I never envisioned myself as a mother; growing up, I was the youngest in my family, and motherhood never felt like my calling. In my early twenties, while in a serious relationship, I frequently faced questions about marriage and children. My response was always the same: “That’s just not who I am,” and I meant it.
As I entered my late twenties, my life revolved around travel and socializing until I met someone special. We fell into a whirlwind romance, and, unsurprisingly, I became pregnant. That’s when things spiraled into darkness. Upon seeing the positive pregnancy test, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Being firmly pro-choice, I quickly contemplated abortion.
My partner, Jake, was supportive of my decision, though I could sense his excitement about the possibility of starting a family. A small part of me shared that enthusiasm—the allure of embracing what life had to offer. So, I chose to continue with the pregnancy.
However, the journey wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped. My first trimester was plagued by relentless nausea and an unexpected depression that felt foreign to me. My mood swings intensified; one moment I was on cloud nine, and the next, I was consumed by thoughts of despair. Despite Jake noticing something was off, he couldn’t grasp the full extent of my struggles. My depression created a barrier that made it tough to bond with the tiny life growing within me.
After experiencing some bleeding at work, I felt a mix of fear and relief—perhaps this pregnancy wasn’t meant to be. We hurried to the hospital, where the ultrasound revealed that everything was fine. The doctor termed it a “threatened abortion” and advised me to take it easy. In the following weeks, while Jake grew increasingly excited about our child, I remained hesitant to embrace the idea of calling the fetus my baby.
I found solace in stories of other women who struggled to connect with their pregnancies but eventually formed bonds with their babies. But my own situation grew more complicated when I faced another threatened abortion and subsequently lost my job due to absences. The pressure mounted as Jake became the sole provider for our family. In an attempt to bring some positivity into our lives, we decided to marry; however, my depression lingered, casting a shadow over what should have been a joyful time.
As I transitioned into my second trimester, now as a married woman, the darkness still loomed. I spent my days reading about pregnancy and watching daytime television, questioning how I had arrived at this point. To add to my stress, Jake took a job in Central Florida, hoping the change of scenery would lift our spirits. Unfortunately, it only intensified my feelings of isolation.
I often found myself alone in our apartment, unpacking boxes, eagerly awaiting Jake’s return. Loneliness enveloped me, and I struggled to recognize the person I had become. When my birthday arrived and I learned I was having a daughter, a flicker of joy ignited within me. I had always envisioned having a daughter, inspired by my love for “Gilmore Girls”—someone I could bond with over binge-watching shows and sharing life lessons.
But that joy was fleeting. Just weeks later, I experienced spotting and felt a surge of panic. Jake was at work, so I drove myself to the hospital, where the nurse reassured me that everything appeared fine. However, the following days saw the spotting worsen, culminating in what felt like a normal period. I rushed back to the emergency room, where an ultrasound revealed my worst fears: I was going into labor at just 22 weeks.
The doctor’s expression conveyed a grim reality; the chances of our baby surviving were shockingly low. We pleaded for every possible effort to save her. In the early hours, I gave birth to our precious daughter, whom we named Clara. She was whisked away before I could even see her face. The next day, as we awaited our visit to the NICU, we were met with heartbreaking news: Clara had not survived.
It took me nearly five months to foster love for my child, only to have that love stripped away. I now realize that my untreated depression significantly impacted my ability to connect with her. Antenatal depression affects 14-23% of pregnant individuals, posing risks for preterm labor and pregnancy loss. If I had sought the mental health support I needed, perhaps I would have had the chance to treasure those moments with Clara. Pregnancy is challenging enough; no one should have to endure depression on top of that. Help is available, and there’s no shame in asking for it.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the profound impact of depression during pregnancy, recounting her personal experience of struggling to connect with her unborn child. Despite moments of joy, the shadow of untreated depression loomed large, ultimately affecting her pregnancy journey and leading to heart-wrenching loss. It underscores the importance of seeking mental health support during this challenging time, as well as resources available for those navigating pregnancy and family planning.