26 | Rebecca
“Now instead of insomnia, I started to oversleep. Not just because pregnancy, especially while looking after a toddler, is utterly exhausting, but because depression is exhausting. I wanted to sleep until it was over. I wanted to sleep and not wake up so I could just have a moment of respite from my own mind...”
I really didn't think I'd be back here behind the microphone telling my own story again. I didn't think I'd have anything to share because I had many hopes that things would be different this time. I hoped that I would be different this time.
But here we are.
For many reasons, for so many of us, pregnancy is not always the most joyful time of our lives. Logically, we know it's temporary, but that doesn't necessarily make it easier. And I know I'm not the only one to hold conflicting emotions about pregnancy, both joy and anguish, love and dread, hope and fear.
I hope by me sharing, this reaches someone who needs it.
Join me in this episode where I'll share the story of my second pregnancy so far, how it's been similar and different to my first, my fears as I approach the third trimester and birth, and the support systems that are currently in place or planned to help me through.
Thank you for once again holding space for me.
I really don't know where to begin this story, so I thought I'd start by sharing some of the words I wrote in my journal maybe seven to eight weeks ago. The cover of the journal says, ‘own your story’, and that's what I'm always trying to do.
I wrote:
As my first trimester ends, I can't help but reflect on the last three months. Anxiety, avoidance, overwhelm, doubt, melancholy, fear. Just some of the words that come to mind. I nearly wrote ‘regret’, but ‘doubt’ seemed softer. ‘Regret’ feels harsh, although I'd be lying if I didn't say there were many times over the last three months when I didn't wonder what I'd done or if I'd made a mistake.
Once again, I'm so incredibly fortunate to conceive as easily as I did and I'm having a very healthy pregnancy. Physically, things are well and easy. Even more so than with my son's pregnancy, which is saying something because I thought my pregnancy with him was easy. I know I'm one of the really lucky ones who gets to say that conception and pregnancy are mostly uncomplicated and I don't take that for granted.
That just adds to the sense of guilt and shame I feel, because why do I feel the way I do when I have had no complications so far?
But as my husband reminded me, mental health complications are complications too.
One of the first things that stood out to me was anger, or maybe fear disguised as anger. I had lots of intrusive thoughts about harm coming to my son - and not coming from me, it was from external sources. I'm not going to say I was hypervigilant, but I was looking for threats everywhere. I know it's a protective behaviour, but I don't like feeling so paranoid. I was able to function for the most part, but my behaviour changed and it scared me.
Within three days of finding out I was pregnant, my son was playing in a water fountain, having the absolute time of his life. It was one of those really joyful moments. Everyone who walked past just smiled. And then I saw someone filming him and I can't explain that rage, I guess. I was so firm but shaking when I told this person to stop filming my son. And I beat myself up for a few days after because maybe I overreacted. It definitely wasn't like me, but that fear of harm to my kids and those repetitive, intrusive thoughts just left me feeling, not just vulnerable but really responsible. I would now have two children to protect in a world that I have absolutely no control over.
The other thing that stood out to me was the same thing that happened last time. That early stage of pregnancy with the changes to my body and very mild symptoms of nausea were enough to make me feel, quote unquote, sick. I was also sporadically sick-sick too, a cough here and a sore throat there, so that didn't help my mood. But overall, my mental health didn't respond well because, as I've talked about before, I don't handle being sick very well.
We're talking really innocent things, like really mild symptoms that most women would probably dream of. And I guess it wasn't the symptoms itself, it was just change. I immediately felt like I did three years ago, fragile, vulnerable and afraid of change. And I guess unsettled is the right word, uncomfortable in my own skin and body, fixating on the smallest changes. The feeling sucked. But for the most part, I was still able to manage.
But then, out of nowhere, my symptoms stopped altogether. And I can't logically explain how quickly anxiety took over. Only a few days before, I was feeling unsettled about being sick and mentally struggling to cope with change and pregnancy symptoms. And now, all of a sudden, I was anxious about having no pregnancy symptoms.
I was convinced to my core that something had happened. I panicked. I booked an ultrasound scan, but this was a Sunday and I couldn't get a booking until the next day. And even that felt too far away. My husband tried to reassure me, but I lashed out. And I wasn't just anxious, I was angry. I yelled at him like, ‘I know what I'm feeling. This is my body, I know what this means. This isn't anxiety talking, this is a fact. You don't know, it's not your body.’ And a million other things.
I could not be reasoned with. And I was so adamant something had happened and so convinced that I was right. And I don't know where that came from, the distress of not knowing, but equally being convinced that I knew. And I couldn't sit still. My mind was racing, I was pacing, I was bouncing in my seat and fussing over little things. I couldn't sit down, let alone sleep. It's very rare I get so worked up that I feel like vomiting. I had to take one of my son's Bluey colouring-in books and colour it in for hours just to do something to try to distract myself until the scan the next day.
