Last Thursday and Friday nights Monkey and I spent the night at my parent’s house. The painters came over on Thursday to paint Monkey’s new nursery (my old office) and I didn’t want the paint smell to bother him. Tarzan stayed at home with our little dog so that he could get some work done and have some uninterrupted sleep.
Thursday night my parents, Monkey, and I were in the living room and my dad asked about that first psychiatrist appointment for my postpartum depression. Before I continue with the story, you should know that I have never been super close with my dad in the sense that I share things like psychiatrists appointment and postpartum depression with him. He’s a great dad, but he lacks the emotional part that a daughter needs at times.
However, my therapist told me that I need to be “real” with people in my life and then set up boundaries if they don’t respond. I started by being real and sharing the awful psychiatrist appointment with my dad. It’s really such a big step because there are many things in my life that he doesn’t know about and that’s mainly just because he’s never seemed to care much. Or at least act like he cares.
Anyways, I told my parents the whole psychiatrist appointment and how awful it was. My dad kind of laughed at the whole thing, especially the guy who was screaming in the waiting room. (Not a lack of compassion kind of laugh, but just that I was stuck in the waiting room kind of laugh.)
I told him that this psychiatrist wanted me to up my Lexapro dosage and add Abilify to treat my postpartum depression. He asked if I did and I said that I didn’t and don’t plan on it. I told him that the 10mg of Lexapro was doing the trick and that I’m seemingly so much better than just two weeks ago.
Then he pulled a Tom Cruise on me.
He said, “You know Jane, you don’t need to be on an anti-depressant. You just need to get out of the house and do something to make you feel better. In time you will start feeling better and the depression will be gone. You don’t need medicine to treat postpartum depression.”
So. Annoying.
You see, my dad is the type that does not believe in medicine (obviously). He is extremely healthy and thinks that making good choices when it comes to food, exercise, etc are what is key to good health. While I do agree that it’s important to eat healthy & exercise, I do not agree with him about all medicines, especially his advice to not take an anti-depressant with postpartum depression.
But that’s my dad and this the exact reason that it’s hard for me to be real with him. He just doesn’t get it at times. And it’s so incredibly frustrating, especially when you’re on the receiving end of his rant, like I was with the anti-depressant to treat postpartum depression.
Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he went a step further and my annoyance turned into being pissed off. Really pissed off.
We were about to have dinner and my dad took a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and put it on the table. I hadn’t said a word; I was feeding Monkey at the time and actually quite oblivious to what was going on. My dad looked over at me and said, “This is not for you. You cannot have any.”
Um, excuse me? Last time I checked I was an adult, have a child, and damn capable of making my own decision, alcohol and all.
I guess I should tell you that my dad enjoys being in control too, which is where this all stems from.
I am not one to keep my mouth shut and I thought my therapist would be proud of me for keeping it real and I told him that although I didn’t even want a glass of wine, if I did want one, I am able to have one. I checked with my doctor and the pharmacist and was told the same thing: I can have the occasional glass of wine, beer, etc as long as the beverage is enjoyed hours after taking my anti-depressant.
Then I began arguing with my dad for something that I was even interested in drinking at the time, all due to the principle of it. He told me that “in his house his word is law” and that I “am not allowed to have alcohol in his house”. You would seriously think that I was a recovering alcoholic or something. It was ridiculous.
I told him that he wasn’t a doctor and that it was just his opinion and that I didn’t appreciate being treated like a teenager when I’m just about 30 years old. I told him that I understood that his comment was out of concern, but that I didn’t appreciate his delivery of it.
He told me that I was being disrespectful. I told him that he was frustrating me. And then our words to one another stopped as he went into his bedroom to watch television and I contemplated leaving.
I just wanted to cry.
In a matter of minutes I was brought back to being a teenager with a strict parent. (I would be grounded in high school if I was a minute late after curfew.) And yes, I’m sure that he was just watching out for me, but he lacks the good communication skills of relaying a message of concern. Instead he makes me defensive and fight for something that I wasn’t even interested in having.
That went down last Thursday and we haven’t talked since. I know that he’s angry at me, but I know that I have to set up boundaries in the future so this doesn’t happen again. I also know that I can’t control his feelings and that this wasn’t my fault. It’s his issue with control.
Surprisingly this did not alter my mood in a negative way. Yes, I was annoyed and angry, but it was only with my dad. I chose not to let it get to me so that I was a grumpy Gus for the rest of the day. I can only control so much.
On a much better note, I’m still doing great. Tomorrow will be one-week since I cried about postpartum depression and I really feel proud of myself. I feel like I’m in a whole other place and it’s nice. Even my OB told me last Friday that I looked great, had a calm and peaceful look to me, and that I was smiling a lot more. Then she hugged me and said that she was so happy that I was feeling better.
I am too.
That night I dropped off some diapers that we don’t use (Pampers Swaddlers) to a neighbor that has a two-week old. I told her that we like Pampers Baby Dry a lot better and that maybe the Swaddlers would work for her. She started telling me how hard breastfeeding is, that her son will take an hour to nurse, sleep for an hour, and be up again.
There wasn’t desperation in her voice like how I felt, but there was definitely frustration. She asked how I did it and if he gets better. I told her that it does in fact get better and just to give it time.
Oh time… there’s that word again.
She told me that I seem like I have it all together with Monkey and asked how I do it. I laughed and then was real with her, telling her that I do not have it all together at all. I shared a little of my postpartum depression with her and told her that we would get together when she got back in town to talk, mother-to-mother.
My how the tables have turned. 
You might also want to read:
- Postpartum depression: Success with being real & worrying about word vomit
- Postpartum depression therapy appointment: Success!
- Six week postpartum appointment and going to a psychiatrist for postpartum depression
- Follow-up to previous post about postpartum depression
- Psychiatrist appointment for postpartum depression = A wasted day
[...] Being real with therapy, postpartum depression, family, & friends … – Last Thursday and Friday nights Monkey and I spent the night at my parent’s house. The painters came over on Thursday to paint Monkey’s new nursery (my old. [...]