The D-MER blog will regularly present in-depth personal stories concerning D-MER. Stories from mothers, health professionals and support people are all welcome! Our hope is that reading these stories will serve as a source of support and encouragement. If you or someone you know has D-MER and would be willing to share your story on the blog (can be anonymous or not) please send an email toDMERblog@gmail.com. There is no deadline, it’s on ongoing project. We appreciate your support and participation!
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Anna O’Neil had her daughter in February 2017. She writes regularly for aleteia.org, as a lifestyle columnist. To read more from her go to: https://aleteia.org/author/anna-oneil/
Below Anna shares some of her thoughts about her D-MER journey:
Let me just start by saying, I am not a silver lining kind of woman. If something is awful, it’s awful, and trying to focus on the bright side generally just makes me more sulky. I mean, the bright side is usually pretty pale in comparison to the big, looming, un-bright side. And D-MER is really and truly awful.
Still, something in me changed after I developed D-MER, and it’s been straight-up life changing.
Every time the let-down shows up, I sink into the pit, as I call it. And predictably, whatever I’m looking about, thinking about, or saying, becomes tinged with horror. I was spacing out once, staring at a bookcase, and I suddenly shuddered: “Something is terribly wrong with that book, but I can’t put my finger on it.” (If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought it was possessed or something.) Yep, that was just a let-down. Or I’ll be shopping, and all of a sudden I hate myself and everything looks terrible. Or I’m cooking something amazing, and ugh, why does it look so utterly unappetizing? Oh right, the let-down.
This is pretty familiar to all us D-MER sufferers, I gather. I was joking the other day that after infinite repetitions of the same experience, I wouldn’t fall for it, but every time, the feeling still feels like reality — up until I feel the tingle of the milk showing up. Then (April fools!) I remember that it was only a fake emotion, the kind that comes from my brain, not the kind that’s triggered by reality.
And slowly, to my delight, it is teaching me to tell the difference between real emotions and fake ones. I’ve always been yanked around by my hormones — my cycle, or my pregnancies, or the return to fertility — it all leaves me with whiplash. The hardest part of all of this is never knowing whether I’m feeling rotten because something is wrong, or because my brain and body just aren’t treating me well. Am I angry because my husband is actually being a jerk, or am I angry because my brain’s being quirky? Is the world really a pit of despair, or am I just PMSing? Is this guilt because I’m a bad person, or is it just neurochemical? It’s so hard to tell the difference some days.
But slowly, imperceptibly, D-MER is teaching me to tell the difference. I am getting so much practice, after all. Every day, every let-down, is like a pop quiz. “Quick!” my neurotransmitters ask, “Is this an actual problem, or a fabricated one?” And I have to guess. Sometimes I fall for it, sometimes I don’t, but 100% of the time, my body gives me the answer. If I don’t feel the familiar pit in my stomach, if it doesn’t ease up in its usual 40 seconds, I know the emotion was real. If it doesn’t, I can move on. Either way, though, I get my answer.
So I’m a few months postpartum now, and my little girl is starting to sleep through the night. My body’s taken that as a sign to gearing up to ovulation, and this process has come with a hurricane of hormones. If I didn’t know what D-MER has taught me, I’d hate myself right now. I’d think I’m just a fragile, irritable, impatient wreck of a person. I’d assume that’s just who I am. Except I can kind of tell the difference now, between what’s my hormones, and what’s truly me. Where I’d normally be wracked with self-loathing, this time, I’m not.
As much as I hate to admit it, I have D-MER to thank for that.
