BLUE STORIES
Here are a selection of the inspiring stories that have been shared with The Blue Stories Project: journeys out of perinatal depression and anxiety in collaboration with Central Lakes Family Services in the Queenstown, Central Lakes, Otago and Southland regions. Ngā mihi nui to all who have contributed.
“Sharing how our day is going, whether good, bad, ugly or messy, is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of community. We are made to be able to support each other in the highs and lows. Never let the thoughts in your head conquer the emotions of your heart.” - Ruth
During my labour everything seemed to be going well, until I remember my midwife yelling to my husband to push the red button on the wall, not really knowing why. A whole lot of people started rushing in and most things became a blur. She had gotten her shoulder stuck and they were struggling to get her out. They eventually did, but it resulted in a tear. After I had stitches put in I was sent to our room to get cleaned up. I remember sitting in the shower, not knowing what to do as everything hurt, until a nurse came in and mentioned what a mess I looked like with blood everywhere.
I can remember sitting in our antenatal class and watching a film of a mother giving birth, and the person saying how we should focus on the mother’s face as she gives birth to see the change to overwhelming joy when she delivers her baby. This was not my labour, or anywhere close.
For the next few months, I tried to be the best mum I could be. I felt like I had wanted this all my life and here it was, but it wasn’t what I thought it would be. We also moved temporarily so my husband could do some extra studies, but I was then away from my Church family, my friends, and I didn’t drive at the time, so I found it very isolating. I tried to cope, but most nights I fell apart. The nights in the dark all by yourself really felt the hardest, the coldest, the deep dark silence. But I continued on, wearing a mask as much as I could. My husband knew something was up, that I was struggling, and he tried all he could to help, but really it was my mind battling with myself over what this parenting thing SHOULD look like. I felt like a failure, I felt guilt, I felt shame, I just didn’t connect with this baby. Yet our little girl was thriving.
I had amazing support from my friend too, who had also had a baby and was struggling from Post Natal Depression, but I thought I’m not that bad, so I’ll just keep trucking on, it will get better one day. It wasn’t for a year, and I can still remember the day when I looked at her and thought, ‘I truly love you’. Over the first year of her life, I feel like there was a deep dark cloud over our relationship, and it still hangs there over all my memories today. It breaks my heart to say this and to share my story with others, but I do it knowing that a story shared is something that others can then relate to, and hopefully by sharing my story I can help others seek help sooner. That deep dark cloud over our first year still haunts me today and I wish I had the courage to find my demons inside my mind sooner. That first year still impacts our relationship today. I have to work hard to not let my mind's thoughts conquer my heart's feelings.
I have grown since then and talking with others helps our relationship to heal, but I think a scar will always remain as a reminder of the pain. We have since had another baby and her story was completely different, despite things again not going the way they were meant to. I was able to seek support, stand strong and have hope for a better relationship with our second daughter, and we did!
Kia Kaha, Kia Māia, Kia Manawanui. Be Strong, Be Brave, Be Steadfast.
Ruth
“Find someone you trust to talk through what is making you feel anxious and allow yourself to feel your feelings. Always seek support from your GP, so that you can receive the support that is available.” - Alexandra
In hindsight, there were many warning signs. Leading up to their birth I knew I had a high chance of developing postpartum depression. I’d had a complicated twin pregnancy that saw my boys arrive 10 weeks early via emergency c-section. I researched signs and symptoms and talked with those close to me to keep a lookout, but I knew nothing about postpartum anxiety (PPA).
