I had just had my firstborn; I did everything the books told me to do. We got the hang of nursing from the beginning, thankfully. I followed the Babywise E.A.S.Y. (Eat, Activity, Sleep, You) routine. I was so Type A and kept a notebook to write it all down: the feeding times, how long my son ate, how long his activity lasted—by activity with a newborn, that merely meant changing his diaper—followed by what time I put him down for his nap. Rinse and repeat!
I had the hang of this! The adrenaline was on fire! We hit bumps with sleep regression, but I just kept on with my journal entries. I think the journaling gave me a sense of accomplishment to have a running list, like it gave me validity that I did something that day. Those days were LONG!
Then my son hit six months and something changed in me. I still obsessed over him but I had developed severe paranoia. I became legit afraid of everything. I felt so helpless, but I needed to pick myself up and take care of my baby. Sleep hardly happens once you have a child, but I began to obsess over every noise made at night.
We lived in a two-bedroom condo on the first floor at the time. There was someone who lived above us who I guess worked at night because this person walked around all hours of the night, and I was convinced this person had us a target. I never knew who this person was or what they looked like. I would feed my son in the middle of the night and begin to prepare for what this person would do to us. Obviously, nothing ever happened.
I talked to my husband about it sometimes. But I think I was a little embarrassed about my behavior that I didn’t really discuss it too much with him.
One weekend, we went back home to visit family and we were staying at my mom’s house. In the middle of the night, I fully convinced myself that someone was pouring gasoline around my mom’s home and was going to start a fire. I prepared how I was going to get my son out of there safely. Obviously, there was no fire. At this point, I should have thought it might be a good idea to go seek some counseling.
Another time, during the day, an Internet sales rep came knocking at our door. I hid in my son’s room, quickly called my husband and spoke softly, telling him that someone was knocking at our door. He calmly told me to just answer the door. Was he out of his mind?! I told myself that the person on the other side of the door was going to attack me. This person was just doing their job and there was no plan of attack. To be clear, we lived in a very safe area of town: tree-lined roads with cherry blossoms; within walking distance of local coffee shops. I should have thought this might be a good time to seek some help.
My mom would come to stay with us. She would bring her dog and we also had a dog. To be helpful, she would tell me she was going to take the dogs out one more time before we went to bed. I snapped at her and told her not to open the door. She could not take them out. Bless her heart. She didn’t say anything to me about my strange behavior. I was so worried something would happen to her and then whoever was out there would come and attack us. There was no one outside. I was at a point of being delusional. I should have thought this might be a good time to seek some help.
There was one weekend…one of the most traumatizing weekends. My husband had to go out of town. I mentally prepared myself for how to get through the weekend without him. I went to a party at a friend’s home and brought my son along. It was a good distraction for awhile. When it was time to head home, I started to have anxiety as I got closer to our condo. We had to park in an open underground garage. I quickly got my son out of the car and ran into our condo. Once it was time to go to bed, I positioned my son’s stroller by the front door to work as a blocking aid for when someone was going to break into our condo. I kept a knife on my bedside table for protection. Obviously, there was no break in. I was in a dark place and it didn’t seem like it was ever going to get any better.
My behavior and thoughts were out of my control.
Then one day, I literally woke up and was no longer afraid. I can’t even begin to describe how much of a relief this was and how it like I could start to enjoy life again, being a mom, being a wife.
When I got pregnant with our middle child, I talked to my OBGYN about my experience after my son. She told me that based on what I mentioned to her, it sounded like I experienced Postpartum Paranoia. She said if it happened again after this birth, to talk to her or another medical professional for some help. Thankfully, I did not experience this again.
Postpartum has many different forms and if you think something is off, I would encourage you to seek support. My mom and my husband were very supportive of me, but I never fully expressed to either of them what was going on in my mind because I knew how unbelievable it sounded.
Having a newborn is hard enough. Please don’t let other things get in the way of you enjoying the younger years with your children.
