Fuzzy Images

As I mentioned in my previous blog, we've had some pretty crazy weather in Colorado over the past few days. This is a picture out of our front window on Thursday morning--blizzard conditions. We could hardly see our mailbox, let alone our neighbors' house across the street.

That night as I laid in bed, this image from our front window stuck with me.

Blinding conditions

Limited vision

Cold

Seemingly endless

Over the past seven months I have struggled with a sickness no one seems to want to talk about. Everyone knows it exists and that 10 to 20 percent of new mothers experience it. (80-90% of new mothers experience some amount of it for shorter periods of time).

Everyone knows about it, but they don't seem to know how to talk about it. I still don't.

The thing about Post Pardum Depression is that no one would have to know that someone is suffering from it. There aren't necessarily any outward symptoms or signs. For me, at least, I haven't suffered from sudden outbursts of crying or extreme mood swings. I have no trouble taking care of Anders--especially because God gave me a baby with such a great personality. I don't think that I've isolated myself from families or friends. And I haven't quit doing the things I enjoy.

My problems occur inside my brain. And it's so frustrating.

Picking out a card for a friend. Choosing a movie at the rental store. Which box of crackers to purchase. How to begin working on a complicated project. Knowing what paper to choose for my scrapbook page.

All of these routine activities can be absolutely paralyzing for me. Debilitating. The situations seem to create "blinding conditions" for me, with "limited vision", much like the blizzard we experienced last week. Joel describes it as my "glazed over" look because my eyes literally glaze over and I am unable to make a decision. It's a strange feeling for me--one that is difficult to describe. I know when I'm in the moment--because I'm usually so decisive--but it's like the U2 song--I'm stuck in a moment that I can't get out of.

Making lots of decisions right in a row can be even more complicated for me. And exhausting. Complete "white-out conditions". Enough to close down the roads. Or in my case, my brain.

The other situation that causes anxiety for me includes large groups of people--people I may or may not know--small talk, periods of time longer than about an hour, almost any hour of the day--but even worse after about 6pm. I think sometimes it makes me come across as disinterested or rude. Or cold. Like the bitter temperatures that accompanied the snowstorm. I'm not disinterested in people. And I really hope I'm not rude. I literally just can't spit the words out to start up, let alone maintain, a conversation.

The worst part of PPD is that it is seemingly endless. It has been 7 months since Anders was born. I would think that life would have moved forward for me by now. And it has, in many, many ways. I love Anders. He is such a great kid. I love my job. I have great friends. Joel takes great care of me. And we have so many other blessings in our lives.

But parts of my life are just like the picture. Blurry. Fuzzy. Seemingly endless.

As I laid in bed last week, I believe God gave me this image to hold on to as a promise. Even though parts of my life appear to be stormy, He's still in control. Even though the storm seems to go on and on, it will end. Storms always do. Even if the roads are closed now, they will re-open.

And my blurry picture will one day end up clear. It is Springtime, after all.