For much of the first two years of my parenting journey, I had this tension in my chest like someone was tying a knot tighter and tighter. My boys brought me so much joy, but when they would go to sleep, the tension would begin. I wasn't able to sleep much, as I would worry about so much. Were they breathing? Was the house spotless? Did I look presentable? Was I making the best choices so that they would thrive? Was I doing this motherhood job right? I was in a constant state of worry that somehow, after everything that my boys had gone through to survive their pregnancy, I would somehow do something wrong that would take it all away. I avoided going out with the boys as much as possible as I was worried about germs and their premature immune systems. I often invited people to our house as I preferred staying in my environment where I knew how to manage life’s variables and my feelings of anxiety were lessened. As the months went on, feeling anxious about all things relating to my children was my new normal. I didn’t really question my feelings, as I thought that this was just how mothers felt. I didn’t hear other parents talking about their challenges and I was not going to be the person that started the conversation. I was ‘fine’. I felt that if I expressed my feelings of discontent, I would appear ungrateful for my children. I lived in these feelings for over two years, unable to voice my feelings as I didn’t understand why I had all these anxious feelings. I noticed that as my boys grew more independent, my feelings of anxiety about their safety faded and I became more relaxed. I also made a friendship with another mum whom I felt comfortable talking to about the day to day challenges of motherhood. Over time, I found the constant tension that I felt dissipated and eventually I found a sense of calm. I wish I knew about postpartum anxiety prior to becoming a parent so that I could access support and lessen the feelings of isolation that I lived in. I experienced so much joy, love and happiness while at the same time experiencing PPA.
Alexandra
“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” - Derrin
In 2018 at the age of 23, I found out in the hospital that I was pregnant an hour before giving birth to my daughter. I arrived at the hospital around 3:30am and gave birth to my daughter at 4:36am and just like that I was a solo parent to a very tiny, very beautiful baby girl. That was the moment I got out of my antenatal depression. My parents, sibling and extended family arrived in the hospital around 6:30 that morning to meet our little surprise baby and at around 8:30 she was helicoptered to Dunedin NICU. I think I was extremely lucky after the unexpected birth of my daughter to have experienced not only the love, support and understanding I received from my family, friends and community, but also to have experienced the deep love and emotional bond with my daughter from the moment I saw her alive and well. I know not every mother instantly feels that love and connection or is able to get out of perinatal depression the same way I did, so I feel very fortunate in my own story.
But to touch on my own antenatal depression, it wasn't until I fell pregnant a couple of years later, after which I had an abortion, that I could see and understand that I was experiencing antenatal depression. Being aware of the pregnancy the second time around, allowed me to reflect on the experience I had during my first. It also helped me to see that what I was feeling was not a part of me but symptoms of pregnancy. Although knowing that the second time around didn't subdue my feelings of hopelessness and depression, it did help me to see that antenatal depression was something that eventually would pass. It didn't make the extreme lows any easier, but it did give me something to hold on to throughout.
Having this newfound awareness shone a light on how severe my antenatal depression was during my first pregnancy and how it presented. If I had of had this understanding of antenatal depression I think my first pregnancy would have gone differently and I would have been aware of the fact that I was actually pregnant. During my first pregnancy, I became withdrawn, detached and at times very suicidal. I struggled to understand, or cope with, how I was feeling. I lacked any desire to do anything and could not see a future for myself, let alone a future with a child. I thought I was crazy, depressed and that my life was worthless. When I fell pregnant the second time, those feelings came flooding back. But because I had knowledge and a greater understanding, and was able to compare it to my first pregnancy, I knew that those feelings weren't me but they were happening to me which is why I wish to share my story in the hopes that I may shed some light on someone going through a similar experience.
