From Marketing to Motherhood: Confession from a (M)Ad Woman

This is not about post purchase dissonance, or marketing. It’s about me and my battle with post-partum depression.

Love, they say, is blind. Bullcrap! It's starry-eyed and ubiquitous. It has the lure of the unknown, the sweet scent of magic and the taste of success. It also goes by the name of “Marketing”.

My love for marketing dates back to 2008, when I selected it as my subject of choice in the third semester of MBA. Of the many terms and things marketing has taught me, post-purchase dissonance, also referred to as ‘Buyer's Remorse’, holds a special place. Not because it is one of the most common feelings we (buyers) go through. But because of it’s complex implications on our cognition, our behaviour and our reactions.

But this is not about post-purchase dissonance, or marketing, for that matter. It's about me and my battle with post-partum depression; one of the best kept (dirty little) secrets of motherhood.

From Losing a Mother to Becoming One

After successfully graduating MBA with a distinction, I went on to work with ad agencies in different capacities before landing my dream job as a Marketing Communication Manager at a leading eLearning company. I married the love of my life. Bought a house. Travelled the world. And a year-and-a-half later, I was ready to announce the 'good news'.

Life as I knew it was about to change. In ways more than one.

My mother was detected with an auto-immune disorder, the rarest of its kind, to which she succumbed as I entered the third trimester of my pregnancy. With this new life I was carrying inside me, I suddenly felt empty.

Baby P was born exactly three months and three days after aai's death. He made his arrival loud and clear to the world as he broke the silence in the maternity hospital at 10:30 on a cold December night. It should have been music to my ears – the first cry of my baby; who had been a part of me for over nine months, and who I had seen grow from a tiny speckle on the ultrasound scan into this six-pound bundle of joy that I was holding in my arms.

But the cry was far from music. It felt like a shrill that pierced through my freedom, my independence, and my life.

I lay awake in the hospital bed – three nights in a row, with flashbacks of my mom and my childhood flashing in front of my eyes, while the baby and the rest of the world weaved dreams and made wishes on shooting stars.

I blamed the lack of sleep for my irritability, loss of appetite, mood swings and low energy over the next few days, as life (for others) slowly got back to normal. The husband resumed work. The in-laws returned to their home. The visits from family and friends dwindled. But for me, the battle within had just begun.

I hated myself, my body, the baby and everything else there was to hate. And to not hate.

My once lean body frame looked like a lop-sided balloon. My favourite clothes clung to me in the most unflattering way. My waist-long hair sat in a tight bun. And the mirror didn't lie; it reflected everything but beauty.

Sexy lingerie made way for ill-fitting breastfeeding bras and nursing pads. Skinny jeans and crop tops gathered dust in remote corners of the wardrobe. Dressing up became a thing of the past. Shame displaced confidence. Guilt displaced happiness.

I confined myself to the four walls of the house. Avoided friends. Shunned family.

Feeding times scared me as I couldn't get my baby to latch on. I was petrified of burping the baby as I would hurt his yet-to-be-developed neck. In-law visits made me anxious as every move I made was monitored through a microscope.

Every feeling, every emotion, every fear was real. Except that all of these lived in my head. Not in the real world. Not in my home, for sure.

The Journey to Reclaiming My Life

I had let PPD overpower me and take control of my life for five months. But there had to be an end to this. I couldn't continue to be emasculated and live as a slave to this all-consuming monster for the rest of my life.

The first step was to embrace PPD. It liberated me. I came to terms with the fact that I indeed had clinical depression and needed help. While I did not seek any medical assistance, I decided to work towards overcoming it myself.

I reignited my love for reading. Started going for strolls. Read books to the baby. Rejoined office. Bought new clothes. Chopped off my long locks.

The improvement wasn't overnight. It never is. It takes a lot of patience, acceptance and family support. But more than anything it takes willpower to take that first step. And to continue soldiering on.

It is said that time is the best healer. And it was.

With each passing month I coped with my mom's death better, I reclaimed my body, and my zest for life and confidence started to rebuild. And as it did, the PPD started wearing off. Slowly but surely. Until I felt like the young girl who had once stood on the podium in front of a large audience, accepting an award at the hands of Hon'ble Late Vilasrao Deskhmukh for topping MBA in a subject none other than marketing.

(A mother and a marketer, Pranjalee is a self-confessed (m)Ad woman at heart. When not strategising and managing marketing activities, as the Marketing Head at a learning eLearning company, she loves decorating her house, playing with her toddler and penning down her musings on her journey; from being a kid with self-esteem issues to becoming the woman she is today. Her writing is a slice of life, with parallels drawn between her life as a mother and a marketer.)

More of her writing work can be found here.