Warrior or Worrier- Battling Post Natal Anxiety.
I remember it so clearly. I was 5 and my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I thought
long and hard ummmm “a hairdresser or a busker but my mum says I’m a worrier.” “A warrior! Wow!”
obviously thinking that my mother being the intelligent woman that she is had decided to call me warrior
as an alternative to princess. “No.” I corrected her. “A worrier cos I worry about all the things.”
I guess anxiety has always been in my life in one way or another. Displayed as crippling shyness as a
toddler and then a stutter as I entered school. It disappeared for a few years when I could hide behind my
best friend Jo with her bubbly sweet nature; she was all the friends I needed. I hid it at high school by
strictly controlling my diet and becoming loud and opinionated. As I got older and began to realise
everyone just thought I was an arsehat I calmed down, made beautiful friends and treasured my oldest
ones. I became fun, mostly relaxed, outgoing and entertaining. Anxiety always sitting there though
bubbling away threatening like a dormant volcano that would spit and hiss from time to time.
And then I had my baby. Sitting in the birthing room in the dark when everyone had left holding my
screaming baby to my chest crying crying crying. The midwife on duty had to peel my daughter from my
body as I sobbed into her arms that I was a terrible mother. My baby was only 3 hours old at this point.
The following days and weeks things got worse. It felt like my daughter never stopped crying, my partner
withdrew from me in confusion. I became too afraid to leave the house, anxious that my daughter would
be hit by a car, stolen or bitten by a dog. I was terrified that my partner would die and that I would be
alone with this baby that was still screaming. I felt the stares of people everywhere I went. People making
comments “I’m glad my baby doesn’t cry like that” “what the hell is wrong with your baby” “That baby is
hungry/tired cold/thirsty/hot…” Nothing I did ever felt enough and the tension and anxiety was too much
to bear. My midwife told me that I was fine. Baby blues she called it. I would “get over it soon”.
Breastfeeding was a battle, the pain and agony. I knew I was doing it wrong, but then I was doing
everything wrong, right?! The pain felt justified. I stopped sleeping pretty much at all, the anxiety got
worse. My mother told me to calm down or I would lose my baby. Desperate not to lose her, I drew
deeper into myself.
I tried to force myself to embrace elements of my old life; playing netball, having a coffee with a friend
and even supermarket shopping. But it was all too much. Netball made me feel weak, the stadium
packed with girls warming up or playing games their outlines blurred into one sickening rainbow of colour,
I would end up spending most of my time in the bathroom trying to breath. Trying to get my throat that
had closed up to open up god damn it and breath and be normal. JUST BE NORMAL. I would say
something insulting to someone and then leave.
The supermarket was a joke. Paranoia would overwhelm me. I became convinced that my partner and
daughter and would leave the supermarket without me if I lost sight of them. The shelves felt like highrise buildings about to topple on us at any moment. Then there was the day that I lost my daughter and
partner in the supermarket. I went to get coffee. I remember holding the coffee and panic washing over
me. I couldn’t breath, a strangled scream of his name desperately trying to escape my lips. Running
down the aisles, trying to find him like a mad woman. I didn’t go back to the supermarket after that.
Some friends withdrew and I saw them once and not again. Perhaps they were afraid of this anxious
strange creature I had become. The confident outgoing, sunny, funny, entertaining girl was nowhere to
be found. The true beautiful friends never stopped coming. They on occasion dragged me out of the
house. But mostly vacuumed my carpet, folded my washing, made me cups of tea, held my baby while I
showered and held me while I cried. They never judged me, they didn’t offered much advice, and they
just loved me. Without them and their love I don’t know if I’d be here.
Still I needed help, help for my sanity, and help to get better. Then I met her, the most amazing plunket
nurse named Anne. She knew something was wrong. She hugged me and told me about Post Natal
Depression. She told me to go walking, to keep connecting with people. But also how to get help.
I then made the phone call to PND wellington. The calm voice on the other end of the phone assured me
it would be ok. That no one would take my baby. That she was there for me. She introduced me to a
group of mums on facebook that have shared the journey with me.
The doctor was next, I had to shop around for the right one but I found her in the end. The side effects of
the anxiety meds were too bad so I couldn’t keep taking them. But therapy was the next step.
I was referred to maternal mental health and they were incredible. Never forcing anything just meeting
with me weekly to get down to the bottom of things. Understanding the reason for the anxiety to help me
manage it better. To live a full life free of fear as a mother and as a human
It will be a long journey, I still have a day when I find myself sitting on the footpath crying, but that’s when
you ask for help. You reach out and if the first person says no you ask again and again until you get the
help you not only need but deserve.
One in Seven women will experience PND, that’s a lot and each and every one of us deserve to live the
lives we want to, that we dreamed of. Slowly day by day I am returning to myself and making my way to
being less of a worrier and more of a Warrior! The warrior woman that is inside.
By Kelly.