Dear Sarah Kettering: What I Learned Inside Your Head

 

Dear Sarah,


Every week, Dr. Temple thanks those of us who play the clients. “Thank you for honoring those you gave life to,” she says. Because, in this class, we begin with a diagnosis. We begin with the disorder and work backwards to create the character. It would be easy to fall into caricatures and stereotypes—but our goal is to portray people, so that when we finish, our counselors say, as one of them said today, “The humanity is evident immediately.”


Because our clients are not their diagnoses. They are people, with bodies and minds and souls and places of worth and dignity in this world.


Thus, from the moment you entered my mind, I endeavored to know everything about you, because I wanted to do you justice. And more importantly, I wanted to do justice to the women and men you represent.


As of today, in your story, you don’t know that you have Major Depressive Disorder with peripartum onset. You don’t know that it will likely remit in seven months, even without treatment. You don’t know that psychotherapy can help immensely, and that there actually are medications that are safe to use while you nurse your precious daughter. All you know is that today, you feel numb, afraid, guilty, and discouraged. Today, you believe you are a failure, and you think you want to die.


But oh, my dear, there is so much hope for you.


Postpartum depression effects more than 10% of women—and nearly the same number of men! The numbers are higher depending on health history, socioeconomic status, race and ethnicity, social support, and where in the world the individual lives and gives birth. It can range in severity from persistent low mood to plans of suicide or infanticide. Options for treatment are almost as diverse as the women and men receiving them, but the unfortunate reality is that many parents suffer in silence, not knowing the reality of their condition or the help available to them. Even some who recognize these options stay away simply because of shame.


Fortunately for you, your concerned husband did not let this happen. He was quick to suggest you report to your doctor, which you did, and when she referred you to a counselor, you reluctantly showed up. But good heavens, you dragged your feet.


Shame would have liked to muzzle you. You almost gave in. There you sat, utterly terrified, as your therapist, this man you’d never met in your life, began to gently probe and examine the contents of your soul. He asked questions that felt like scalpels on your heart. Confessing the depths of your despair was like an autopsy, a study in the things that killed your spirit. And at the center of it all were your body and your baby, things you were meant to love—things you found yourself resenting.


It was scary, strenuous work, but he met you in it with compassion. You felt the balm even as you squirmed beneath his warm gaze. He was Jesus to you, when you thought Jesus was long gone. It was startling. It was good, somehow.


No one saw this, but you got in your car afterward and sobbed, relief more than anything, because someone had seen you, really seen you, and still believed there was hope.


You reminded me how important that is.


You reminded me, too, of the importance of the body, how it is the duty of the clinician to remember and honor the physicality of the client. From your body, a whole person emerged, body, soul, and spirit, and you have the scars to show it. In portraying you, I learned the shame those scars carry, how private and sensitive they are—and also how sacred. Even you, in the weight of your burdens, consciously wear the endurance and pride of those who carry life in their wombs. There is beauty in it that you can make out even underneath the haze that has covered your life.


Outside of my mind and the minds of those who watched today’s demonstration, you do not exist—but many like you do. This letter is really to them. Today was one of the first times I felt I got to hold space for someone like you as a therapist. I believed on your behalf. I’ve done the research, I’ve spoken with those who have been through it—there is hope. There is help. Those who experience postpartum depression are not forever doomed to stay there.


So, dear Sarahs of the world, my prayer for you today is that you would be first and foremost rid of shame, that you might come forward and receive the help that people like me (and with much more schooling) are so willing and thrilled to give. You are not terrible people, or mothers, or wives. You are not worthless. And we are holding space for you.


I pray deep and loving communities over you. I pray for people who intervene. I pray freedom

and healing and blessing over your motherhood, over your personhood.


And I pray one day I get to help you as you have helped me—because in stepping into your shoes, I was ministered to.


Love,


Jessi Bee, aspiring LPC


___________


MENTAL HEALTH RESOURCES

Numbers to Call

  • SAMSA’s National HelpLine: 1-800-662-4357
  • Postpartum Support International HelpLine: 1-800-944-4773
  • National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255


Websites to Visit


Books to Read

  • This Isn’t What I Expected by Karen Kleinman
  • The Fourth Trimester by Kimberly Ann Johnson
  • The Mother-to-Mother Postpartum Depression Support Book by Sandra Poulin
  • FOR MEN: The Postpartum Husband by Karen Kleinman

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