Derrin
“Choosing wisely and trusting your antenatal providers should assist in recognising, relieving and treating your anxieties. Having your feeling acknowledged is what good maternity care should look like. This may prevent, and provide early intervention for, any ongoing postnatal issues.” - Lisa
The Precious Daughter That Didn't Come Easy. I was very excited to learn I was pregnant with number two, two years after the birth of our son. I knew from six weeks I was pregnant, but at seven and a half weeks gestation I began spotting and cramping and was told to rest and see what happens. This was a big shock to me after having experienced a very 'normal' pregnancy the first time. After being scanned twice, I was told the baby was healthy, growing and moving. The pregnancy progressed but I continued to bleed on and off and have a very uncomfortable burning sensation in my abdomen. The days were long as I constantly worried that all was not well. I continued to work as a nurse on night shift until I had a large fresh bleed at 26 weeks gestation. I ended up in hospital for three days, having regular scans, blood tests and a course of steroid injections to mature the baby’s lungs in case I had to have an emergency C-section in Dunedin. This was extremely frightening and disruptive to our family life. It also meant leaving my job and going down to one income. The bleeding stopped and I was sent home to 'rest' for the next three months with a two year old toddler. I had great support from family and friends, my husband was outstanding, but it did little to relieve my anxiety. My midwife was very matter-of-fact and did little to acknowledge my feelings or give me some strategies to manage my emotions. I had initially wanted a lovely home birth but ended up with a very clinical birth with induction that included an incredibly fast labour that led to a third degree tear. This was followed by going into shock, retained products, bleeding and a postpartum infection. We did, however, give birth to a beautiful little girl. The day we came home from the hospital, while my husband was out running errands, our baby choked on her own mucus and I was forced to resuscitate her by myself and ring 111 for an ambulance.
I felt like I should have been finally happy and relieved it was all over, and I had an amazing wee family to be grateful for, but I just felt numb and exhausted. I battled on, thinking it would get better, for six months, but the lack of sleep, constant breastfeeding and running after a two year old eventually took hold of me. I became tearful and experienced very physical symptoms of depression such as headaches, low appetite, low mood, fatigue, insomnia and body aches. I did not recognize these symptoms as PND and convinced myself I had a terrible illness. I finally reached out for help when a friend from my baby group mentioned it and I knew I could no longer cope. My husband rang the Emergency Mental Health Team and our GP and I was visited by a maternal mental health nurse. My GP started me on antidepressants and referred me to see a psychiatrist and a counsellor. We managed to access a cleaner for a short time, I attended regular yoga sessions and our friends and family rallied round and helped with childcare and company to help ease the loneliness. A while later, when I started to feel like my head had been removed from a dull black cloud, I attended a PTSD postnatal seminar which encouraged us to write down our stories, similar to this one. I found it extremely therapeutic.
It's been 21 years now, I can still remember it vividly! I am now working in Perinatal Mental Health and am studying this subject towards a Masters of Health Science and my daughter is studying Psychology and knows of her beginnings!
Lisa
“You are not alone, and you don't need to deal with this on your own.” - Luana
“Você não está sozinha, e você não precisa lidar com isso sozinha.” - Luana
My first pregnancy was very much wanted and planned, but I had some challenges from the beginning because of the cultural difference (I'm originally from Brazil), and the language barrier. My midwife was excellent in this regard, very patiently trying to guide me through the language and culture.
At 27 weeks pregnant I started to have protein in my urine and high blood pressure. At 38 weeks the midwife sent me from Queenstown to Invercargill for blood tests and possible delivery. From these tests I was diagnosed with HELLP syndrome, which is a rare but life-threatening condition that affects the liver, blood clotting/pressure, and can result in death of mum and baby. The doctors and nurses started to act quickly, and every time they tried to explain something about what was happening to me (HELLP syndrome), because of the language barrier I thought they were offering me HELP.
My blood pressure rose even higher and my baby's heart rate was dropping, so they took me for an emergency C-section. The doctors did not let my husband into the delivery room because there was a risk that one, or both of us, could die. They took the baby out and I was still sick, so they took our baby to my husband and told him to take off his shirt and put the baby to his chest because I couldn't do that.
I was mostly deep sleeping for the first two days because of the strong medication, so I didn't put on the first nappy, the first outfit, and it was my husband and the hospital midwife who held the baby to my breast so he could feed. I started having postnatal depression, which worsened when I got the medical reports from my maternity book to read. I found out I had HELLP syndrome, began reading reports and doing research. Finding out about what was happening, but not being aware that it was something so serious and that my son or I could have died, left me feeling helpless. I thank God, first of all, and those doctors who, regardless of language communication, did everything to save us that day.
