Stephanie's Story

Mental Illness is something that keeps a permanent space in my head.

Not because I am constantly battling it but as a reminder and self check for when I feel myself slipping into what I refer to as "dark me".

Dark Me didn’t always exist (at least not glaringly) until I was a young adult.

I come from a supportive family and have never wanted for anything. I hadn’t experienced “hard times”, and I certainly always considered myself happy and healthy.

I have had three times in my life where Dark Me took over and I was no longer in control. My thoughts were all self sabotaging and I fell out of love with myself, everything, and everyone important to me. The depth of this place was unimaginable to me. The hate I had for myself and those around me was scary, but the truly devastating point came when I could no longer feel at all.

When I was 19, I was in love and decided to move home to Calgary for my relationship.

Nothing about the move or relationship was negative. I was closer to family and friends, I had a job that I enjoyed, a nice house, and a truly kind and loving partner.

Within months of the move I started to fall apart.

It started with feeling irritable and angry all the time. I couldn't explain why.

Those feelings slowly turned into anxiety and I began pushing others away.

As weeks went on I lost the joy in the activities I used to love. I declined invites, ignored my partner, gained weight, drank more, and struggled to find happiness in my life.

I blamed the move and the relationship. I resented other people in my life for being so happy. I cried ALL THE TIME. Getting out of bed for work felt impossible.

I felt like this for months and every day it got worse until one day I didn't feel anything. I remember punching a wall or intentionally hurting myself to feel something. I was stuck, and I didn't want to be stuck anymore which is when I truly contemplated not living at all.

It wasn't until I started to talk about it with others that I realized how much of what was happening to me was in my own head.

I needed to find a way out, take back the control, and make choices everyday to let the light back in.

My second travel to darkness was by far the hardest and one that I look back on with pain and a sense of loss.

My daughter was born when I was 22. I was too young. I was afraid and I wasn't ready to be a mom.

Those feelings combined with post birth hormones made for an incredibly difficult two years that are still hard to think back on.

POSTPARTUM is VERY REAL and SCARY and not enough women talk about their experiences.

I remember the day we brought her home. There were friends at my house eager to meet her, and all I could think about was how terrified I was that they would know. They would know I was in over my head. They would know I was afraid. And worst, they would feel the panic I was experiencing trying to connect with this new little human.

I wasn't connecting. I thought that was the natural feeling the moment they put your baby on your chest. I thought I would feel overwhelmed with a love I heard explained countless times.

I was waiting for it to kick in. Waiting for it to make sense and the feeling of motherhood to wash over me.

In the weeks that followed, I would spend time just staring at her or talking to her. I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. Or in my broken mind I thought, what she was doing wrong. Maybe we weren't meant to connect? Maybe that doesn't happen to to everyone?

The lack of sleep creeping in and the nerves of a first time mother were now too much, and I didn't have that feeling of "mother's love" to breathe the life back into those hard moments.

CRYING ALL THE TIME was just the new way I functioned. I would get overwhelmed so easily. I can't count the amount of times I had to put her in her crib crying because I HAD TO walk away. I had to sit by myself and cry as hard as she was. I wasn't strong enough to help her or stop her tears.

Over the next year, the feeling of overwhelmed became a more natural state. Connection with my beautiful Adelade was growing but I genuinely had to work at it and I still had more bad days than good.

The worst memory I have (I contemplated not sharing for shame) was a morning we were in her toy room. I didn't want to get up that day. I didn't want to be a parent that day. I didn't want to exist that day.

And so I laid there, face down on the ground and didn't move. At first it just felt like I was resting but then Adelade started calling for me.

I still didn't move.

She walked over to me and tapped me, still saying "mom".

I thought about moving, but I couldn't.

Now she was tapping harder, pushing on me. There was now fear in the way she was saying mom. I knew I should move and show her I was fine, but I couldn't.

I stayed there too long. She was now crying and afraid. I did that to her.

I broke that day and that memory will never go away for me.

This time I needed more help than talking to friends and family. I made an appointment with my doctor and was immediately put on antidepressants and antianxiety.

I judged myself for a long time. Why did I need this? How did I get here?

Everyone else made it look a lot easier, but this was my path.

And it helped.

I slowly started feeling better. I could manage the day. I could find happy moments and enjoy watching my baby grow.

I stayed on medication for nearly a year before my doctor and I felt that I could do it on my own.

Those were the hardest two years of my life. I feel cheated that I didn't enjoy them. I feel cheated that I don't remember a lot of them. I truly feel like I missed those first two years with my baby.

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