son. It was a miserable time and a lot of my son's first year memories are a blur. I was in such a fog state of mind. I was just surviving. After having my daughter, I knew I couldn't suffer like that again.  I knew I didn't want to hurt everyday-all day. So, since I was experiencing it again after having my daughter, I had lost all hope of recovery.  I looked at her once more as to say-goodbye and my heart broke into pieces. I wanted to call someone, my husband, my best friends, my mother, anyone, but I didn't. I was too ashamed. 

I didn't call anyone.

I went back upstairs, walked into the bedroom and I laid across my bed. I grabbed my phone, pressed the internet app and keyed in a few words to bring up natural remedies for anxiety. I found an article with a couple tips and I began writing in my journal. I began writing and praying. Then I lay across the bed and cried. I wanted to do it. I wished I would just lay there and die. I wanted to take my life into my hands and end it.  My flesh was tired, worn out and ready to give-up. Yet, my spirit within me was so strong. It wouldn't let my flesh win this battle. This was the battle of my life, for my life and my spirit wouldn't let me lose.  I could literally feel the battle between my flesh and my spirit. It was such a heavy tugging. My flesh wanted the pain to go away through surrendering to my suicide plan, yet my spirit said, “no, grab a hold to God.” I grew even more exhausted, but I could feel a release.  I could feel my spirit rising up in victory over my flesh. And the strong desire I once had, the plan and the will to walk away from life diminished. It was gone and I haven’t contemplated it since.

I believe in miracles.

My faith is why I am here today.  I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know that I would not be here if I did not have a relationship with God. I wanted to die because the postpartum depression and anxiety was ruling my life. I was miserable. I was so exhausted by the pain, the fears, the anxiety and the constant sadness that wouldn't go away—no matter what I tried, that ending my life seemed like the best solution.  I just wanted the pain to stop. 

I am so thankful that each time I battled with postpartum depression I ran to God. I knew that only God could guide me through the healing process. And though I am not completely there yet, I can worship God with a heart that is full of praise and gratitude and eyes that are swollen with tears because, I almost missed it. 

I am a living witness that God can intervene on your behalf. I know it because I've lived it. If I had not been feeding my spirit with the word of God and if I had not been drawing near to God through prayer, worship, devotion and talk-therapy, I don’t know if I would be here today. I don’t know if my spirit within me would have had the strength to win the battle for my life.  

But I didn't. 

Thank you, God! 

If you are or have ever suffered with postpartum depression (or know someone) and would like to share your experience or would like prayer, please contact me at theprayingsister@gmail.com. This is a painful illness that no one should have to go through alone.