A Spoonful of Sadness…


(I’d like to apologize in advance for this post. Typically I try like hell not be this person. I’m sorry.)



I am trying not to break, really I am. I lay in bed awake, sometimes until 3:30 or 4:00 in the morning praying that I don’t die, because I don’t want these last few months to be the way my children remember me. I cry in my closet. It’s not even one I can walk in to, so I just lean into my sweaters and wipe my face with their sleeves. (It sounds so pathetic…and it is…really.)

When my son JJ was born (he’s 6 now) I had a bad case of the baby blues for about three months. I just cried. Good, bad, anything changing in my bubble of a life and I would weep. Stress was manageable, but challenging…like undoing duct tape with wet fingers.

*I have tried not to write this, as over the last few years I really have been working on being the woman who chooses to see the goodness, the sweetness my life gives me. My optimism is what keeps me hopeful, and filled with desire for each tomorrow.*




I can’t do this, I think to myself. But I keep going and act as if I’m fine…which seems to be working in my favor. Short of the mess that is my house (which is easily explained away with the sheer volume of humans and pets living under our roof) no one says anything that makes me wonder if perhaps they know I’m struggling with severe, debilitating and at times terrifying postpartum depression…and have been for the better part of a year.

I just don’t have the words to write this. My desire to be held, well it just cuts through those words and leaves them empty and dangling like wet, freshly cut grass.

I’m not detached from my beautiful baby, by Gods grace. From the moment I saw him there was this intense infatuation I could feel…all the way to my very soul. My depression came on slowly. I have no love lost…but being here (though I know it’s my depression) all day and every night…here…alone with this beautiful little boy is so hard to do right now. I nurse him, I sleep with him, eat with him. He touches my face with those small loving hands and I want to escape. This feeling is killing me. The shame, the heartache…it’s inescapable. It’s torture. I feel like I’m dying inside and nobody can hear my screams for help. I don’t want to kill myself, although the immense guilt for feeling these emotions make me want to die. I just want it to stop.

I am exhausted. I don’t want to eat, or be. I eat pounds of food when no one is watching and when they are I feel ill for doing it. I don’t know why. I eat so I can nurse and for no other reason at this point. I missed my baby’s first adventure at the park. I missed his first push on a swing on Easter Sunday. I didn’t care until I realized what I had missed, and felt so sad that I was happy for the time alone, even if all I did was clean. (Why can’t I just be fucking happy, get over it.)




This monster, it shadows me, it haunts my waking hours with a fear I can’t describe. It’s horrific the things I find myself pondering about. I find myself saying things like “If something happens to me…” – I taught my daughter how to bathe her baby brother ‘just in case’…

The kids have clean clothes, and they’re fed. There are dishes to eat out of…and it takes everything I have to make that a reality. I haven’t done homework with JJ for well over a month. I can’t remember the last time I painted with my child, or just sat and let myself be consumed with joy by my daughter Birdie’s desire to just be with me. It feels smothering.

I wish I could sit down and say “I need help. I think I need hospitalization. Please help me.” Instead I started cutting myself…just to feel anything other than this. I’m a fucking wreck. I just want to have someone hold me. Let me cry. Help me.

My husbands job ended today, and I’m sure he will be disappointed if he reads this. I’m just letting him and our family down…again. And now I’m crying. God help me. I’m a failure. Miserable in this world of lost battles, whispers of loneliness, having been broken and betrayed by the mind and body that carried the same human beings I would die to protect, to be with. Ironic.

It’s times like this that I wish we had family here. I could use some family love. Help. Rest. I need someone to come kick my ass back into proper order, before I emotionally damage my beautiful family – because I am fine with me being damaged, but they won’t be.

*I feel like a fraud.*

I do have times of clarity where I muster up what reserves of energy I have to do things like mopping, vacuuming, grocery shopping. I sit and play with the baby everyday, no phones or tv, and laugh while I’m crying inside. I really do try to hide it from him. I want him to feel safe in his new and amazing world. I don’t want him to feel even an ounce of my suffering.

Our family means the world to me and I don’t understand (even though medically speaking I have a full understanding) why I can’t get myself out of this. I don’t understand why the thoughts are so persistent that they are drowning out the love I know is in there…somewhere.

I want my little bit of heaven back.





28 thoughts on “A Spoonful of Sadness…

  1. Oh, my heart was aching as I read this. I felt many of those same things with my son. It was one of the hardest things to tell my doctor, to admit that something was wrong with me. It was only In February that I did, and I can tell you that I am feeling so much better. My world at home was so foggy with sadness/anger/loneliness/despair. But now I am starting to see the sun again. It gets better! Asking for help is the hardest step, but you can do it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. It’s nice hearing from other women who have gotten to a point where they see the good in life more than the bad. I’ll get there. I know I will. Asking for help was terrifying. I was so afraid to be seen as a bad mother, awful human being.


  2. Wow so much courage and strength seen in this. Exposing what’s inside is the first of many steps to healing. I will be praying for you and other women like us who battle PPD.

    I loved this, “Miserable in this world of lost battles, whispers of loneliness, having been broken and betrayed by the mind and body that carried the same human beings I would die to protect, to be with. Ironic.”

