anna little
“Overwhelmed by every noise, anxiety crawling on my skin like a snake, dark hours of endless sobbing, lying on floors or unable to move from a chair long after the baby had finished nursing, exhausted by the enormity of each day and unable to sleep or rest for worry and fear, I was unable to accept any help in caring for my daughter..”
“I have lived with anxiety and depression since my teens. I have a Psychology degree, a counseling qualification, have worked on a Psychiatric ward in a hospital, and I have even volunteered at a support group for Mothers with postpartum depression (PPD). I know what depression looks and feels like, but none of this mattered when it came to my own postpartum life…
I didn’t know how poorly I was. Nor did I know what was happening to me; to either my body or my mind. I didn’t know that it wasn’t normal to dread every second of every day. I took showers, I fed my daughter, I got dressed, I walked my dogs, I managed when my husband traveled overseas…except I didn’t. I lived as an empty shell. Totally broken - mentally, emotionally, spiritually and energetically.
Overwhelmed by every noise, anxiety crawling on my skin like a snake, dark hours of endless sobbing, lying on floors or unable to move from a chair long after the baby had finished nursing, exhausted by the enormity of each day and unable to sleep or rest for worry and fear, I was unable to accept any help in caring for my daughter. I had no idea or connection of who I was as me, and was unable to connect honestly with anyone around me. One Monday evening, I gave my daughter to my husband and said, “Here. I’m going now. You take her. You’ll be better off without me. I have to go.” And I walked to the front door.
With hindsight, I know I experienced pre-natal depression and anxiety but I knew how to mask the answers in the questionnaires given to me at each check-up appointment. When my Doctor gave me a letter to allow me time off work, I ignored it and just tucked it into a drawer; I was in denial about being pregnant for months.
My daughter’s birth was a scheduled C-section as she was breech. In the hours after the operation I was unwell, a bad reaction to the anesthetic causing continuous vomiting for hours until they found a combination of medication to stop it. So I didn’t get to see my daughter properly after that initial skin-to-skin contact and I wasn’t able to name her until the evening. The surge of emotions that came for her was intense and unexpected; I didn’t expect to feel such love and such a connection.
Our first few days were great - she fed, she settled, we introduced her to visiting friends in the hospital and felt so proud of her and so lucky. Physically and mentally I felt strong and we were ready to leave and take her home.
In the evening before we were due to leave, I woke up feeling nauseous and I asked my husband to make me a cup of tea. Then I started to get a tingling sensation in my right arm. By early morning, this has transformed into a total lack of feeling and lack of control on the whole right side of my body. I felt paralysed in bed, and at other times my right arm and leg would involuntarily spasm, like I was hitting myself or kicking outwards. The Doctors examined me; I couldn’t feel any sensation on my right side and was unable to lift my arms or legs if asked to. They decided to send me for an MRI. I was given something to help me sleep during this so that I would be able to keep still. I had been anxious about my daughter’s next feed and got very upset when they mentioned giving her formula, so I was wheeled back up to my room, hooked up to a pump and told to stop hitting myself in the head, but I wasn’t in control of it.
By the end of that day, sensation and control had returned. I felt totally dazed and confused by what had happened. It was explained to me that there was nothing physically wrong with me, and then the questions began about how I was feeling, whether I had ever had depression before, and how it was ok to be experiencing PPD now. I argued and argued that I wasn’t depressed, I was fine, I was just tired. I loved my daughter. I could look after her. It wasn’t like my experiences of depression before when I couldn’t get out of bed for days.
We were discharged the following day on the condition that I went to see a psychologist that afternoon that had been arranged. So I dragged my newborn baby into the Doctor’s clinic in the middle of Central and here the therapist explained what had happened to me. Many of my memories are blurry so it was helpful to have someone recount the events to me and explain that I had suffered from Conversion Disorder – presenting itself through neurological symptoms such as paralysis or fits, in response to psychological trauma and my ongoing mental health conditions such as depression. Medication and support were discussed, all of which I refused. I was adamant again that I was fine: I was just tired and wanted to go home.
Over the following five weeks it was a downward spiral but I also coped. I shut myself away in my daughter’s room for hours, the self-loathing and depressive thinking were constant. My anxiety manifested with a physical reaction on my skin, me scratching my arms because I could feel the anxiety. I wrote down every minute of my daughter’s day in a notebook, recording what she was doing every hour, feeding, sleeping…pages and pages, and books and books of notes.
But I also managed to go for walks, welcome visitors, and feed us all. I was terrified to leave the house, but equally as terrified to stay in. I would only let myself or my husband push the stroller. I couldn’t be away from my daughter for over an hour, but I also wanted to be alone all the time. I clock-watched every minute of the day, dreading the night ahead. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror - I had neglected my care for the C-section scar and the wound became infected. I was in and out of the Doctor’s clinic every week for this. I couldn’t talk openly about how I was feeling, but I did what I thought was a great job of putting on a front. The psychologist maintained almost constant communication, calling me and trying to encourage me to take the help of medication, but I wouldn’t engage and rushed off the phone. I was so proud to have been free of anti-depressants for over 10 years, and I also knew that this wasn’t anything like my previous depressive episodes, so I could manage. I made it to one “Mum and Baby Group”, but couldn’t make eye contact or talk to anyone, and I sweated my way through the whole thing before running out as soon as it was over, never to return.
