My youngest turned one a week ago. With the celebration of his incredible life, I looked back over the past year and although it was filled with joys far surpassing my dreams, it was also tainted with a dark, and heavy fog – Postpartum Depression.
For over nine months, I struggled.
Every day was difficult. Every morning I woke up feeling as if my tank was already empty. Every day I wondered “how am I going to get through today?”. Every day I battled sadness, anger, loneliness, rage. Every day was simply HARD.
My experience with PPD was greatly impacted by the traumatic delivery of my son, during which I lost over half the blood in my body in a severe postpartum hemorrhage. I was informed by my doctor that I was at a higher risk for both postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety due to the delivery, but I naively thought neither would actually impact me. The mental and physical recovery from a traumatic experience was not something I was prepared for and thus walked down a very lonely and long road.
Yes, I struggled with the stereotypical intrusive thoughts that accompany postpartum depression, yes I always felt tired, yes I consistently wanted to cry at any moment, yes I often felt alone in the confines of the battle within my mind, but what most impacted me was that I felt like I was surviving, not living.
I do not remember the majority of those first nine months. I don’t remember when my son smiled for the first time, his first giggle, or when he rolled over. I have no recollection of when he began to crawl or the first food I gave him. The memories that stand out so vividly in my mind with my first born have no role in my life with my second. For months, so much longer than I ever wanted to admit, my son was a stranger to me. The bond that came so effortlessly with my daughter took a great effort with my son, something that led to such extreme guilt the depression only deepened.
I could go on and on about how those nine months impacted me and my family, but I cannot write about it without also sharing what I know, without a doubt, helped bring me through – JESUS.
He was the Lamp to my feet while I walked through the darkness. He was the Comforter during all those silent tears. He was the Peace that surpassed understanding when my mind was filled with turmoil. And I will never be able to thank Him enough for bringing me to the other side of what seemed to be an endless, shadowy tunnel.
Now, all that being said, with the case that has recently taken the world by storm, the Lindsay Clancy trial, I have a very strong and relentless opinion.
Lindsay Clancy’s decision to end the life of her three children had NOTHING to do with Postpartum Depress or Postpartum Psychosis and it is a disservice to any woman who is or has struggled with either of those two things to connect her to that diagnosis.
Lindsay Clancy made a conscious decision to HAND HERSELF OVER to demonic influence.
She was NOT a mother struggling with thoughts, she was a woman struggling with a demon who eventually GAVE IN to its control.
Her mind was her own, her actions were her own, her horrific decision was and will always be HER OWN.
She is not a victim and anyone who attempts to slap that term on her should be ashamed of themselves.
Her children were the victims and they deserve justice.
To attempt to connect Lindsay Clancy to Postpartum Depression or Postpartum Psychosis is doing nothing but harming, humiliating, and demeaning the woman who are actually struggling with such things.
It is offensive.
I pray the world wakes up from the demonic haze the devil has placed upon the eyes of so many.
I pray mother’s stand firm on the very foundation the Lord built them upon: comforters, protectors, providers, lovers.
I pray women refuse to be caught up in the demonic lie that the devil has so easily slipped into their minds that children are somehow a burden, something so easily cast off, abused, neglected…murdered.
I pray we wake up as a nation and do the ONE THING that should come natural to every single human, every single mother – PROTECT the innocent.
I pray justice is served.
I pray…but I don’t know if my prayers will hold power because this case, and the world’s reaction, has proved that we, as women, as mothers, as fathers, as humanity, have truly, and completely, lost our way, and perhaps we don’t deserve to find a way back.
“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.”
–Isaiah 66: 13
A Woman Standing 