MUSINGS FROM THE MIND OF AMANDA

This is probably going to be controversial, but here goes.

For those who are unaware, Andrea Yates was a mother of five small children. Between 1994 and 2000, she and her husband had five children. At one point, she suffered from post partum issues so severe, she had a nervous breakdown. She was advised after her fourth child that she should not have anymore kids. She and her husband believed that God wanted them to have as many children as they could, so they didn’t listen.

Mrs. Yates had food issues as a teen, and then worked in a very high stress job as an adult. She and her husband lived in a travel trailer with some of the children and then moved into a motor bus so they could “spread” the word of God. The children were home schooled. They were under the leadership of a very dictatorial preacher, who believed in a lot of things that are frowned up. Many of his tactics amount to psychological warfare and mental abuse, as well as in some cases, physical abuse.

Eventually, the Yates family moved into more traditional housing, and Andrea stayed home alone with all five kids while her husband worked. The mental issues continued. She was prescribed meds and eventually advised that she shouldn’t be alone with the children. And then her husband left her alone to go to work. His mother was supposed to arrive within an hour to help with the children. Within that hour, all five children were drowned by their mother, who was out of her mind.

Now, am I saying she’s innocent? No, not really. I suffered from postpartum depression and it totally warped the way I thought about things, and the way I felt, and even the way I dealt with my family. But I was fortunate: at no point was I destructive toward my baby. I wanted something to happen to me. I thought that if I were…gone, then my husband could find a new wife who would take better care of my baby. I thought my son didn’t like me. After an unplanned C-section, the doctors took him away for exams, and because of my medical issues, they wouldn’t give him back for almost three days. I just knew that thought I abandoned him, or that I didn’t love him. I thought my son had very advanced powers of reasoning for a two week old, I guess.

I worked full time at a pretty laid back job. I had one child and some dogs. My husband worked 24 hour shifts, and was home 48 hours after…and I had no idea how to do anything. There were some mornings when my husband was at work that I’d call his parents and beg them to come help me at 5 in the morning, because I had to be at work at 8 and had not slept at all. They’d come over, I’d sleep a couple of hours and go to work. I was so sleep deprived and so hormonal, I picked out a light pole not far from our house. I was planning to ram my car into the light pole when I decided I couldn’t do it anymore.

I struggled for about a year. In that time, my dad passed away. I helped the business I worked for move to a new building. My sister got divorced. I got a new, much higher stress job that included travel. It was so bad that my coworker called my mom to ask what was wrong with me. I couldn’t stop crying, and people called me constantly to talk about my Dad or my sister or something…and I had no coping skills.

I was fortunate. My husband, who is a paramedic, finally realized it wasn’t just a short term problem. For one of my OB-GYN checkups, he walked up to my doctor and told him, “There’s something wrong with her. Please help us.” And he did. He asked what was going on, and we told him everything: the job, my dad, the traumatic birth (we were sent to Houston, and our doctor wasn’t able to deliver our son.). We told him how I cried, and some of the things I’d told my husband about how I felt.

God love my doctor, he looked at me and said the most wonderful thing: It’s no wonder you’re upset. Your hormones are wrecked and just look what all you’re going through.

He explained how at a certain age, our brains produce different levels of certain chemicals and how the hormonal shifts and lack of serotonin and sleep deprivation were to blame, not me. I wasn’t a bad mother. I wasn’t a bad wife. I was just overwhelmed. He prescribed an anti-depressant, told me to let him know if I didn’t feel better in a month, and patted my shoulder.

And it worked. Those little magic pills changed me from the constantly crying, unsure, insecure, terrified woman to a mother who could participate in things and make jokes and feel confident in how I raised my baby. My husband helped when he was home, and he’d do anything necessary. His parents continued to help. It sounds dramatic, but honestly, it felt like being part of the sunrise.

Like I said, despite the months of feeling so bad, I was blessed. My husband supported me. My doctor supported me. My friends checked in to let me know they cared.

Andrea Yates didn’t have any of that. She was stuck in her house 24 hours a day with a pastor telling her she wasn’t doing a good job. Her husband went to work and left her there, knowing she was not coping. No one made sure she took her meds. By the time her husband realized the level of support that she needed, their children were dead.

Were there solutions for her? Maybe. Sending the kids to school or daycare and letting her have a job that would support her sense of worth might’ve helped…but a woman’s place is in the home, you know. Kids needed to be home-schooled to keep them away from the “world.” A housekeeper or a nanny might’ve helped. I believe every child has worth, but I don’t think she should’ve had so many children, especially in such short amount of time. And certainly, a more present husband who was willing to put his wife (and children’s ) well being above what an evangelist somewhere thought of him would’ve been beneficial. Listening to medical professionals who advised medication and no more children would’ve been ideal.

I tell all my pregnant friends about post partum depression. I warn them to watch for the signs and to know that I am here to help. I tell their husbands and friends and parents. I know that the majority of women don’t have these problems, but I’m not willing to risk even one person I could help. I hope that the year I spent thinking I was insane will allow me to help even one other person. Be a voice – you could save a life.