Battling Depression

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Disclaimer: This article is a bit of a departure from my typical writing topics. For some, this article (which will actually be part one of a series of four) will be a bit disturbing. Please feel free to pass it by then. I have no desire to offend anyone by my honesty here. My hope is that some will find a kindred spirit in my post today, and that someone will find hope and truth through what the Lord has to say through this series on Depression. Also, please know that I am not a counselor, or a psychologist, or a doctor. I in no way mean to give medical advice or to suggest that my experience is the one, sole, universal solution to the emotional difficulties others may be experiencing. My prayer is that through this series others may be encouraged by my testimony, and that they would turn to Jesus as the way, the truth, and the life that he promises to be.

I did the math last night. I’m not sure why, but I’m glad I did as it ended up being a pretty comical piece of personal trivia.

Here’s what I learned: From February 1998 to February 2009, there were exactly 12 months (October 2004-October 2005) when I was not pregnant and/or nursing!  Our 7 children have been born close together, and I am so grateful that they were.  You need to know before reading about a fairly ugly part of my history, that I LOVE being a mom.  My husband and I were in agreement about the size and spacing of our family, and we are grateful to the Lord that this was his plan for our home.  I loved being pregnant; I had simple labours and deliveries; my babies were healthy. Praise the Lord for these mercies!

So, considering that, it came as a great surprise to me that after my third daughter and carrying on into the pregnancy of my fourth daughter (and truly for the first 9 months of her life) that I would experience Post-Partum Depression.

Now I call it that. And I’m guessing that it was Post-Partum depression. I say I’m guessing because I didn’t actually go to the doctor to find out if that’s what it was or not. Truthfully, I had previously thought it was a joke, the whole PPD thing. Seriously: maybe you are tired, maybe you are grumpy, maybe you just want some attention, but honestly? You just had a beautiful baby, and everything is going well for you. What kind of mom would be sad right now? SNAP OUT OF IT!

Except then, suddenly, uncontrollably, I felt that way too. I was scared, and angry, and experiencing a sadness…no, an emptiness, that I had never experienced in my life. There was such a weight on my soul that I could not lift or shake off. I was crippled under a darkness that was tangible. And then, I realized my arrogance and rudeness and judgemental attitude that I’d held for all those years. So now, not only was I was feeling like a hypocrite for having been so wrong in the past, now I also was fighting the urge to jump off my roof onto a concrete pad, hoping that it would be a far enough jump that I could just wake up in Heaven. I remember all too clearly the draw towards the curb on our busy city street. A perfectly timed step in front of that truck and it would all be over.

I remember calling my friend and after hearing her “hello” I said “Remind me again why I should want to still be alive?”

I never had one dangerous thought towards my children, for which I praise the Lord. Quite the opposite: I figured if they were done with me they, and my husband, could move on to a better mom, better wife, better life.

Each night I would go to bed begging the Lord to take my life while I slept. I remember weeping before the Lord that he would have mercy on my family by removing me from their lives. And still, as I lay in bed every morning, so dismayed that I had actually woken up again, I knew I couldn’t just stay there even though my limbs were like concrete. There were four children who needed me; four children (ages 4 and under) who depended on me. If I didn’t get up they would not eat. They would sit in their soiled diapers in their cribs all day crying out for a mother who was failing them. I could not let that happen. I had a choice to make. Dragging myself through the day with tears and prayers, I did what I could to do the bare minimums. There was no joy in my soul. I loved my children, I loved my husband, I loved worshipping my Lord, and yet it was all hollow. There was no ‘getting myself out’ of the pit. I needed Someone’s help.

For me the help came in the form of the Word of the Lord. I was believing lies: I was a failure. I was ruining my children. My husband would be more satisfied without me.  I couldn’t do it all. No one understood. My guilt was too great. Even God was disappointed with my weakness. My life was too hard. I would never feel joy again.

Turning to the Word for TRUTH, beautiful life giving truth, I found words of encouragement and promise that I wrote out in my Bible and my journal to read and re-read every day. Without these I would sink. With them, by the Lord’s strength I could slowly stand.

The whole process, the whole long battle, lasted approximately 18 months. And the progress was slow and hard to measure.  In next month’s article I will explain more of how the Lord gave me victory over this dark night of my soul.  In the meantime, I encourage you now to turn to the Lord. Even a simple prayer of “Lord, I can’t do it. Please do this for me” is such a huge success.

Barbara Postma and her husband, as they homeschool their 7 children, are finding out that no two children are alike! Between lessons and lunches, Barbara blogs at Fuel by Barbara.