After five weeks and my in-laws leaving Hong Kong after their visit, I held my hands up and told myself that I couldn’t do this, and that things were not ok.
My memory is a little patchy over the first year, perhaps because I didn’t feel like I was really there. I felt that I was actually outside of my own body and dreaded every part of every day. I lived in my mind, in my thoughts, my constant negative script to myself, and the fear for my daughter after saying I should leave her. I accepted the help of a psychiatrist to start a course of anti-depressants and began regular therapy with the original psychologist. I felt like the biggest failure. If anything, accepting help made me feel worse about myself. I told no-one but my husband and my best friend. We kept everything hidden from all our family and friends, especially the details of the hospital events, and things are still that way now, five years on.
Yet I know that I wouldn’t have been able to keep going and move forward without the amazing care of my OBGYN, my psychologist and my psychiatrist. They persisted and didn’t let me fall through the gaps in the system when they easily could have because I refused help and treatment for weeks on end. I met the most amazing midwife who even visited me at home when I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house to speak to her.
Somehow through all of the ugliness, my husband is still with me, supporting me in each version of myself and trying to understand how we navigate life and parenting. I have felt supported and cared for, but I still feel that there could have been, and still should be more services and support available in Hong Kong.
Check-ups should not just be questionnaires; they should be holistic and not feel rushed. Whilst they’re busy checking the pelvic floor and diastasis, where is the same amount of research, awareness and intervention for anxiety, depression, birth trauma and postpartum psychosis in Hong Kong? I think that elsewhere this has grown so much, and I do see a lot more options and discussions in Hong Kong now too, but people should feel able to be honest. Information needs to be readily accessed. Partners and families should be able to know where to get help for their loved ones. Money and language should not be barriers to accessing help. I know that I am privileged with the help I have received and that not everyone is so fortunate.
I remember an appointment with my psychiatrist perhaps nine months later, telling her that I genuinely didn’t know that I had been ill. She answered, “But that’s ok, we all knew. We saw how ill you were and that’s why we persisted.”
In the last five years my journey has continued, adding ever more anti-anxiety medication, increasing the anti-depressant dosage, and dealing with suicidal ideations and plans that began only 18 months after the birth. This was not something that I had experienced much in previous depressive episodes, so they have been particularly dark and upsetting times when I can look back and recognise those thoughts and events for what they are. I have never hurt or wanted to hurt my daughter and I’m grateful for that. It has been the loneliest, scariest journey. I have felt things that I never imagined I would and can’t put that into words. I have felt broken beyond help and know that I am forever changed, but I have accepted that that is ok. I have worked hard to put myself back together in a different way. Yes, I am the mother and woman I am today because of those experiences and those depths, and that is also ok. I have laughed, I have celebrated, I have showered my daughter with love and showed up for her every day in the best way that I could. I have absolutely faltered and failed and messed up. I have tried to give up but I haven’t. I have tried to leave, but I haven’t. I will continue to live with my challenges and manage them daily; anxiety and depression are part of me and that is ok. Therapy, medication, yoga, journaling, walking my dogs, being present with my family and enjoying watching my daughter grow are parts of the healing process, and now sharing and writing this are parts too.
I can’t put into words what it was about the invitation to share my story and join this campaign that encouraged me to do so. Perhaps it was timing…There have been so many other posts and people, stories and conversations that I’ve heard previously, but I haven’t been able to voice my own feelings and memories, or be brave enough to share anything. I think this post just came at the right time, when I was ready to talk. I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it though, and only told my husband a couple of days before the photo shoot. My story is very private to me; only a handful of people know the details of my experiences or anything about my postpartum journey.
I have never heard of anyone having the same exact experience as me, and perhaps there won’t be because everyone’s situation is so unique, but I just thought that if maybe any of my words could resonate with someone…if there was even just one connection that could be made that was positive, then that would be such a huge thing to come from all of this. If sharing could help my own healing or someone else’s then that would be amazing.
I was a nervous wreck on the day of the photo-shoot! I felt like I was going to throw up and said that when I arrived. I hate having my photo taken, and avoid it all costs, so I couldn’t understand how I had put myself forward to have multiple shots taken! With the ‘COVID kilos’ having piled on, I feel very uncomfortable in my body right now and not like “me”, so it’s not like I felt picture ready! I called my best friend in the U.S. in the taxi on the way to the shoot and told her what I was doing; and she was so proud of me, which helped enormously. I realised I was proud of myself for just saying yes to something, instead of always no…for being brave for once!
The reality of the shoot was so much more relaxing, warm and positive than I could have imagined. The mood, energy, setting, team were just perfect. It wouldn’t have worked any other way I don’t think. I was still awkward, still scared, still totally out of my comfort zone but I did it! It made me feel really brave, and having Sarah, Matt and Ann hold that space to be vulnerable, authentic and honest was empowering.
I felt so much lighter afterwards. I actually felt proud of myself. This has continued when I think about the campaign and about the courage it took on my part. I can say that I’m proud of myself and it’s ok to say that. And I never say that! I really do think that this was a big step in my journey of healing. I know that if I hadn’t said yes, I would have regretted it. By the end I was feeling so at ease that I wished it could have lasted longer.”