    Perfectly explained. God bless you and comfort you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m still scared, and feel far from courageous. Before I wrote this though, it felt hopeless. Now, I know there are other that deal with it have made it out of PPD and thrive. It is by Gods grace that I can look at my baby and love. But it’s me I have a problem with. It will get better I know, but I don’t know lol. Darn depression! Thank you for you kind words and encouragement. I’ll keep you in my prayers. πŸ’œ

      Liked by 1 person

  3. So beautifully written. Wonderfully raw and honest. I believe the writing will help, and also reach out for medical help. Getting help is a sign of strength. It is a big step towards finding your personal center again, and enjoying those wonderful children.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. It takes incredible courage to be as honest as you are. Use that courage to give yourself healing assistance. To be a fountain of goodness for your family requires being honored and nourished. Just as your family needs and wants care, so do you.
    Hugs from this little corner of the PNW.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I don’t know the details of how you go about regaining your sense of balance, but I do believe that your ability to articulate what is going wrong will help you find your center again. Obviously you write very well, so keep writing– and in that process perhaps you’ll realize what you need to do next to make yourself whole again. Just a thought…

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Maybe when we are strong and feeling intimately connected to God, we ask God to use us for His purpose. So then maybe years later he’ll want us to take on some of the pain of the innocent ones suffering in this world. Maybe by being willing to hurt like this and also express it (so brave!) you are alleviating sorrow that might overcome someone, somewhere. Just know you are loved.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you for your kind words. That’s why I ultimately decided to post this, as it was originally a confession of sorts I intended to email a dear friend. If one other person reads this and understands they aren’t alone, and chooses to speak up, it will have been worth the pain of writing it.πŸ’œ

      Liked by 1 person

  7. I”m so sorry…I read this with a heavy heart….I wish I knew the words to say to…to let you know, it’s okay to be sad and hurting. But, it’s also okay to tell your husband you need help..and to get it.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you dear. I did tell him, last night, as I broke down writing this post. I just didn’t want to be another burden on his list of things currently going less than good in our family life. Today is a new day right? I’m thankful to have it.πŸ’œ


  8. I can’t put a “like” on this, because it’s heartbreaking. I feel great compassion, reading this post….”com-passion” from the Latin meaning “suffering together”…..it’s our humanity….we all suffer, and suffer together….I carry your heart in my heart.

    Liked by 3 people

  9. If this is your own story, Little Bits, you need to reach out to someone. Not your husband or kids, but an understanding friend or a therapist. Just unloading these feelings, saying them out loud to another person, will do you a world of good. Trying to hold it together for the sake of your family is admirable, but you’ve got to put on your own oxygen mask first. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Thank you. That last part of your comment is so true. And I do need to unload. I’m considering going to my basement and letting loose on my sons punching bag until I can get u real life hug from my husband…whom I finally broke down to last night and told him for the first time of my PPD. He’s at a job interview. Though not having said job sucks, I’m so thankful he will be here with me. I need that just now.πŸ’œ

      Liked by 1 person

  10. Bits, this was heart wrenching to read- my heart goes out to you. I hope and PRAY that you get the help you need to get through this difficult time. ((((((HUGS)))))). There is no shame in seeking help. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.

    Liked by 2 people

  11. I have so much more to say to this I can possibly type out on my phone, or than I could hope to cover in a single comment, or even post, but I want to say something.

    You are not a failure, not in the throes of depression or when you are feeling your brightest. You are a human being with much to give but also, necessarily, in need of certain fuel to keep going: not just food and water, but hugs and time to breathe and support and nurturing directed at you.

    I’ve been thinking about it thusly: We wouldn’t douse plants with gasoline and expect them to grow as if we’d watered them. So why do we expect ourselves to flourish and grow without “water”? Why do we expect ourselves to go the full distance with 5% of the fuel we actually need?

    After reading Caffeine Blues, I realized I still felt like crap and that there had to be something more to how my anxiety and exhaustion levels were voth creeping up. I started reading Is It Me or My Adrenals?, which ended up being a fantastic choice. The title isn’t great, but the content and tone are both so freeing. I actually ended up crying while reading one of the latter chapters because of how clearly and lovingly the author emphasizes how each of dozens of factors–including those seemingly long past–contribute to destructive chronic stress today.

    Positive thinking is important, IMO, but it can only go so far. To go the rest of the distance, work of tending to yourself as you would others you love is essential. While I super highly recommend the book, a quick, clear read, I would recommend googling “activating the parasympathetic nervous system.” The first result should be a PDF by Dr. Rick Hansen. Making a few minutes to read that would be illuminating, and then making a couple of minutes a couple of times a day for those exercises self healing.

    I’ll be writing a post shortly, but here’s a paragraph I sent my sisters, who could also benefit from acts of self love:

    “Long story short, we are supposed to spend most of our lives with our parasympathetic–calming–nervous systems engaged, with stressors only briefly activating our sympathetic–panic–nervous systems. Life these days involves constant activation of the sympathetic nervous system, at great cost to short and long term well being. The more you can do to consciously, repeatedly activate your parasympathetic nervous system, the healthier and happier you will be over the long haul. This is more than just a moment’s distraction; it’s a cumulative investment in you.”

    You are worthy of love: others’ and your own. I send bunches from here.

    Liked by 5 people

    1. Do you think you could email me the name of the Doctor and book? If be so appreciative. It’s a day that I’m struggling to do much. Thank you for your love, truly. Your words touch my soul, and it’s a comfort to know I’m not alone, and that you got through it is even more of a comfort. If you need my email address let me know. πŸ’œ


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