A few years later I decided that I couldn't let what happened to me happen to other Brazilian mothers. I decided to somehow empower them to overcome the language and culture barrier for their well-being. It was then that I started doing antenatal groups with Brazilian pregnant women so that I could somehow help them with the language barrier, the English terms about perinatal, and so on. And this helped me to overcome my own story of postnatal depression. A few years ago I met Lívia Johnston, a Brazilian midwife from Balclutha, and she started to participate in these meetings to further our goal, where pregnant women can clarify their doubts with a midwife in their own language. After these meetings I kept in touch with them, even after the babies were born, for postnatal support.
Currently these groups happen through the agency I work with, Central Lakes Family Services, where Lisa Gear and I do these groups for Brazilians, and Lisa does them for all nationalities.
Luana
Minha primeira gravidez foi muito desejada e planejada, porém eu tive alguns desafios desde o início por conta da diferença cultural (eu sou originalmente do Brasil), e a barreira da língua. Minha midwife foi excelente nesse aspecto, com muita paciência tentando me guiar na língua e na cultura. Com 27 semanas de gravidez eu comecei a apresentar proteína na urina e pressão alta. Com 38 semanas a midwife me mandou de Queenstown para Invercargill, e após os resultados dos exames de sangue, eu fui diagnosticada com HELLP síndrome, que é uma condição rara, mas com risco de vida, que afeta o fígado, a coagulação do sangue e a pressão arterial; e a mamãe e o bebê podem morrer.
Os médicos e enfermeiras começaram a agir rapidamente e cada vez que eles tentavam me explicar algo sobre o que estava acontecendo comigo (HELLP síndrome), por causa da barreira da língua eu achava que eles estavam me oferecendo ajuda (help).
Minha pressão subiu ainda mais e os batimentos do meu bebê estavam caindo, então me levaram para uma cesárea de emergência. Os médicos não deixaram o meu marido entrar na sala de parto, porque tinha o risco que um de nós dois, ou os dois, eu e o bebê morressemos. Eles tiraram o bebê e eu continuei passando mal, então levaram nosso bebê pro meu marido e mandaram ele tirar a camisa e colocar o bebê no peito, porque eu não podia fazer isso. Eu estava a maior parte do tempo desacordada nos dois primeiros dias, então eu não coloquei a primeira fralda, a primeira roupinha, e meu marido e a midwife do hospital que seguravam o bebê no meu peito para que ele pudesse mamar. Eu comecei então a ter depressão pós-parto, e ela se agravou quando eu peguei os relatórios médicos do livro de gestante para ler, e eu descobri que eu tive HELLP síndrome, e comecei a ler todos os relatórios e fiz mais pesquisas sobre essa condição. Um sentimento inexplicável de desamparo tomou conta de mim, descobrindo que eu tive algo tão sério, e que eu e meu filho poderíamos ter morrido, sem eu nem estar ciente do que realmente estava acontecendo. Eu agradeço a Deus, primeiramente, e aqueles médicos, que independente da comunicação da língua, fizeram de tudo para nos salvar naquele dia.
Alguns anos depois, eu decidi que eu não poderia deixar acontecer com outras mães brasileiras o que aconteceu comigo, eu decidi de alguma forma empoderar elas a vencer a barreira da língua e da cultura visando o bem-estar. Foi então que eu comecei a fazer grupos de pré-natal com grávidas brasileiras para que eu pudesse de alguma forma ajudar elas com a barreira da língua, os termos em inglês sobre perinatal, e etc. E isso me ajudou a superar a minha própria história de depressão pós-natal.
Há alguns anos atrás eu conheci a Lívia Johnston, uma midwife Brasileira de Balclutha, e ela começou a participar desses encontros também, engrandecendo ainda mais o nosso objetivo, onde as grávidas podem esclarecer suas dúvidas com uma midwife, em sua própria língua. Após esses encontros, eu mantinha contato com elas, até depois que os bebês nascessem, para suporte de pós-natal.
