Mental health, Or, What Pope Francis taught me about mothering

I was twelve weeks postpartum with my first child when it happened. I had been at Mass with Patrick and Baby Noah when a woman I knew, but hadn't seen in a long time, approached me. She came to admire our sweet baby. She held him, complimented me on how adorable he was, and then asked how I was doing.

I had begun to loathe that question, because depending on the day or my mood at that particular moment, it would reduce me to tears. I wasn't doing 'fine' as one is expected to say, but I also didn't feel like sharing that with just any old person.

So I said, "Well pretty good, I mean, look how amazing he is!" gesturing to Noah while she held him.

She looked relieved, but quickly asked for clarification, "You don't have any of that 'postpartum depression' do you?" Her tone of voice betrayed volumes about her true thoughts on the matter.

"Well, I haven't been diagnosed with it..." I faltered. "But one can be all the way up to the baby's first birthday...."

She apparently lacked the ability to read between the lines, because she jumped in and declared, "Oh good, because that's just a code-word for 'selfishness.'"

Even in my weakened state, where hormonal and chemical imbalances played with my already sleep-deprived mind that was adjusting to the enormous task of raising a human being, I knew what she said was a lie. 

I am so grateful I knew that, because my younger self would have believed her.

You see, as a young woman, in my eagerness to learn about my Catholic faith, I tended to accept anything any devout person said, priest, religious or layperson, as gospel truth. The Old Me would have heard her and believed, perhaps merely subliminally, that my suffering was a mark of sinfulness, that I was offending God by grappling with a very real, very common mental illness.

I knew it wasn't true, though. I had a basic medical understanding of it being a form of mental illness, and therefore can't be a result of someone's 'selfishness.' More importantly, though, I knew how deeply the Church valued mothers. Sure, some Church Lady might think that motherhood should be daily bliss, but I knew the actual Church, the Body of Christ, recognized how deep and profound the task of motherhood was, and how much humility it required.

That's why when I saw several images of Pope Francis when he was still Cardinal Burgolio, I was especially moved. It reminded me of that painful encounter with the Church Lady, and how wrong she was.

Here he is washing the feet of a new mother in the the maternity ward of a hospital.

Here he is kissing the feet of a newborn baby, again in a maternity ward of a hospital. 

With such love and reverence, he shows how sacred motherhood is. By his beautiful witness, he shows how the Church is here to support, encourage and affirm mothers, not condemn or criticize. 

The Pope didn't sift these mothers into categories -- of worthy and unworthy, stable and unstable, selfless and selfish. Rather, he saw the love these women had for their babies, and knew that they were embarking on a long, challenging, holy road of pouring themselves out. So he thanked them. He loved them as Christ does.

That's what each of us are called to do. 

Now that I have been a mother for almost four and half years, I hope if I should ever encounter the Church Lady, or those who think like her, again, I would say what Ann Voskamp said so wisely: "There's no shame saying that your heart and head are broken because there's a Doctor in the house. It's the wisest and the bravest who cry for help when lost."

There is simply nothing selfish of a wounded person seeking healing.

In fact, instead of it being self-seeking, it is perhaps the most courageous act a mother with postpartum depression can do for her baby.