The Unexpected Upside of Silence and Slowness – Holding Space for someone going through Postpartum Depression

It is no accident that my first two blog posts explore, highlight and give thanks to the two who warmed me most when, atypically, I could not find the sunshine within myself or on my own.

“A rope made from three strands of cord is hard to break.” 

Also, not coincidental, a post honoring my husband on Father’s Day weekend.  As I will continue to espouse, all people are vulnerable surrounding the birth of a child (their first or their fifth) and there is growing statistical support indicating that maternal mental health issues stem largely from a failure of large-scale social support.  The good news is that this means we all have an opportunity to be a part of the solution: husbands, birth partners, friends, grandparents, neighbors, colleagues, federal systems, policymakers and politicians.

And so as I have done along the way, I want to once again thank the thickest strand of my three-part cord: my husband, Jim, who was an integral player in the solution and our way out of postpartum depression. 

Jim recently thanked me for investing my time and opinions during a late-night chat about a work matter weighing heavily on his heart. I responded with the truth wrapped in a smile, “I am thrilled to. I love when you want to have long conversations.  They are as frequent as the full moon.”

 We are opposites in nearly every way, not the least of which is our daily spoken word count or our internal urgency to move onto whatever is next.  He is a man of few words who is methodical and unrushed in any process. I am precisely ZERO of those things.

I don’t resent these aspects of his personality. Honestly, I don’t.  He is who he has always been; my tall, dark, handsome, quiet and intentional man. There is strength in his silence and poignancy when he does speak or act.  But, of course, as any great partner would, I give him a hard time.  “Hurry up. Say something. Do something. Be more like me.”  🙂  Thank God he is not.  Silence and slowness proved to be some of the most effective artillery in late 2016/early 2017 as our family found its way through postpartum depression.

Not surprisingly, relationships take a pretty hard hit during early parenthood. We all know it headed into the journey.  We have learned it anew many times over.  But, fortunate for me, during the early and murky time as new parents Jim treated me with as much grace, compassion and support as he would have hoped for himself if the roles had been reversed.

As I dealt with first identifying and then taking steps toward healing from my traumatic C-section and resulting PTSD, the agony of infant mouth surgery and ongoing rehab, grief with my perceived loss of bonding through breastfeeding, the shocking isolation associated with early motherhood, the major identity shift involved in making big professional changes and the net result of all these things having me continually land on the repetitive four-word soundtrack of “you are a failure,” Jim did all the right things.

He educated himself on the specifics of what I was going through. He reminded me in words and actions that I was not alone. He gave me undivided attention when I was ready to talk.  He validated my feelings and advocated for counseling support when I didn’t have the energy or will to.

But, for me, the biggest gift was in what he DID NOT do. He did not try and fill the silence and he didn’t rush the healing I had to find on my own over time.  While I am sure it was tempting, he did not try to rationalize why I should not feel sad, alone, confused and like a failure. He never once tried to “fix me.” And he’s a fixer.  He simply held the compassionate space to allow what was happening to be.  That space gave me the room I needed to trust my own intuition and begin asking the right questions to voyage toward healing. (If you are new here check out a little more of our background here.)

Postpartum depression reinforces and feeds on itself at exponential rates and what’s worse is that it does so in the dark. Its intangibility makes it hard on friends and family to understand. Meaning, it is a huge system disruption to any existing social support group. The unknown is hard and when we witness someone we love suffering it is very natural to want to help by offering advice, solutions and encouragement.  But sometimes, like one of my favorite song lyrics reminds us, “You say it best when you say nothing at all.” 

Sometime after our “fourth trimester” there seemed to me (whether real, imagined or somewhere in between), to be a growing urge and readiness for “a return to normalcy.”  Encouragement meant from the best corners of many hearts struggled to have the intended effect on me. 

“You’re a happy person Steph. Your daughter will be fine on formula. There is no wrong way to give birth. You’re both healthy, that’s all that matters. So many other moms have it so much worse.” 

All of these sentiments whether stated or implied were 100% factually true and even at the time my head saw them for what they were: THE TRUTH.  But my heart didn’t accept them as my truth and I felt selfish/wrong/ entitled/not allowed to raise my hand and say, “I am not okay even though everyone seems pretty sure that I should be.”

Enter Jim and his mighty wingspan holding space for me to be exactly where I was. No rush to get back to “cheerful Stephanie.”  No patronizing words filling the empty spaces.  Just supportive silence, slowness and space.  It wasn’t apathy or him being void of anything to say. It was the heart and discipline to hold my hand and navigate the storm without telling me how to interpret the color of the clouds.  I know that he missed the familiar version of me during that season.  But we climbed out, a family of three, whole-hearted and stronger together. 

I’ve never met someone who can sit on the couch in silence as if clocks don’t exist and just be with the thickness, the unknown, the unfixed, the raw, the hurting, the mad, the confused, the broken, like this man, Ava’s daddy, my husband and best friend. Happy Father’s Day weekend to all of the amazing partners out there holding space, hands and hearts gently in your own. You are a part of the solution!