I guess I’ll have to talk about my “dirty little secret” tomorrow….I had this whole silly jokey post I was going to do, and I gave it a lot of thought this evening. But, after reading this, this and this, I’m just not in the mood.

I’m not ready to divulge everything that went down. It just seems like so many “mommy bloggers” talk about it. I mean, it’s important to talk about it, right? It’s important to talk about it so that others going through it know that they’re not alone, that there is help.

What is it?

Depression. For me, depression did not occur post partum. No. Mine occurred during my pregnancy.

Mine was not a typical depression. It was more of an all-consuming gross anxiety disorder, the major symptoms of which were OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder), panic attack, and depression. Good times, huh? I’d never had a panic attack in my life. And, there I was: pregnant, shaking all over, virtually unable to leave my bed.

My mother says you could see the panic in my eyes, that she’ll never forget it, that she’ll know I’m suffering if she ever sees it again.

It came on when I was around 6 weeks pregant, when pregnancy hormones shift dramatically. We were having a turkey draw at work. My colleague, Jenny, voiced that she didn’t “want Haley to win the [Thanksgiving] turkey draw because she wins it every year.” Nice, huh? Anyway, I wanted to win that draw just to spite her! And, I wanted it bad. My heart started pounding uncontrollably. I felt like I could see my chest pumping in and out. It wasn’t normal. Then, the worry started. What’s happening to the baby? Is my rapid heart beat affecting baby? What about adrenalin? Is my adrenalin going to hurt the baby?

It was all downhill from there.

Next was the meat in a restaurant my family went out to. Did any juice from my mother’s rare meat drip onto my dish? Was that hardboiled egg I ate cooked enough? Were the raisins I just ate washed? Can I wear sunscreen? My makeup has a derivative of vitamin A in it — can I still wear it? Can I stand in front of the microwave? Can I take my food out of the microwave? Can I microwave my food at all? Can I use a hairdryer? The toaster oven? My cats! I have to get rid of my cats for the sake of my baby! Omigosh, a balloon popped near my tummy — did I damage baby’s ears? I practiced yoga in my friend’s backyard a couple of months before I was pregnant, and there may have been cat poop there — did I catch toxoplasmosis? Is it okay to eat the green jujubes?

The list goes on. And, on. And ON. I wasn’t safe anywhere. Nothing was safe. Everything was doom and gloom.

I went to my doctor right away. She told me to hold out my hands.

They shook uncontrollably.

Doctor said I don’t care I’m giving you Ativan. I said no.

I’m not ready to talk about the course of my therapy. But, I worked through it and felt well by the end of the pregnancy. The third trimester of the pregnancy was relatively enjoyable — my swollen feet and achy back were a cinch to deal with (well…). And, I did not suffer from post partum depression, thanks to the therapy that I continue to practice now.

Ironically (is this an Alanis Morissette irony or irony in the real sense of the world? I don’t know…but I’m on a roll), and thankfully, the Monkey is the happiest baby ever. It’s the first thing almost everyone says about her. “She’s so happy!” “What a happy baby!” Whenever someone says that to me, I feel warm and thankful and relieved and just elated. People don’t realize what they’re saying to me — how meaningful it really is….

….Even when she was in my womb she radiated happiness. My 80-something-year-old yoga guru put her hand to my belly and said, in her thick French accent, “this is a happy, happy baby.” She was blissfully right….

So, the monkey took what she needed from me. She turned me inside out and upside down in order to become who she was meant to be. In order to become her amazing, happy lil self. I am so grateful to her. She’s one year old and, already, has taught me the world. I always suspected my children would be my great teachers. She was my teacher before she was born and continues to teach me every day.

I’m a better mother for her teachings: I know more about who I am; I’ve travelled to my darkest depths; I am stong; I am happy; I am as ready as ever to teach her.

I struggle with the trauma of this experience almost every day. But, the rewards of my daily struggle are great. I am always thankful. I take nothing for granted.

Oh, and, I didn’t win that damn turkey draw. But, neither did Jenny, so it wasn’t all bad….