Atualmente, esses grupos acontecem através da agência que eu trabalho, Central Lakes Family Services, onde eu e a Lisa Gear fazemos esses grupos para brasileiras, e a Lisa faz para todas as nacionalidades.
Luana
“I feel joy in my heart; I speak my truth with love.” - Mary
I’m sitting in the doctor's office with my little boy, Arthur. I can feel the weight of his 10 month old body pressing onto my lap, moving and wriggling around, as he optimistically reaches for the stethoscope that is placed on the desk. “I just can’t make a decision about it, I have been to every nursery I can and have spent months trying to decide. I keep saying to myself, just pick one, it doesn’t have to be perfect, I can always change it if it doesn’t work, it’s not forever. And then 10 minutes or a day later I’m back thinking about which one I should choose again”. Dr Rigg looks at me and says six words that I have never considered before: “It sounds like postnatal anxiety”. Leaving the doctor’s office I’m perplexed. I know about postnatal depression, but how have I never heard of postnatal anxiety before?!
Some weeks later I have five minutes to spare so I walk into Queenstown Library. The low mumbles of conversation, the slow, calm feel in there is a noticeable contrast to the noisy, frazzled, racing feel of home with a baby. I search through the mixture of old and new books and pick up a thinnish book, blue-grey in colour, with the words in bold print across the cover ‘The Anxiety Toolkit’. This one looks just right. As I read along I realise that this book is describing me, like it knows who I am and how I do things. I start to recall past experiences that I now have new language to describe, words like avoidance, perfectionism, repetitive thoughts and independence become scattered through my memories, and I recognise that I was anxious even before having Arthur, I just didn’t know it then.
I learn that these are all coping mechanisms trying to protect me from what my mind deems a threat. And so, with this little bundle of chaos in my arms, not responding to my ideas, resisting my efforts, causing me to doubt myself and not trust my thoughts, I can’t put together a picture of perfection anymore. And without this shield of perfection my world is falling down around me. But strangely enough, as I learn more and piece more together, I now have a sense of relief inside me, a little glimmer of hope. It’s small, gold, sparkly and bright, and even when I can’t see it, I can feel it, I know it’s there. For the first time I get why having a baby has felt so difficult for me, and it’s not just because ‘I have a baby, of course it’s hard’.
With this new understanding, I also have the possibility of figuring out new and better ways of dealing with what I am feeling anxious about. I start catching myself when I’m avoiding something and talk to a friend about what I’m afraid of. I notice when my thoughts are racing round and round, and I journal to slow them down, getting them out of my head and onto paper. I now ask myself if I am striving for perfection, and what would good enough look like? As I sit here in my living room 4 years on, I know that Arthur and I are in this together. He was exactly the baby he was meant to be. He sees the light in me, and I trust him to take me on this journey. Because it’s all still me, anxious or not, exactly the way I am meant to be, just like this and without any changes. I am perfectly good enough, just being me.
Mary
“Share the joy so then you can also share your grief.” - Anna
Once you experience frequent loss, there is no joy in pregnancy. Everything is a worry; what if I eat the wrong thing, enjoy sex too much, what if I go swimming and a bug makes it past the mucus plug, what if I actually hope that I might finally have a baby to hold… and then I don’t.
You aren’t interested in setting up the nursery in case things don’t turn out, and I certainly didn’t want any type of fuss like a baby shower, because I couldn’t let myself believe that after all of this I might have a baby to hold – hope was too much of a risk. James and I never had a problem getting pregnant – which was a blessing because we knew we could. The problem was solely with me being able to hold a baby past the first trimester. You know, the time when they tell you to keep it a secret. The time when they tell you it isn’t a ‘baby’, just a bunch of cells that may turn out to be ‘not viable’. It is these common, clinical phrases which exacerbate the loneliness of early pregnancy loss, and I would know; we have had eight pregnancies and we have been blessed with two beautiful children. But experiencing all of our losses, knowing it is a problem with my body was difficult. What was wrong with me as a woman?
