All authors dream to see their name in print. So when I received my copy of It’s Not So Black and Whitein the mail last month I was excited to peel open the pages to the chapter simply named “Shane”. This wonderful book by Cynthia Nicolella Olkie is a compilation of honest stories from women who suffered from postpartum depression. Here’s my story as seen in this book.
When people look at me they often think I’ve got it all together. I have 2 beautiful daughters, sing in the choir and have a thriving women’s ministry. My home looks pretty good on the outside and fairly clean on the inside. I’m a stay at home mom and work in the fitness industry part-time. I wonder though, if it’s mainly my husband that draws attention to my life. I’m married to the pastor.
A pastor’s wife has her spiritual life all wrapped up in a neat package. She has her own Christian upbringing that trained her for this heavenly assignment. The wife gleans from her husband’s education to answer any biblical questions that may arise. People flock to her classes just to see what the Holy Spirit has laid on her heart to teach. The preacher’s wife has a direct line to heaven. A well marked path is laid out for her daily steps.
Oh, I wish that were true. But, unfortunately, it’s not the case.
My spiritual training came in the form of postpartum depression.
I sought the Lord for His deliverance of a baby. For 3 long years He told me “not now.” I didn’t understand why. In my asking for new life, I didn’t realize He had more in store for me. The baby was part of a spiritual journey I was not ready to walk. The road would be dark, unmarked and painful. I would feel scared, angry and sad. I would feel as if God had abandoned me, yet He would be leading me into a new life in total dependence on Him. This training would prove to be the best education any pastor’s wife would crave but the expense far too great for any one person to pay for themselves.
In May 2001 our daughter was born. My family, 300 miles away came to care for both me and the baby.
Right away I knew something was wrong. I wasn’t happy like all the other moms were. I didn’t feel the overwhelming rush of love as many parents experienced. Instead, I felt lost, lonely, deserted by God. Why would He answer my prayer for a child but bring me such grief in the gift?
Three months after my baby’s birth I was in therapy, on drugs and calling my parents daily for support. Most days I sat on the couch holding the baby rocking her to sleep. Once asleep I’d place her in the corner of the couch wishing she’d begin to interact with me.
Postpartum depression held me hostage. I lived a hermit lifestyle, irritated at the world, wishing I could escape.
I remember the first confession I made to a caring friend. I didn’t have many established friends at church since my husband had been recently relocated. But my friend Christy (name changed) knew me from college. She knew my carefree, spunky personality and could see something was wrong. I sat on the floor in her home crying uncontrollably and revealed the truth.
Sharing the pain with a trusted friend was such a release. Talking with my parents, my husband or my counselor didn’t offer this freedom. Speaking with a sister in faith began a healing process I didn’t see coming.
With a little more therapy and some elapsed time I began sharing my feelings to more people. I noticed as I shared my story more people were willing to talk about the pain in their own life.
God demonstrated that His strength can be made evident when people who literally have nothing to offer can find comfort. 2 Corinthians 12:10b “when I am weak, then I am strong.”
I am the first one to admit I don’t have it all together. But what I do have is the strength of a God who offers a peace that I could not find on my own accord.
