
When I was a new mom, my friends surprised me: they loved me in ways I didn’t know I needed. This is a post from the archives about what I learned about caring for friends going through postpartum after experiencing it myself. This conversation is by no means complete, so if you have anything to add–jump in the comments and let’s learn from each other.
Originally written May 13, 2013.
On a Tuesday afternoon, a week after Keegan was born, my phone rang. I recognized the area code, so I answered, hoping it would be someone with answers to something.
âHello?â
âHi, is this Anne Wilson?â
âYes.â
âHi, Anne! Iâm one of the nurses from your hospital. I was just calling to check in and see how you and your baby are doing.â
âOk.â
âSo . . . how are you doing?â
âI donât know.â
âYou donât know? Honey, are you crying?â
âYes.â
âOh, sweetheart. Itâs going to get better. I wouldnât go back to the first few weeks with my first for anything. I know itâs so hard right now, but it does get better.â
âWhen? When does it get better?â
I was standing in my kitchen, letting the tears flow into the sink with water running, hurling down handfuls of granola, forcing myself to eat somethingâanythingâthat resembled nourishment and substance. I was in full-on-ugly-cry-mode, the kind that makes everyone in the room uncomfortable, and all I could think was, âWhen will this baby sleep?â I was exhausted, nerve-wracked, and recovering from a serious surgery. All my hopes and dreams of childbirth, nursing, and motherhood seemed to be laughing back at me and the only word that came to mind when I looked into my sonâs eyes was simply . . .
FAILURE.
Nothing was going as I planned. Nothing seemed to work. Where was this feeling of euphoric love mothers wrote about, spoke about, told stories about? I didnât feel it; I could only think about sleep. And now that I know him, I so desperately wish I could go back to that time, stare that woman in the face, and say, âYou can do this. All those people who say âitâs going to get betterâ? Theyâre not lying to you. It will.â
A few friends have asked us since if there was anything that would have helped us through that time. And honestly, there isnât. We just had to make it through. But, there are some words of wisdom I can share with those that are close to someone going through postpartum.
A few disclaimers:Â I am not a psychologist or a doctor. I write this purely as someone whoâs been there, not an expert. Also, every woman is different. Some may snap out of it (like I did), and for some, it may linger for months, if not years. If you are close to a woman battling postpartum depression, be her advocate and delicately tell her if you think she may be suffering from depression. There is no shame in getting help.
1.   Love her well, and from a distance.
I donât mean that you canât go over to her house. I wanted to show Keegan off to the entire world. But try not overstay your welcome, as it can be very nerve-wracking for the new mother (and father). Sheâs just trying to keep her head on her body, and the added pressure of hosting a guest for a long period can be a little much.
2.   Be specific.
Most mothers Iâve talked to arenât sure how to brush their teeth during the newborn fog. So when someone says, âJust let me know if I can help you!â itâs overwhelming and quite frankly, goes unnoticed. We know the intentions are genuine, but we donât know what to say back. Instead, offer to do something very specific, like, âCan I come rock a screaming baby for you?â or, âCan I come do your laundry?â or, âCan I come clean your kitchen?â Then follow that with, âGive me a time and Iâll be there, no pressure to entertain me.â Then? Show up. One of my friends came over one morning, and after leaving her downstairs for five minutes, I came down to a clean kitchen and empty dishwasher. I couldâve cried. Another friend came one night while Keegan had been screaming 2+ hours and rocked him to sleep while we sat on the couch and stared at each other. Had we had the hydration necessary to produce real tears, Kyle and I both would have cried.
3.   Just go with it.
Your friend might not be recognizable to you for a month (or two, or three). Just go with it. You may go days (or weeks) without hearing back from her after youâve texted or called. Choose not to be offended. Try to avoid comments (even joking) about how sheâs âa little hormonalâ or âgoing crazy.â She knows sheâs not quite herself, and she wishes she was, and all she needs now is encouragement, love, and support. Save the jokes for a year from now. Theyâll (most likely) be funny then. But not yet.
4.   Feed them.
During our first weekend home with Keegan, Kyle and I went an entire day without eating real food. No, we didnât eat paper, but we chugged down glasses of milk as substitutes for food because we were that sleep-deprived. I was so grateful for all the people who brought us meals that took mere seconds to prepare. If I thought about it before, I wouldâve drafted a letter to give each one of them about the meaning of food and how their gift was like a thousand birthdays. Because it was.
5.   Give the husband a big hug. And a cup of coffee.
I canât speak to this because Iâm not the husband, but from the wifeâs perspective, I wish I could go back to that time and thank him so much more than I did. He did everything for us those first few weeks, and I didnât have the energy to give him the thanks he deserved.
So thereâs my non-professional input on how to help a friend who just brought a bundle of screaming love home from the hospital. She is going to be wearing different skin for a while, and thatâs okay. Just go with it.