The best advice I ever received was after loss number three, from my midwife: she suggested we start sharing the joy of our pregnancy as soon as we knew, so then we would be able to share the grief of our losses too. This was a simple suggestion which provided a solution to how we were offered support.
Because when you experience early loss, loneliness is a constant companion: Being alone at the hospital waiting for your early pregnancy care appointment because you are a ‘geriatric mother with complications’ while watching happy families with new-borns come out of the maternity ward; Being alone in a sterile room, sitting in a pool of blood while the A & E doctor goes on a ‘mining’ expedition for leftover ‘matter’ from a miscarriage (complete with head torch); Being left alone by your midwife once the loss is confirmed because I won’t be providing any income to her now; Being alone at home suffering through a miscarriage and wondering if it is ‘bad enough’ to warrant a trip to the hospital, or if I should just wait it out, as this isn’t the first time; Being alone at the scan to confirm there is no heartbeat; Being alone at home in pain as you lose your baby again; Being alone with your loss and grief because you’re not supposed to talk about these things before 12 weeks; and being alone in a hospital ward after a D & C, or after a severe ectopic and losing a fallopian tube.
The thing is – we all think having a baby is going to be easy. I want miscarriage and loss to be openly discussed and normalised so when people share the joy of pregnancy at whatever stage, they can also be supported when required during their loss.
Anna
“After the storm it is always calm.” - Anonymous
We had decided before Covid 19 struck that we desperately needed a sea change, quite literally. Our time in Auckland was done.
Our son had already been diagnosed with PK, a metabolic condition affecting his liver. Within 2 months of making the move we got the phone call that would completely upend our world. On the phone was one of our boy’s teachers from kindy; she told us he was having a seizure. We dropped everything and raced to kindy.
A medevac flight to Dunedin hospital for my wife and our sweet boy and a couple of days later, we got a random call from his dietician team at Starship saying they had run tests and found that our boy was suffering from an extremely rare genetic disease called Tatton Brown Rahman syndrome. What the actual heck was going on??
We were in unfamiliar territory already, having moved to one of the most isolated and landlocked towns in NZ, and now this. With no family, no friends, no support network whatsoever, and the nearest hospital three hours away. We as husband and wife had drifted apart, with no time for ourselves or as a couple. The perfect nuclear family I had always dreamt of and pined for was slipping away.
Reality never really had time to settle in because I found myself in one of two worlds - quite literally, fight or flight mode. There was no in-between, everything was happening at light speed, and the only way I responded to almost anything was reactive, tunnel-vision grasping onto bare survival mode. I had no time to step away from anything that was happening and digest my thoughts, feelings and actions without something getting thrown my way again and again. What, or who, was going to get me out of this chasm of endless struggle? I needed to find something or someone to help, but I had no one; well, at least that's what I was telling myself. I also needed to have something positive to focus on and help change the way I was seeing my world.
Enter the good wolf and the bad wolf, and a guy named Joe. Joe told me I was on a clear and present path to redeeming myself, but first I had to understand the origin and cause of my reactive way of living. There was work to do. I was feeding the bad wolf compounded versions of everything that was happening inside and outside of me; I was unleashing the negative, giving it a voice and letting it all manifest. Continuing in this way meant certain unhappiness for myself and all those I cared for and loved. The bad wolf needed to be starved and the good wolf needed my attention, as my life depended on it. This way of looking at what was happening to me through this simple analogy has saved my life.
I now feed only the good wolf. I allow myself to step away for a moment when I need to - to breathe, to feel, to always be present, and to write things down. I am in control of my life through a positive mental attitude. Through commitment and consistency every day I do the work, and I am rewarded for this by inner peace and a happiness in and outside of myself.
I owe this to myself to be present, always. I owe Joe for showing me. I owe my wife and our beautiful children for this life for which I am eternally grateful.
Anonymous