NS December 12th, 2007
I watched a documentary on Channel 4 last night about a young mother struggling to cope with her severe post-natal depression and lack of bonding with one of her twin girls (see clip here). I found myself fighting back tears for the duration, finally allowing them to spill over towards the end.
This incredibly brave young woman, Sophie, had come forward and asked for help in dealing with her feelings of indifference and even fear towards Grace, one of her twin daughters. As the therapist gets to the root of her fears, we discover that Sophie’s own mother beat her on a weekly basis and she was often kept locked up in her room. The last time Sophie, now 21, saw her mum was when her fist flew into Sophie’s face repeatedly and she became unconscious. When she woke up in hospital, her mother had fled the country, never to be seen again. Sophie was only 15.
Her father refused to take her in and she ended up in a mental health facility with a severe emotional breakdown. Shortly after her stay there, she got a job at a bank and began getting her life back together. There she met her partner, Ian, and through a contraceptive failure (she had an implanted IUD) became pregnant with twins. By the time she was five months pregnant, she had developed antenatal depression and already began feeling like a failure as a mother. She feared nothing more than becoming like her own mother. The babies were born eight weeks prematurely and had to be monitored in the NICU for weeks. Sophie was not given the support she needed to breastfeed or bond with her babies and the stress, worry and feelings of failure caused her to take an overdose while the babies were still in incubators. Luckily her attempt to “sleep; just go to sleep for a long time” was not successful.
On her own with two babies all day, Sophie began to notice how much Gracie seemed to resist being held. Her back would arch, arms flailing, and she cried incessantly. Nothing Sophie did appeared to calm her. Sophie began to genuinely believe that Gracie hated her and wanted nothing to do with her. Without any emotional attachment to her, Sophie’s frustration turned into anger sometimes. She said there were times she wanted to throttle Gracie to get her to just stop crying for a minute, though she never did. Her determination not to be like her mother prevented her from ever doing anything of the sort, though the fear that she would snap one day haunted her every waking moment.
She talked about walking out on the balcony to get some fresh air while the babies screamed inside and wanting to just jump off or climb down and walk away forever. The way she said it so calmly yet so sadly, with eyes cast down in shame, made my heart wrench in my chest and ache for her. I knew and sometimes still know that feeling and it is absolutely terrifying to feel so lost, so alone and so angry that you’d consider offing yourself just to get some peace and quiet and curl up in a ball.
I know now that I probably suffered from post-natal depression in those first few months as well, though not nearly as severely as some women. I don’t think I talked about it much or even admitted it, but it ate away at me when I was alone with The Noble Child. Some days I would just cry and cry and cry, the kind of body-rocking sobs usually reserved for grief over a death, and not be able to see how it would ever get better. The sad part is, so many women go through this and they go through it alone. Because even though we’re becoming more socially aware of this problem and the support is slowly starting to come through, it’s still stigmatized to talk about hating your baby, or wanting to leave, or not feeling ‘in love’ with your child. Forced smiles and nods when old ladies coo about how lucky you are or how wonderful it is become second nature when you’re having a bad day. On good days, you feel shame for ever having those feelings and end up beating yourself up even more the next time it happens. It can become a very vicious cycle. Most are lucky enough to be able to slow it down and jump off before it gathers too much speed but others, like Sophie, need a lot of help to see them through.
When it shows Sophie struggling to get two babies, a bag and the double pushchair up a flight of stairs every day to her flat, taking one baby up, then another, then bumping the chair up while the babies cry, it’s just heartbreaking. Her face is a completely blank canvas and it’s plain to see that she is working hard to not register emotion on her face. She tries so hard to be a good mother and hide her anger, fear and sadness but the result is a woman devoid of feeling, or soul, or attachment. She looks like a robot going through the motions, caring for her children as if it were her job, not a joy. At one point, she applies for a council house so they won’t have stairs to deal with, and more room for the babies and all of the stuff they need. They are rejected because her partner earns too much money to be considered. Sophie breaks down in tears and leaves the room.
They finally find a house they can afford but it is near her childhood home, the one where she was beaten and abused continuously for 15 years. The cameras follow her as she takes a walk into town and stops outside of it, a rundown ramshackle brick house on a housing estate. She points to the window of the bedroom where she spent the unhappiest and most frightened years of her life and you can see the wounded animal in her, licking its wounds. It makes her plea for help with her own children all the more poignant. This is the epitome of a courageous mother — trying her best, even through her failings and fears, to love and do right by her children. It comes at a cost though. Not everyone succeeds. Many stumble and never regain their footing.
When I am out and about in public now, I notice more and more the women with small babies and the lonely, tired, desperate eyes and can hazard a good guess at how many of them have come to the shops or out for a coffee simply because they could not stand one more minute of being alone with their son or daughter, afraid to even. For every dozen bouncy, trendy or earthy mums, there’s one screaming inside, hoping someone hears her.
If you have recently given birth, will do soon or know someone close to you with a baby under one year old, please give them (or yourself) a shoulder to lean on. Look for signs of depression and ask them how they’re feeling. Not just about the baby, but about themselves. Encourage them to talk about their emotions, even the less pleasant ones. Never say “But the baby’s healthy, that’s all that matters” or “Don’t stress so much, this will pass.” Just be there. Because that first year is hell for some people and often it’s the little things the people in their support systems say or do that have the most postive effect.
Toward the beginning of the show, the therapist helping Sophie said that military personnel at Guntanomo Bay and other government-run detainment centres have actually used recordings of a crying baby as means of torture. Imagine if the crying baby was your own and in your face and you’re supposed to unconditionally love it. It soon becomes clear why some women come out the other side of babyhood with battle scars.
When you see dishevelled-looking new mums in Starbucks across the land, sipping lattes and staring into space while bouncing babies on their knees, give her a warm smile or a sympathetic nod if you’re able. It might just make her day, and feel a little bit less alone.
