Holy Spirit, I commit this page again to you. I thank you for using my fingers to type out what you would have me tell your daughters. I thank you that you will guide and lead me into all Truth. I thank you that your Word and Spirit are alive and well within me. I praise you for the gift of Jesus, for all He’s worked in me and through me. I’m in absolute awe and wonder of you, God. I can never get enough of you. My fingers can’t type fast enough to speak all the love in my heart that I have for you. Thank you for being faithful to me, even when I’m unfaithful to you. Thank you Jesus, for being the embodiment of grace. I’ll sing your praises forever, O God. Bless these women that read my words, remind them of who they are IN YOU. Teach them to lead and guide their families in Truth and love. Instill your heart in them, and pour out your Father’s heart on them, so that they may live out of your love daily. Amen.
Wow. Let me just tell you how incredible it is to start again with this blog. I’d created it on Thanksgiving break after realizing that God had called me to it months ago, and, well…I’d ignored that call. I’ve spent the last 11 months of my life wrapping my head around motherhood, acclimating to constant change, and-honestly-just surviving. It’s been only in the last couple of months that I’ve felt like I’m living again. There’s so much about postpartum that isn’t talked about. Most Christian circles wouldn’t be comfortable talking about the postpartum depression, anxiety, rage, or violence that can take place to a woman who was otherwise completely normal and healthy before having her baby. I hear even as I’m typing this out that the Holy Spirit has me focusing on this tonight for purpose. So, Holy Spirit, I’m listening, and I lend my ear and hands to you to get your words across correctly here.
I had Judah (my firstborn son) unexpectedly at my home here in Birmingham, AL. I’ll save the complete birth story for another time, because right now I believe the Lord would have me focus on the postpartum issues that I experienced. I was extremely blessed to have a mama friend who had paved the way 6 months prior to me with her own son, and the amount of time between our pregnancies was just enough for her to shift out of each milestone/change about the time that I was stepping into that same one, and in the most need of a loving friend to encourage and guide me. I really don’t know where I’d be without her. Needless to say, she’d prepped me the best she could for postpartum, but no two women’s experiences are alike. And hers was much milder than mine in ways, and much harder in others (but that’s her story to tell, not mine).
I’d settled into motherhood as best I could after having a surprising delivery, completely unmedicated, accidentally at home, and hemorrhaging that led to emergency care quickly after Judah’s birth. I remember missing the initial skin on skin because I didn’t trust myself to stay awake with him on the ambulance ride to the hospital, and thanking the kind EMT who held and snuggled him while I fought tooth and nail not to pass out. My husband was a wreck after the entire emergency recovery experience, and of course the surprise birth. And as we started to slowly heal from the whole thing over the following months, J.T. unraveled as he tried to cope with what he’d personally experienced. I was fighting my own battles with breastfeeding (he’d latched beautifully, but I was NOT prepared for the anxiety that came with breastfeeding). And this is where the fun all began…
In the middle of learning to breastfeed, adapt to having a new small baby to care for, and learning about him, I began experiencing some serious postpartum anxiety. Now, if you know me at all (and I’m sorry, you don’t yet), but if you did, you’d know I’ve never been an anxious or depressed person. In fact it was God’s goodness that led me to realizing that I was dealing with postpartum anxiety. And here’s the thing-I didn’t even know that was real. No one had talked to me about postpartum anxiety. All you ever heard about was the depression part. Well, ladies, let me tell you. Anxiety filled every part of me daily. From the little ins and outs of prepping bottles, caring for Judah, and recovering myself, to trying to plan the day, trying to shift back to some type of normalcy, worrying about J.T.’s mental state. I was consumed by it. Every aspect of my life was clouded with anxiety.
And then it got worse. I went from dealing with anxiety to rage. Judah cried. A. Lot. More than I felt was normal for babies that small (and that’s probably untrue), but I will say he definitely cried at a higher pitch than most babies-and it was bad enough that my husband wore earplugs all day for the first 3 months of Judah’s life pretty much (and sometimes still does). I’ve kept kids since I was 13, and lots and lots of babies. None cried the way my son did. None screamed with such unrelenting fury and anger that left me questioning if he really did not like me (or J.T.). I would just panic, I remember immediately panicking because if you didn’t get him calmed down quickly, he would work himself up to this insane meltdown that left me in tears because of how ear piercing it was. It was utterly exhausting…and enraging. And here’s where the rage came in. I remember the worst of it would be ripping him around. I never shook him, but I definitely would rip him out of the bed during a screaming fit, pulling him in real tight…you get the gist. I’d never understood how someone could literally harm their own child until those worst days with Judah. I had the thoughts, and they were ones I’d never act on. But I still had them, and they were immediately followed by guilt and shame. I remember crying wondering what the heck was wrong with me-I loved Judah, I didn’t want to be like this…
Why am I telling you all of this? Because I overcame it. I remember the worst of the moments where I’d be on the ledge, about to tip over and allow the rage to consume me, and do really, really bad things that could hurt my baby. And I remember the Holy Spirit catching me every time. I remember him gently tugging me back. I remember him whispering to me, “Call someone, reach out-don’t do this alone.” And so I did. I called an elder woman who has been a spiritual mom to me who’d experienced something similar with her last child. Only hers was 10x worse than mine. I asked her how on earth do I overcome this, and she gave me some beautiful advice, mama’s, that I will share with you here:
“When your baby cries, remind yourself that this is not a time to panic. Count to ten, and ask the Lord to help shift your perspective from quickly acting, to being still and listening to Him. Then utilize the meltdown to teach you how to come up with a process of elimination on what’s wrong that’s causing him to be upset. Have a list of friends/family to call when the anxiety is raging and you just need to get away for a couple of hours. Know your limits, take the breaks, call that list until someone can come help you. And most importantly, remember that God did not give you that baby if He didn’t know that you could handle it. Keep the bigger picture in mind, pursue the vision and plans God has for him, and focus on this”.
This advice changed everything for me. So simple, yet so profound. In a season where I was drowning in anxiety, rage, and just figuring out what the heck I was doing, God brought the answers through one other woman. Mama’s, if you’re struggling, reach out to someone. If you don’t think you have someone to go to, ask the Lord to bring someone to your mind, or someone to you for that sole purpose. You are doing an INCREDIBLE job as a mom. You were created to mother those babies God gave you. You have purpose, you have a calling on your life, you have a destiny, and you have value. May God remind you of this daily.
XOXO, Abbey
Spirit Filled Mama 