It’s taken nearly five years. Forty six periods that arrived each month when you didn’t want them to. Three years of invasive testing, scheduled sex and heartache. But none of that matters now, because he’s finally here.
Your baby. Your son.
Held up to you in the operating theatre for your first glimpse at the purest and most sublime form of perfection that is your child. You beam, you gasp. Then – click – it’s like someone flips a switch in your brain’s operating system and the “you” that existed before is gone in the blink of an eye. From now on, every day for the better part of two and a half years, your head will be flooded with intrusive, unwanted, harrowing thoughts and images about harm coming to that precious little boy. It’s like a 24-hour horror film played on repeat at the back of your mind, whilst in the real world you try to care for this tiny human. One you love so deeply that the merest idea that he could be taken away completely incapacitates you.
That’s what postnatal (or postpartum) obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), felt like after years of infertility, IVF and a traumatic birth during a pandemic. Though, at the time, I didn’t know what was happening.
I had everything I’d ever wished for, but I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy it. Truly one of the cruellest conditions, the French call OCD the “doubting disease”. Every waking second is spent graphically picturing and trying to prevent the worst things that can happen to a child. When you’ve put every protective measure you possibly can in place, the only variable left is you. An exhausted, hormonal, confused, terrified you and that is the perfect time for OCD to ask, “What if?”
What if, unbeknownst to even yourself, you’re actually a danger to your precious baby? What if these hideous thoughts and images you’re living with have a deeper meaning about who you really are? Now, relentlessly think about that and try to solve the question, “Could I be a monster?” Ruminate, perform punishing compulsions, almost against your will, to mitigate any risk. Scared the baby will die whilst you’re asleep? Stay awake. Scared you might accidentally or on purpose touch them inappropriately? Stare at your hands for hours at a time to make sure you know where they are. Wonder if breastfeeding is actually a form of abuse? Then pump until you’re riddled with mastitis and your nipples bleed. Worried about nappy changes? Compulsively check your heart-rate on your smart watch. Mine maxed out 135 bpm whilst I diligently aligned the annoying poppers on his onesie.
My mind didn’t immediately land on OCD. I mistakenly believed that these intrusive thoughts I was experiencing on a daily basis couldn’t possibly be OCD. OCD is all germs, handwashing and being a perfectionist, right? Clinical pernickety-ness. Whereas, I’m a mess. I have a floor-drobe. The American aviator Howard Hughes famously had OCD. His was characterised by an intense fear of germs and complex cleaning rituals. But did you know that it became so severe that it actually led to him living with poor personal hygiene? OCD loves a bit of irony. Scared you’re a possible risk to your baby can translate into you becoming scared of your baby.
As it happens, OCD subtypes are as wide and varied as the people who live with them – but they tend to centre around what you care about most. For a new mum, that’s her baby. And it is gut-wrenching.
My son, now five and half years old and obsessed with superheroes and chocolate, is the light of my life. But after experiencing the darkest side of motherhood to the point of suicidal ideation, I often ask myself, “Would things be different now?” I don’t think so. Most people have never heard of postpartum OCD (I know I hadn’t). To add to that, women are still being failed miserably and regularly misdiagnosed because the condition is so misunderstood.
In my new book, She Seems Fine To Me, I delve into the darkly comic aspects of trying to conceive, pregnancy, birth and trying to be a working actor – but also the tough stuff that nobody wants to say out loud. The taboo nature of these thoughts that keep you locked in a spiral of self-loathing and fear. One in four women will suffer with a perinatal mental health condition, with an estimated 16.9 per cent of those with OCD in the postpartum period. Isn’t it time that we broke through the stigma and shame mothers feel in asking for help, revealing difficult symptoms and talking openly about things that, to be honest, are far more common than we’re led to believe?
Silence kills women. The leading cause of maternal death in the first year after giving birth is suicide. I was very nearly one of those permanently silenced women. In honour of those we’re too late to save and for the vulnerable women yet to come, we must change the way we talk about modern motherhood or we will never end this cycle of “women have been having babies for thousands of years” and the “just get on with it” mentality.
Women are suffering in silence, but as long as you lose that baby weight as soon as possible, society doesn’t seem to care.
‘She Seems Fine to Me’ by Kimberley Nixon (Gallery UK) is out now.
