When we’re sick we go to the doctor. We take time off work. We might even post about it on social media #poorme. But when we’re mentally unwell, we hide it from the world. No matter how terrible we feel or how long it goes on for, we try and put on a brave face and push through. At least I did. This is why people with depression feel like they’re the only ones feeling the way they do. Although one in seven people living in NZ will experience depression is their lifetime, it seems to take place largely behind closed doors.
It has taken me seven years to get to this point. To come out the other side and feel distanced enough from my depression to talk about it. I’ve only recently started talking more openly about my battle, but most of you reading this would have no idea how low I’ve been. Part of me is terrified of what people will think of me, and part of me has a huge desire to share my story to help others.
I am 6 months post-partum and the happiest I’ve ever been. I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, amazing family and friends, a rewarding career – I love my life. Seven years ago I was diagnosed with depression, and five years ago I was so low I was struggling to get out of bed for months on end, and wondering how I could possibly go on living.
I’ll start from the beginning. In 2014 I was living in Lower Hutt with my partner (now husband) and was generally happy with my life. I was 22 years old, fresh out of uni and working full time as a marketing manager at a job I enjoyed. I loved socialising with my partner and friends and partying on the weekends. But something started to shift. I was suddenly tired all the time. I started making excuses to opt out of social events. I grew overly self conscious and critical of myself. I started not wanting to go to work, go to the gym, go anywhere really. Convinced I needed a change, I quit my great job for a less exciting but reasonably higher paying one that was closer to home. I surprised myself by getting it, and felt like they made the wrong decision hiring me. And as it turns out, they did.
I only lasted a week. The change of job bought on sudden and massive anxiety, and I could barely function. I had never experienced anything like it. I would count down the hours until my lunch break so I could go sit alone in my car. I would call my husband in tears, not knowing how I was going to go back in. I felt so out of my depth, like an imposter. I was extremely emotional and hating on myself for feeling like I was failing. I wasn’t eating or sleeping properly. I was exhausted. I went to the doctor for my anxiety and scored highly on the depression questionnaire. How could I be depressed? I had always been a happy person, I had a good life. I reluctantly accepted the anti-depressants purely because they were meant to help with my anxiety. When my parents came to visit from out of town, I did my best to act normal. However, on their last night I broke down and admitted the state I was in, and told them I couldn’t continue my job. The next day I rang HR and resigned, blaming chronic fatigue syndrome (something I had been researching and was convinced I had at the time, completely in denial about my depression). I felt like the world’s biggest failure. A few days later, I caught a bus home to my parent’s house in Rotorua where I spent a month feeling unbelievably sad, exhausted, tearful, and wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life. I slept. A LOT. Getting ready for the day was a massive effort. I didn’t want to talk to or see anyone. If I did, I just wound up crying. I told my close friends that I had chronic fatigue and was rightfully feeling down about that, and avoided talking about all the other stuff that was going on.
A month passed, and I was feeling a little better. I decided to go home to my partner who I was missing terribly. For a while I was in limbo, feeling this huge pressure to move forward with my life but not wanting to do anything. I guess the antidepressants started to work, as when my partner’s parents offered me a part time office job at their motel/campground business in Otaki Beach I accepted. I commuted there a few times a week for casual shifts and gradually started to feel like a human again. I still talked about having chronic fatigue, though I began to realise more and more that it was just a front for my depression. It was still really hard to talk about, and I only really confided my whole truth to my partner who had become my rock. I had good days and bad days, but I gradually started feeling like the old me.
A few months later, we decided to move our lives to Otaki when we got offered to run the business full time and live in the attached house rent free. I did most of the work while my husband recovered from surgery, then as he recovered he did he took on more of the work. We enjoyed working together but soon realised it was really a one man job, and I was wanting to get back on track. I found a part time job, and as I felt increasingly better I increased my hours at work and lowered the dose of my anti-depressants. I figured I didn’t need them anymore, and hated the fact I was on medication because of the whole stigma around it. I was doing marketing for a family business locally, working from their garage-come-office. I enjoyed it and felt pretty good, though I knew it wasn’t a forever job and I was capable of more. I got engaged in March 2017 and I was thrilled. A few months later, the relationship with my employers turned sour, and one day I suddenly quit.
By now I had decreased by meds from a pretty high dose to a very low one. I spent a few months back helping out at the camp, and eventually the depression started creeping back in. Before I knew it, I was in the worst depression of my life. We were due to be married in March the following year (which I had been super excited about), and at this point I was struggling to get out of bed in the morning. I dreaded being awake. I felt this unfathomable sadness that manifested in every part of my body. There was a constant physical pain in my chest, a heaviness that just wouldn’t lift. I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t want to shower, I didn’t want to get dressed, I didn’t want to talk on the phone, I didn’t want to watch TV, I didn’t want to cook dinner or even eat. The most simple everyday tasks that most of us take for granted were such a mammoth effort for me. I tried explaining it to my partner: “I used to live, now I just exist.” On top of all that I didn’t like myself. I felt useless for not having a job, being depressed, that I hadn’t made any friends in Otaki and that I just couldn’t snap out of it. I felt guilty that my partner had to deal with me, a complete shell of who I once was. I lost my identity, and any ounce of confidence I once had. I even convinced myself my friends didn’t like me (why would they, I didn’t like me). I think I told them I was a little down, but largely I hid my depression like it was this huge embarrassing secret. My fiancé and family convinced me all these feelings were just the depression talking, and that I was very loved. They were truely amazing and I was so lucky to have the support I did. I knew logically that I had a lot to live for, that my life was likely to get better… but in the middle of depression, when every day feels like the worst day of your life and then you have to do it all over again tomorrow, you begin to lose all hope. I wasn’t suicidal, but I didn’t want to be alive like this.
