Alice celebrated her first birthday nearly a month ago, and I wouldn’t be totally honest if I didn’t admit that the day was filled with a mix of emotions for me. On one hand, a year is never quite enough time to bask in the beautiful moments of life getting to know a new baby, so that sweet sadness of letting go of the first twelve months was palpable. On the other, the exhausting and draining first year was over, which left me relieved.
Alice’s first year was, in so many ways, sharing space in my brain and heart with multiple milestone moments in our family’s life. The number of transitions, events, life-altering decisions, activities, and more constantly ebbing and flowing meant that my time to stop and breathe in the beauty of a new baby was heartbreakingly limited at times. I feel like I absorbed every ounce of the goodness possible, however. First of all, my husband is sensitive to my needs before I’m even aware I have them. He’s also deeply invested in giving our babies as much of me as they need during those precious early months. So I spent far more afternoons than you’d expect curled in bed next to Alice, listening to her breathe and memorizing the curl of her sweet eyelashes, or appreciating the feel of her weight on my chest as I rocked her for endless hours on our front porch. I fell head over heels in love with this beloved gift of a little girl, and cherished every second. The problem is that even if all you do is focus solely on your little one, twelve months is just a blink. In no time at all, they’re pushing past their babyhood and claiming the mantle of toddler. Oh, that first year is short.
But also, that first year can be brutally long. I’ve experienced post-partum depression (PPD) after several pregnancies, and am proactive. But the depth and severity of this round took me off guard. Alice’s first months were marked by colic and a general grumpy disposition, and that only added fuel to the hormonal fire. My finely-tuned coping mechanisms failed, and I found myself struggling to grab on to the sense of joy that I knew was right in front of my face. I spent quite a few days “faking it to make it.’ I cried often. I felt like a horrible mother. I forced myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, many days dragged from my bed by a sense of duty rather than a sense of love. I was sure I was a horrible, broken person. Finally, only six weeks ago, I requested an increase in the doseage of my PPD meds. And, praise God… the light at the end of the tunnel flickered to life.
I’m sharing all of this because there is a massive stigma in the Christian community surrounding mental health, and depression in particular. Despite all that we as a people know about the delicate chemical balance in our brains, the idea that we can simply “get over it,” persists. Even more sinister is the understood assertion of fault that is present in some circles. There are those who feel that if I had a stronger faith, truly believed that Jesus could heal me, or refused to “come into agreement” with the notion of depression, then I would no longer be held captive by its clutches. Oh, how I wish all that was true.
What is true is that we are a fallen creation. Our bodies (including our brains) are marred by the presence of sin, sickness, and death in this world. I spent the last year crying out to God for relief, for healing. And He answered. He lifted the veil of darkness that has clouded my daughter’s first year of life for me. His healing came in the form of an antidepressant pill, and I’m ok with that.
Although it might surprise many of those who don’t believe that PPD is real, my faith life is actually quite healthy. Being confronted moment-by-moment by the realization that I absolutely could not do it on my own was the perfect draw to lean into the One who is the source of my strength. I wish I could explain this to each and every Christ-follower who has ever fallen for the lie that it’s only a spiritual desert that produces depression. You can know and love Jesus, trusting Him with everything, and still find yourself in the deep end of the ocean of mental health issues.
Alice’s first birthday has come and gone. We’ve started her second year of life now, and I am already delighting in this season. Not just watching it, not just riding the wave, not just making it work. I am delighting in it. I am excited about it. I laugh multiple times a day. I haven’t cried in weeks. I wake up glad that I am blessed to be here, wife to this husband, mother to these children. These are welcome realizations. I hope they’re ones that you’re unfamiliar with. I hope neither you nor your loved ones understand. But, just in case you do, know that I stand with you. The Lord loves me, even though my brain cannot find a way to blend hormones and experiences and chemicals happily without outside support. He sees me as His own. And if you’re the same way, well… He loves you, too.