Andy Lawrence continues her story (Missed part 1? Read it here)

After I was diagnosed with postpartum depression, I kept myself hidden under the shame of my perceived failure. I continued to internalise my depression, bending to the idea that my feelings and mental state were indication of my deficiencies as a person.

I had told my therapist that I fantasised about crashing the car so I might get a week’s break in hospital. I allowed his alarm at that confession to seep into me. I allowed myself to believe that I was perhaps dangerous and terrifying and most devastating of all: that my children deserved better than me. I let the concern of my husband and therapist justify the unfolding pathology in my core self. I let that concern bloom into a wound that already existed: the wound that told me I was inherently broken.

“I think we can call this what it is: postnatal depression,” my therapist had said.

There is beauty in this story. For when I heard those words and they broke me down, cutting away the fierce wall of defiance, I curled up at the bottom of that pit, that core wound. I grieved and whimpered until, having no defences left, I tentatively reached out a hand toward another mum. And then another, and another.

That friendship circle I had built in my pregnancy, along with other dear mother-friends, wrapped me in such normalcy and validation for my experience. They shared similar stories and I realised how common these thoughts and feelings were in the mothers all around me. I realised that I wasn’t alone, in fact, I never had been.

In sharing my story, the shame that kept me silent began to melt away.

Connecting with those women made me realise two things. The first was that my husband and male therapist, loving as they are, can never truly understand the experience of motherhood and putting all my eggs of support in their baskets robbed me of the attuned witnessing I needed to find self-compassion.

And the second realisation was that there was nothing f**king wrong with me. This realisation had beautiful, heart-aching relief breathing through me. I was not broken or defective, in fact, my depression was indicative of that. My body, mind and sense of self was responding normally to an unhealthy and abnormal level of pressure. And that pressure is called modern parenting in the patriarchy.

My body, a result of hundreds of thousands of years of evolution (millions of years if you include the early hominins), was wisely trying to indicate to me that something was wrong. My 30-odd years of acculturation in this particular point in history blinded me to the external danger posed by the rapid human social change of the last few hundred years. The rate of our bodies’ evolution far lags behind the vast changes in our social structures. And these social structures do not serve our ancient bodies. Instead, they injure them. Our bodies still expect to be living in deep relationship with a whole tapestry of others in close proximity, their lives and support interwoven into ours in community.

I was depressed. But not because I wasn’t good enough or strong enough, not because of some seemingly random hormonal imbalance. No, it was because we live in a culture that expects women to grow babies, give birth and raise those children with no support. It’s because our culture doesn’t see the inherent value in the work of parenting.

The level of support we receive in parenting is inversely proportional to the level of social issues that arise in future generations. Legislation that allows parents to not only survive but to thrive might be the most impactful social investment any government could make.

And yet we remain somewhat of a forgotten species, expected to deal with the impossible hand dealt by our culture. A culture that does not prepare us in any meaningful way for the physical, emotional and spiritual upheaval of parenthood. No, society shows us that the most important consideration of becoming a parent is what pram and cot you will choose.

Despite increasing awareness, there’s still barely a whiff of recognition of the immensity of matrescence: the physical, emotional, social and spiritual transition to motherhood. There is still little understanding of matrescence (and even less for patrescence, for that matter) as a significant rite of passage that requires deep community engagement and support.

I see now that, had a magical hand been waved over my life and increased my sleep while lessening my daily physical and emotional burdens, I would have been magically cured of my depression. If I had someone to help me cook, clean, shop, do laundry, care for the children, play with the children, walk the dog, feed the chickens or help with any other of the innumerable and endless tasks that fill the life of a parent, things would have been different. Because beside all the daily physical tasks, the heaviest burden of all is facilitating the emotional wellbeing of the family, myself included. If I had the space and capacity to tend to that monumental responsibility, my depression would have ceased to exist, I may have even thrived.

I continue to grieve the lack of change in our cultural milieu that has parents medicated to cope with their lives. The chemical support is often the last resort yet wholly necessary to survive this juncture of early parenthood in the 2020s. That grief wends in and out of my every day but I now see the gifts in my time of deep struggle. My grief lessens to imperceptibility in the presence of other mothers navigating the crushingly beautiful paradox of struggle and joy that is early parenthood.

Where patriarchal ideals seek to keep us internalising our grief and rage, connection with community becomes the antidote to remain grounded.

Connection to those who understand us through lived experience reminds us that we are not alone, that we are not weak, and that we are certainly not broken. This connection reminds us of our power. Our beautiful, unique power.

And when we come together and share our stories, we remember that our worth is not dependent on meeting an impossible standard. We remember that we are worthy and good and whole exactly as we are. And that we are exactly who our children need. And there is so much beauty in that.

Mental health and emotional support

If you need to talk to someone immediately, the Mental Health Line is open 24/7 on 1800 011 511.

NSW Health recommends the following support services for parents:

• Beyond Blue offers emotional health and wellbeing resources for new parents and carers. You can also call their helpline on 1300 22 46 36 for 24-hour support.
• PANDA on 1300 726 306 if you have postpartum depression or are experiencing anxiety and depression during pregnancy
• ForWhen helpline on 1300 24 23 22 for free mental health support and help accessing local services for expectant and new parents
• COPE for emotional support before and after having a baby
• Mensline Australia on 1300 78 99 78 for 24-hour professional counselling and support for men for family and relationship issues
• Transcultural Mental Health Centre provides translated mental health resources in over 40 languages
• Miracle Babies Foundation or call 1300 622 243 for 24-hour support for families with premature and sick newborns.