And thank goodness, everything was fine after all. But I wasn't okay. In the aftermath of that experience, I had to confront some really uncomfortable truths. My anxiety had so quickly taken over and I was so blinded by anxiety, I was convinced it was instinct and fact.
Suddenly it felt like any progress I've made over the last two and a half years didn't matter. I was back to how everything felt in my first pregnancy. And I hate how fast it happened, how fast I fell into a puddle of anxiety. How quickly it felt like it seeped into every cell of my body.
Any hope that I had that I would be okay or that I could cope with whatever came up just vanished. The anxiety of that particular moment ended, but the anxiety itself didn't stop.
Insomnia kicked in, and once more I became anxious to leave the house with catastrophic thinking and feeling like I could somehow predict horrible things. I was convinced something bad would happen to the baby or to my toddler the longer we were in the car or the further we were away from home.
And then I guess I started to be afraid of the pregnancy itself. Last time, when I experienced tokophobia, I really enjoyed pregnancy with my son, despite the way I felt towards the end. But this time, the pregnancy itself began to feel distressing. I felt dread because I also didn't want to go through what I went through last time. And yeah, I thought I'd made peace with that, with what happened last time. But being pregnant again, I guess, brings it all back, unfortunately.
I found myself becoming more impatient, more easily frustrated with my son. And I couldn't stop thinking, what am I doing? What was I thinking? Why have I done this? I'm already tired and burnt out. How will I handle another baby if my anxiety came back so quickly already? What chance do I have? What if this is worse than last time? What if I don't recover this time?
So suddenly, I didn't want to be pregnant. Not that I didn't want the baby, because I did, and I do. But I couldn't handle the thought of being pregnant, At six-ish weeks pregnant, I was feeling like my body wasn't my own or that an alien was using me as a host. And I hate to admit that's how I saw the baby. I didn't want to think about it I wanted to avoid it because I felt so scared of it, but also scared of my own thoughts about pregnancy.
And before I knew it, the anxiety turned into depression, which is very different to my first pregnancy, which was just all anxiety. But in this pregnancy, depression seems to be more predominant and that took me by surprise.
I've wondered with my psychologist if it's because the antidepressants are helping to manage my anxiety for the most part but just aren't quite high enough for the depression. I don't know if I'll ever know why, but that first trimester of pregnancy really pulled the rug from under me.
If you know me, if you've listened to my story before, you'll know I'm not really scared of anxiety, but I'm scared of depression. What scared me though this time, was how unafraid of depression I was. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe that's growth, but I felt too comfortable with it. Sitting with it felt like giving up.
And I remember sitting in my psychologist's office sobbing, saying, ‘I just want this to be over. I want it out of me already.’
And I have no words to nicely explain myself or to describe that contradiction of wanting to be pregnant, wanting a baby, but wanting the pregnancy to be over. And believe me, thinking these things and saying them out loud doesn't feel good. What kind of mother thinks this way, right? A mother with an uncomplicated pregnancy who's constantly told, pregnancy suits you and you're glowing. What's wrong with me that I just can't be happy?
And I suppose that's a big part of the problem. Not so much the anxiety or depression itself, but rather the self criticism I have for feeling the way that I do. The stories I suddenly told myself, that added layer of shame that I became fixated on.
Any self compassion I've learned over the last two and a half years just seemed to vanish. And I was sad at myself for how quickly my mental health took a nosedive and I was angry and embarrassed how I felt, because again, I don't have a real reason to feel this way. I'm healthy and I seem to grow healthy babies and everyone tells me how much I glow, but there's this awful, gnawing feeling in my stomach that I'm not cut out for pregnancy. Maybe my body is, but my mind isn't.
And this self criticism and these stories that I tell myself about my symptoms, they've just been adding a constant stream of fuel to an already well fuelled fire.
I'll go into the depression in a bit more detail, but I really noticed it when I started to announce the pregnancy to my family and friends. The announcement itself and the congratulations bring this rush of excitement and dopamine.
But then I was constantly bombarded with, ‘oh, you must be so excited’. And it's such an innocent thing to say, and I'm sure I wouldn't think twice saying it to another mother, but hearing those words just held a mirror up to me. Because I wasn't excited, not really. Of course, I'm happy to be pregnant and to have another baby and to be healthy. Of course I did want this. But I was feeling so many things: scared, vulnerable, uneasy. Excitement just wasn't really one of them.
