Recently, I took a step of faith in my personal and mental health—a choice that was important for not only me but for the sake of my family too.
After a traumatic accident my husband endured, job changes, our beloved dog getting hit by a car and killed, multiple cross-country moves, and two new schools for our kids, the heartbreak of so many devastating losses piled up over the years became overwhelming for me to the point of questioning whether I could get through life. I doubted the faith I was once strong in and was tempted to leave it. I thought for sure I had PTSD from our circumstances plus the pandemic.
After the dust settled from moving to our new town, I felt rage and hopelessness—shipwrecked so to say. I cried for weeks. I felt darkness I’d never experienced before. It wasn’t fair to my husband and children to be angry and sad all the time. Even getting out and being with people felt like a chore. I knew something had to be done so I called a doctor my friend referred me to.
I told this new doctor my story and how I took Zoloft years ago after being diagnosed with postpartum depression with my second child. It helped me see the light again during her infant years. Maybe it could help me again with depression and anxiety? My doctor encouraged me that going on the medication would help take the edge off and get me through the aftermath of a rough season. She prescribed it, and I started taking Zoloft that day.
I’ve now been on the medication for two months, and I’m feeling stable again. It’s not a magic pill, but it has helped me feel calmer and less anxious. I’m actively pursuing my passions again whereas before I didn’t have the energy or desire to do what I loved. I’m more present and able to handle the demands of parenting and family life.
I’m not in a dark pit anymore, feeling like I can’t climb out, but I have hope. I can go out and be with people without feeling overwhelmed.
This medication is one of the many tools in my toolbox for my anxiety and depression. I also read the Bible consistently, exercise, take hikes in nature, spend time with friends, talk with a counselor, share openly with my husband how I’m feeling, listen to encouraging faith-focused podcasts, pray, and confess my struggles to close friends. Some days I still struggle, but I have far better days than bad days.
I’m not weak because I’m taking medication again. I’m strong for admitting my weakness and that I needed help. I tell my friends who struggle with severe anxiety and depression how it has helped me. I tell moms I meet who feel like they’re drowning in despair about the gift of medication. How could I not?
Many moms struggle silently and need to know they’re not alone and that it’s okay to reach out for the help they need. Many new moms deal with broken sleep and serotonin levels that need stabilizing. They aren’t weak for focusing on their mental health; after all, they’re giving of themselves physically all day and night.
Medication might not be for everyone, but for those whose lives have been changed by it, it’s a blessing worth thanking God for.