St. Catherine of Siena Parish 

My name is Emily and I am an SCS mom, a military spouse and a pelvic floor physical therapist. I used to be in outpatient orthopedics until my own birth trauma and subsequent anxiety led me to a career change into pelvic health. It’s been a long road, but God has helped me find purpose in my suffering and that is a large part of what has helped me heal.
I have always been “type A,” but after my second was born I became paralyzed by anxiety. The anxiety got so bad that when I look back on that time, I hardly remember it. It was like I was living my life, but I wasn’t really present. Immediately after my second was born, I felt great!....or so I told myself. His labor was quick (2.5 hours from start to finish), he was born on his due date, and we were only in the hospital for 2 days. As we settled into our new life as a family of 4, I was very mindful and proactive about addressing any postpartum depression (because I had heard a lot about that, but not postpartum anxiety). I prioritized things that helped me decompress, asked for help when needed, and started exercising again (WAY too early). I thought I was doing well. Then a week later, I got mastitis.

No big deal. Lots of people get mastitis. I called my OB and started antibiotics, but then my milk supply basically dried up overnight.  After that I was constantly agonizing over producing enough breastmilk to ensure he was gaining weight, trying desperately to regain my supply, and spending far too much time on FB groups geared toward breastfeeding, child rearing, and natural remedies for increased milk production. Somewhere along the line, this snowballed into me diving down a rabbit hole of information about all the substances in our environment that are potentially harmful to our children. And then it happened. I went nuts ... legit nuts.

My anxiety got so bad that one day my husband came home to find me throwing away every cosmetic and cleaning supply we owned because “it was poisoning our children”. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I knew this was irrational but in that hormonally charged and sleep deprived state, no one could convince me that I was wrong. I started making my own cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, and deodorant. I refused to use candles, would only use homemade soap from my grandmother to bathe my kids, and spent far too much time scrutinizing food labels. I even spent a ridiculous amount of money on a Berkey water filtration system for drinking and cooking water because “our tap water is toxic”. My anxiety spiraled so out of control that I second guessed every single decision I made as a parent. I would lie awake for hours wondering if I should have let my 2 year old have that one M&M … because you know … dye.

When my husband found me one evening, credit card in hand, ready to purchase a $12,000 mattress from Australia because it was flame retardant free and “organic”, he lovingly encouraged me to get some help. So, slowly I began talking openly about my anxiety. I asked my OB for a referral to therapy and started the discussion about the possibility of taking anti-anxiety medication. I also began seeing Sara Reardon (who is now my colleague) for pelvic floor PT. You see, my son’s delivery was physically traumatic for me, but I had blocked that out. I told myself “This is fine. Constant pelvic pain is fine. Peeing on myself when I sneeze is normal. Feeling like my insides are going to fall out is common after 2 vaginal deliveries”. Sort of like that meme of the dog in the burning room, saying “this is fine.”  It wasn’t until I saw Sara (almost 2 years after my son’s birth) that I realized how much this physical trauma had affected me on a mental and emotional level. And as scary as it was to admit that I was debilitated by my anxiety, it was also freeing.

It’s been a long road and I’m not out of the woods yet. I am now 5 years postpartum from my second and I still have to manage my anxiety daily, but it no longer controls me. I consistently go to therapy, still see Sara for a tune up here and there, have added some relaxation and healing practices (lots of journaling and quiet time with God) to my daily routine, I exercise daily, and I share my story. That’s truly been the best part. Sharing my story has allowed me to meet other women who have had similar experiences, has allowed me to be a more compassionate therapist, and it has taken the isolation out of the anxiety. Ultimately, that also helps with the shame. I have learned to avoid triggers .... you know … all those FB groups I was in. I’ve realized that (while they no doubt help many other people) they were not helping me.

I know I will always struggle with anxiety.  I know that I will need to consistently “treat” it and that’s ok. Thankfully, I have a wonderfully supportive husband, a fabulous therapist, a great pelvic PT, and a wonderful community of support.

So if you are experiencing postpartum anxiety, know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE! There is help. I encourage you to speak to your healthcare provider to find a plan that works for you. That might include therapy, meds, treatment for physical ailments, support groups, or a combination of these things. That’s OK! At the end of the day, remember that loving your children is the most important thing. Not the dye free food, washable diapers, homemade soap, etc. It’s the love! So I hope that today you can just allow yourself to love on your kiddos, and love yourself. You’re doing GREAT momma … keep it up!

Below I have listed some links for information of postpartum anxiety, and resources to find help managing it.