And now, instead of insomnia, I started to oversleep. Not just because pregnancy, especially while looking after a toddler, is utterly exhausting, but because depression is exhausting. I wanted to sleep until it was over. I wanted to sleep and not wake up so I could just have a moment of respite from my own mind.
I was just so exhausted. So imagining myself as a mum of two very quickly took me back to that place of feeling unable to cope, unable to handle change, incapable, vulnerable. And just convinced that I'll be overwhelmed by trying to do any bare minimum parenting. My kids deserve better than that.
And the worst part, I think, was when I started testing myself. And that's weird to say out loud. I don't know if I'm describing this properly, but I would pose myself these questions like, if something happened to the baby, would I even be sad? And I know in my heart I would be devastated. But when you're in that headspace, when you can't feel anything but numb, and you're asking yourself a question like that, knowing that you're not going to react or not feel anything straight away, you weaponise it and it just becomes proof to use against yourself.
The pain just obscures any logic in that moment, and it's a really shitty game to play. I guess it's a form of checking and seeking reassurance. But when it's coupled with that depression, it becomes like a self fulfilling prophecy of asking yourself a rhetorical question when you know what the answer will be and you're like, ‘aha. See, I knew I wasn't going to feel anything. Of course I'm a bad mother. Of course I shouldn't be doing this. My children are better off without me.’
And the depression and low mood and testing were all becoming ammunition to use against myself. Any shred of confidence that I had as a mum just went away.
And I can't count the number of times I've said to myself or my husband that I never want to do this again. And I don't know if that's real, or if I'm just scared, or if I'll always feel this way, or if I'm right to be scared. But it hurts to think that. I couldn't even tell you the number of children I want, and that's not really the point, I suppose. I just want to be the one to make that decision. Me, not my mental health deciding for me. That's the part I think I grieve.
And yeah, let's just say that the first trimester of pregnancy, let alone my future, felt quite overwhelming and hopeless.
I recorded the last episode of the podcast, which was episode 25 with Ashlee, the day after I found out I was pregnant. So my pregnancy hadn't been touched by anxiety or depression yet. And of course, everything she said touched me, although it hadn't really sunk in. It wasn't until I was actually editing the episode and relistening to her experience, maybe over a month later, that her words really hit me. She had anxiety during her first pregnancy, then depression through her second, and it was like I was listening to my own experience being narrated as it happened.
I messaged Ash straight away to tell her about my pregnancy, but more so to thank her for her honesty about how she felt in her own pregnancy. Because, of course, I did not expect to feel the way I did about my pregnancy. I didn't expect to go through depression. Of course I didn't want this, and I'm sure Ashlee didn't either. But hearing her experience and relating to it also brought me some hope. I needed to hear her say that she had faith that it would get better and that it did.
More than anything, hearing her say I'm not the only one, at least three times through tears and laughter, brought tears to my own eyes. And it didn't cure me, of course. But I guess I needed the reminder that no matter how bad it feels right now, it's temporary.
I started this podcast in the hopes that these stories will help all of you. But sharing these stories helps me too, maybe more than I even realise sometimes.
And I guess I'll talk here about the supports that are in place or planned to help me through the rest of the pregnancy, the birth and postpartum.
I'll start by saying that truthfully, with the headspace I've been in, it's been hard to engage or actively prepare. The focus has definitely just been on surviving.
As I said, I'm seeing my wonderful psychologist and psychiatrist. Between the two of them, we're working on planning for the third trimester in postpartum, processing my previous birth, and just reminding me of skills that I have and ensuring that my mental health is as supported as it can be.
I'm back in touch with the same obstetric social worker from my hospital to provide that comfort and support in the lead up to birth and the hospital stay afterwards. My obstetrician is very supportive and lovely with this too
I don't know if that fear of birth, tokophobia, will come back. I've been worried about that. Tokophobia is also a fear of pregnancy, and so I wondered if what was happening when I was wanting the pregnancy to be over was tokophobia. I don't think that's what happened, but the thought definitely crossed my mind a few times.
In terms of birth, right now, I do want to try for a VBAC. My OB hasn't put any pressure on me to have a repeat c-section, but honestly, I'm trying not to commit or overthink it right now and cause myself to spiral. At the end of the day, what I want to feel more than anything is safe, and what safe looks like to me today versus in a couple of weeks may change.
I'm trying to consume some bite-sized pieces of information to prepare, but I'm proud of myself that I'm not going down the rabbit hole of researching and worrying and feeling like I have to know everything to be in control. As tempting as that is.
I guess that's been one of the biggest differences from last time, is that yes, the symptoms are still there, and there are some new symptoms as well. But the way I'm reacting to them or behaving is different from last time. So when I do experience insomnia, I don't try to use that time to be productive.
And that's been a big help, not thinking that somehow more knowledge will save me.
