How I'm Learning to Love Myself on Antidepressants ...Middle East

Nearly 21 million Americans suffer from depression according to the 2021 National Survey on Drug Use and Health and a more recent Gallop poll suggests more than one third of women suffer from depression at some point in their lives.

And yet, when I found myself as one of these statistics, it took me nearly six months to admit I needed an antidepressant to make me feel like myself again. I was ashamed that I couldn't pull myself out of the deep hole I felt like I was in, and even after the medicine - a common SSRI called sertraline - helped to bring joy back in my life, I fought against the idea that I needed to take it.

After two failed attempts to go off my antidepressants, I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I might just need these drugs for the rest of my life. So in an effort to be honest with myself and to help others going through something similar, I'm sharing the biggest stages and revelations of my journey.

Pushing Past the Denial and Guilt

If we're being honest, I knew I should be on antidepressants a week after I had my daughter in December 2020. The doctor's office had called to schedule my six week appointment and I could not stop sobbing long enough to pick a date.

The office suggested I come in immediately and I dutifully complied, but shook my head no (while crying) when the doctor suggested I start on antidepressants. She suspected, rightly so, that I was fairly deep into postpartum depression, but I couldn't admit the same to myself.

I sank deeper and deeper into the depression for six months, slowly withdrawing from friendships and always feeling sad and despondent. This in turn created significant feelings of mom guilt that I wasn't enjoying my adorable new daughter, which only made me spiral further.

It wasn't until I started having vivid thoughts about leaving my family, floating away in a white gown down the river, that I admitted I needed help. I started on a low dose of sertraline and within weeks could feel the fog clearing from my brain. But I didn't believe it was OK not to be OK.

I grew up in a loving, supportive family, but one that didn't talk about emotions. It's a hallmark of Southern families, I think, to always give off the perception that everything is perfect, even when it's clearly not. I don't think I ever saw my parents cry when I was growing up, and I most certainly never saw them argue or get upset with each other. If my parents were sad, I never knew.

In high school, I briefly went to therapy after a particularly traumatic event, but neither of my siblings or any of my friends knew I was going. I felt ashamed about going, and keeping it a secret certainly perpetuated my own beliefs that being depressed and needing help was bad.

So when I developed what I knew was postpartum depression I felt embarrassed and like I had to hide what I was feeling.

Coming to Terms With Reality

For almost two years I relied on taking an antidepressant, sometimes two, during more difficult periods of time, every day. And they worked. I had more good days than bad and felt like the former version of myself.

But I never thought I'd need to take them long-term. That idea was a tough pill to swallow for some reason, that short-term help was OK but long-term help was not.

I decided to try going off my antidepressants in 2024 to see what would happen. I didn't talk to my doctor about my decision, which I realize is decidedly not the way to go about things, instead turning to the internet to read about how to slowly taper my dose to try to avoid antidepressant withdrawal symptoms. (And please, don't be like me - talk to your doctor.)

Over the course of about two months I told myself that the negative feelings I was feeling were just part of the process. The feelings persisted and while I felt myself sinking back into depression I told myself it was just my body readjusting, and that if I could hang on just a little bit more things would right themselves.

Two months later I was on a trip with my best friends. It had taken all of my energy to get on the plane to meet them, even though it would have been something I normally would have been counting down the minutes to. The whole weekend I was withdrawn and weepy. My friends took note and asked me what was going on, and I tearfully confessed I had stopped taking my antidepressants.

I'm glad I spoke up. The love and acceptance they showed me made me admit that I needed to go back on the medication. Again, within weeks I felt like my normal self again but still had misgivings about being on mental health drugs long-term.

The second time I went off my antidepressants wasn't intentional. I ran out of my sertraline a week before a check-in with my doctor, and I figured a week without them wouldn't be bad. But then after seeing my doctor it took me another week to fill my prescription. Subconsciously, I think I didn't prioritize picking it up because I was hopeful I'd prove to myself that I didn't need it anymore.

The first week without the meds was fine. I was a bit more sensitive than usual, but thought I was coping well. The second week, though, was like a tsunami hit me in the face. I was inexplicably sad all the time, crying at the drop of a hat and angry at the world, and I couldn't bring myself to do anything but the bare minimum to keep up appearances. It was a wakeup call.

Leaning Toward Acceptance

After two unsuccessful attempts to come off my antidepressants, I'm finally reckoning with the fact that they might be a long-term solution for me. I'm still not totally comfortable admitting that, but I know I don't like how I feel when I'm not on them and that my life is so much more enjoyable with a bit of added support.

I'm so glad that Gen Z is so much more open with their feelings and emotions and that going to therapy is more of a standard than an exception these days. If I had seen others around me admitting they needed help when I was younger perhaps I would have been quicker to accept I needed help, and that I wouldn't have felt ashamed about it.

The more mental health gets talked about the less stigmatized it becomes. It's not bad to get help, especially when it can improve your quality of life. I suspect my mental health will always be a work in progress, but I'm glad to have the support of my antidepressants (and friends and family!) for the journey.

Elliott Harrell is a Raleigh, NC-based freelance writer with two little girls who runs a sales team by day and writes about things she's passionate about, like women's health, parenting, and food, at night. In addition to PS, her work can be found in The Everymom, Motherly, Business Insider, Eater, and more.

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