1. Postpartum Support International www.postpartum.net
2. Anxiety and Depression Association of America. https://adaa.org/living-with-anxiety/women/postpartum-depression
3. MGH Center for Women’s Mental Health www.womensmentalhealth.org
4. Bryce Reddy LMHC I Mom Support on Instagram @mombrain.therapist

If you or someone you know is experiencing a crisis, please seek professional resources. To speak with someone immediately, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, 1-800-273-8255 (1-800-273-TALK). If you’re ever worried that someone’s life is in immediate danger, call 911.

36 years old
Husband, Dad, Attorney

I am never out of the fight. - Excerpt of the Navy Seal Ethos

Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. - Romans, 5:3-5.

I’m generally a happy guy. If you’ve met me, you’ve seen a smile on my face. But I also struggle. Sometimes a lot, but always hidden with a smile. I have to. Too many people depend on me to let the hurt take over. Therein lies the problem.

I’m what some describe as an “unhappy achiever.” On paper, my life is wonderful. I have beautiful wife who loves me more than I can fathom, a son who’s my best buddy in the world, a great job, a good home, and a fat puppy that acts like my coming home is the biggest event of his day. In my mind, I have an unending obligation to all of them to make life, or my work, perfect. I’m a perfectionist by no means, but someone who sets the bar higher for me than anyone else will. It’s the idea that others – family, work, the community, and even my SCS family – need something of me, the best of me, and I have to make sure that I come through for them. Letting them down is out of the question.

That no accomplishment is ever enough (in my eyes) and I can’t fix everything that affects those around me are tremendous sources of anxiety. I have had attacks in my house, in my office, in my car, at restaurants. The more noise, or the more pull in different directions, the worse it became. I felt my heart start to race, my focus fade, and an ultimate loss of control. The loss of control builds until it is replaced by an overwhelming sense of defeat. If I’ve lost control, I can’t fix the issue, and I can no longer achieve a given goal.
           
If the goal is turning off the engine for a little while, but I’m surrounded by noise and distraction, I’ve lost. I can’t fix the problem. If the goal is cutting down the mountain of paper on my desk, but clients keep calling with question after question, I’ve lost and I can’t fix the problem. If it means giving my wife another baby and my son the sibling he prays so hard for every day, I’ve lost. That’s the big one. That’s the one that knocks me down on almost a weekly basis. And I can’t control that. I may not be able to fix that.
           
We struggle with fertility, but in my eyes, as an “unhappy achiever,” I struggle with fertility. Before we conceived my son, the years of “trying” were soul crushing. There was no joy. We alienated ourselves from friends, especially those who conceived so easily. We were very lonely even though we were fighting the same battle together. Many nights, I considered walking away from marriage, not sure if we could ever be happy without a child. But for some unknown reason, I came across Romans 5:3-5. It was as if St. Paul was speaking directly to me, saying that God will allow me to struggle. He will allow me to face struggles because it is through the struggles that I will become stronger. I will endure because I have hope. In other words, never lose hope and you are never out of the fight. Keep going!
             
We tried a few things, and by the grace of God, we had my son. It was the most amazing experience of my life. Goal attained, and hope renewed for the future. St. Paul was right.
           
After Jackson, we hoped things would continue to get better. Two years passed with no success. We returned to our doctor to try again. Several attempts later, we continued without luck. I underwent test, after test, after very invasive test, finally learning that I developed a stone in the prostate gland that catches and holds bacteria, leading to a somewhat permanent infection. Conception would be hard, though not impossible. I lost faith in both God and the process. I lost hope. The suffering of the first struggle paled in comparison to this struggle. Jackson wanted a sibling, my wife wanted another baby, and I couldn’t make it happen. I failed. I was on the doorstep of atheism because I was so beat up emotionally and spiritually. I could shout my prayers and only hear my echo. Never a response. No loving God, if he exists, could leave me in such heartache over such a pure and wonderful intention. I even told my wife that I don’t believe in God anymore. She was rattled, and I was empty. Coupled with the stresses of life, finances, family, my job, and even Covid, the noise was too much. I was exhausted.
           
I stumbled across the movie Lone Survivor one day, and its central theme resonated with me. “I am never out of the fight.” No matter how dark it gets, no matter how alone I feel, I am never out of the fight. I can make it through any struggle if just I keep going. This was exactly what Romans 5:3-5 told me. I will face challenges, I will suffer, but I will come out on the other side. Hard as it may seem, this is God’s plan for me.
             
I know now that I will continue to battle with anxiety and depression. My sense of failure will come and go. But I will hope, and I will endure. I am never out of the fight.  For her, and for him, I will keep going. And I will get through it. That’s God’s promise.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a crisis, please seek professional resources. To speak with someone immediately, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, 1-800-273-8255 (1-800-273-TALK). If you’re ever worried that someone’s life is in immediate danger, call 911.