Unlike last time, I have more awareness about my behaviours. And while I can't necessarily prevent the symptoms, I'm working on the behaviours that leave me stuck. And I know that if the insomnia does get out of hand, I know that there is PRN medication I can take. I haven't had to yet, though.
I've started to see a lactation consultant who's a GP with an interest in mental health, which I'm really excited about. She was recommended to me by my psychologist, who I trust immensely, and we'll see how it goes. But I think this is the right step to not just prepare, but also to process my last feeding journey, and to help me figure out what exactly I want and how to feel a bit more confident going into the next postpartum so that I feel supported.
Going forward with medication with my psychiatrist, the plan is to revisit my dose in the third trimester, potentially increasing it back to the original dose that I was on, maybe even higher. The third trimester was when things really did take a nosedive, when my anxiety just exploded and the tokophobia set in. So we'll see what I need at that time and evaluate them.
The MBU, the mother-and-baby psychiatric unit is still an option, and one that I'm… yeah, there's a part of me that would be sad that I need it again, but also a part of me that feels relief knowing it's there. The option has been there to be admitted during pregnancy if I really did need it and if I was really, really struggling. There were a few times when I thought I'd have to make that call. I've been very fortunate that I didn't.
The second trimester has kind of come along and like last time, I feel like myself again. I feel lighter and things feel more manageable. Maybe it's denial, I don't know.
Depending on how things go in that third trimester, I can decide to go straight from the birthing hospital to the MBU so that I'm not going home like I did last time, where things felt really scary and out of control. I'd be going to that safe place, being surrounded by my psychiatrist and therapists and social workers and occupational therapists and just having a safe place to land before I make the big trip home. And I guess this time might be a little bit harder to navigate because I've also got a toddler to think about and will my husband be able to stay? There's more logistics to worry about.
It would be nice to have everything fall into place where I don't need that support, but I'm also trying not to beat myself up if I do need it, because I'd rather be well earlier on in my journey than go home and suffer. So there's options.
I don't know what else postpartum planning will look like right now. I'm sure there's a whole lot more I could be doing or a lot more things that I could be instigating now in preparation.
But there's really a fine line for me that I need to balance because obviously I want to be proactive and prepare and protect myself. But I also know what happened last time and that need to be in control became an obsession… and I don't know if I've got the balance right. I guess I've been avoiding thinking too hard about postpartum in my third trimester in order to protect myself. But then I also want to prepare and be proactive and make sure that I do have the right supports in place or that I've got frozen meals in the freezer or whatever.
So yeah, I don't know the answer, but this is where I'm at.
To get through that first trimester, I did colouring-in and puzzles or little things like that, even just for five minutes a day to get out of my own head. I journaled a little and almost instantly the thoughts that had been eating at me for weeks just kind of left. I always seem to forget how powerful journaling can be for me.
I'm surrounded by such wonderful, supportive, caring family and friends. I have such an incredible care team around me. I'm back to doing some pregnancy yoga and aquanatal aerobics. I'd like to go more, but again, logistics with a toddler isn't easy and I've also been sick. But when I do go, I imagine all my thoughts and the nervous energies just leave my body. At least it's nice to pretend that it's happening anyway.
Now that I'm in the second trimester and out of that fog of the first trimester, I do feel a bit more at ease and I'm really trying to do things that I enjoy or that bring me some joy, like reading and listening to podcasts and looking at old photos and videos of my son. It's been nice and brings up a lot of good feelings to make this hard time a little less so and to remind myself that there are good things to come. Looking at these photos and videos and just holding onto that gives me some hope. Playing with names and imagining the baby and what Pudgey will be like as a big brother is helping too.
It's a start, and it's a little bit of hope.
It's very weird to talk about or to conclude this episode, because while the big, big stuff of the first trimester is over, I am still in the middle of it. The third trimester is coming. And I guess right now, there's no neat ending I can give you, no lesson learned, just a potential cliffhanger that may not even be a cliffhanger in which I'm trying not to look at as a cliffhanger.
I feel like I'm on that ledge of everything that happened before coming back. And also the I don't know what the future will hold. And that space feels very surreal. And I want the answers, but I can't have them. And I don't know if history will repeat itself or if things will be different or what will happen. And I guess as cliché as it is, only time can tell.
As Ashlee reminded us in the last episode, I'm not the only one. I'm not the only one feeling this way in pregnancy: conflicted and anxious and depressed and guilty and confused and dreading it and stuck and ashamed and scared and just wanting it to be over.
So I'm sharing this with you all because I know I'm not the only one. And I know none of this reflects the quality of our mothering or the love that we have for our children. And I hope this reaches someone who needs it, just like Ashlee's episode did for me.