I tried everything to feel better. I spent hours in bed researching depression and reading case studies. I learned how to help myself. I knew I needed Vitamin D and exercise, so I would spend some time outside each day, and force myself to walk my dog regularly. I ate healthy, I cut down on alcohol, I forced myself to keep on living and do the things I used to love, even though it was so damn hard to find the will. Nothing felt like it was working. I went to the doctor multiple times and started seeing a councillor. They put my meds back up to the higher dose and told me to do everything I already knew. Months passed, and I spent more time asleep that awake, merely existing, wishing the days away.
Then at some point, things SLOWLY started to improve. Tasks weren’t so impossibly hard anymore, and I found enjoyment in some things. I thought it was time to get back to work (typical type A personality), so I applied for and got a marketing job at a local council. I needed something I was good at, something to keep my mind busy. Unfortunately it was the most boring job I ever had, and I was crippled with anxiety again. In hindsight, it was too soon and not a great fit. It was a new role where I had to look after their social media accounts. That probably took up an hour of my day. For the other seven, I tried to look busy and act normal (whereas on the inside I felt on the verge of having a panic attack). I was still recovering from depression so being in an open office with 50-odd new people, with diminished confidence and no idea what I was meant to be doing was the perfect mix for my anxiety. I dreaded going to work. I dreaded walking to my desk. I dreaded asking my boss a question. I was living in a constant state of fight or flight, it was awful. By now, I began seeing an amazing mental health physiologist in Levin, and he put me on some anti-anxiety medication. Eventually I got it under control. The depression continued to improve too, and I was less down on myself and more down on my job situation. I did some hard thinking. What was the best job I ever had? It was when I was a nanny, hands down. After some thought I applied for the Primary Teaching diploma at Vic Uni for the following year and got in! For the first time in ages I was excited about something. A few months later as the year drew to a close, I resigned. I worked out my notice and never looked back. I had never been so happy to put a year behind me.
2018 was a good year. I got married (the best day of my life) and I loved being back at uni. I made new friends for the first time in years. I went to the gym, I socialised, I enjoyed living again. But this time, I stayed on my high dose of antidepressants, knowing how quickly I went down hill last time. I had two really successful placements in local schools, and I knew I had made the right choice. I loved teaching!
In 2019 I landed a full time job at a school in Levin, and went straight in the deep end in sole-charge of my own class of 31 kids! It was amazing. I had never had a job so challenging and rewarding. My husband and I bought some land in Otaki Beach and designed and built our dream house (ok not DREAM house, but dream within the parameters of our budget). We did heaps of it ourselves and moved in a week before Christmas.
2020 was another awesome year at work, with a whole new set of unique kids to teach. My personal life was great, and my mental health was stable. My husband and I started talking about trying for a baby. But in the back of my mind all I could think about was the fact I’d have to come off my antidepressants. I didn’t even research it, but I knew there were so many foods you couldn’t eat while pregnant…if sushi wasn’t safe, surely anti depressants were off the table. Would I spiral back to where I was? How could I look after a baby if I couldn’t even look after myself? Was I predisposed to postnatal depression? After months of worrying, I finally went back to my psychologist in Levin and talked about my mental health regarding making and growing a baby. To my surprise he advised me that the medication I was on was safe to take throughout pregnancy, but recommended I get down to a lower dose to be on the safe side. To say I was relieved would be a massive understatement! I felt confident I would be fine on a lower dose as everything in my life was good and stable. So over the next few months I decreased my medication incrementally until I was on the second to lowest dose (I did this gradually as changing your dose suddenly can have horrible side effects, but more on this in another blog). I felt good. Mid 2020 we started trying for a baby, and in November we fell pregnant! We were thrilled.
During my pregnancy I suffered from horrible nausea, and from around 14 weeks gestation until the day our son was born I threw up multiple times a day. I was so sick that I ended up 5kgs lighter at full term than my pre-pregnant weight! Somehow I managed to continue teaching full time until I was 8 months pregnant (bucket under my desk and all). As my pregnancy progressed I grew less and less concerned about my depression returning, as I was feeling really good mentally. I was so excited to have this baby! On the 7th of August 2021 our beautiful son Riley was born, and we were instantly in love.
I am now 6 months postpartum and happier than ever. Being a Mum is the best thing in the world. Despite some huge challenges and adjustments since Riley was born, my depression has stayed away. I am still on my medication and breastfeeding, under the advice of my Psychologist that it is completely safe to do so. Riley is thriving and developing every day, and I have never been so happy and content.
I was recently talking to a friend that also has a history of depression about the shame we both used to experience with our diagnosis and taking medication for it. She told me something that really stuck with me:
Humans weren’t designed to live like this. We were meant to live in tribes with our sole focus on survival, raising our babies and hunting and gathering our food. We aren’t designed to live in a capitalist world, living separately in our own little houses, working high stress jobs to pay our rent/mortgages/bills. Life is way more chaotic than it was meant to be, it’s no wonder so many people have depression and other mental health issues.
That got me thinking. Most of us do live in such an advanced world, and every day we use manmade things to make our lives better and easier: antibiotics, reading glasses, vitamins…they all serve a purpose. We wouldn’t think twice about using those. So why should we feel bad about taking antidepressants? They were made for a reason, and we are lucky to live in a time where they are available to us. So no, I’m no longer going to be ashamed to pick up my prescription. I’m no longer going to feel bad for taking something that potentially helped to save my life. Instead I’m going to be grateful that I have found something that works for me, and grateful for my happiness and health. Because at the end of the day, that is everything.
