“I can’t say I’m excited about becoming a mother anymore,” I confided to my doctor, tears streaming down my face, heavy shadows beneath my eyes. “I just want it to be over.” I felt an overwhelming wave of shame, unable to meet my partner’s gaze as those words escaped me. Even now, I grapple with guilt for having uttered them.
My journey with postpartum depression began in the final trimester of my first pregnancy. In that last month, sleep eluded me. I found myself waking six to eight times a night, not for any dramatic reason, but simply to relieve myself. I struggled with debilitating back pain, while my hands and feet swelled to a point where they felt unrecognizable. Yet, more distressing than the physical discomfort was the relentless anxiety I faced daily.
Counting down the weeks only intensified my anxiety. The moment I discovered I was pregnant, I eagerly signed up for weekly updates. I scoured social media for hashtags related to my pregnancy week. #12weeks… #25weeks… This new phase of life felt like an endless waiting game, devoid of any joy.
Anxiety had been a companion throughout my life, sometimes manageable and other times overwhelming. However, my pregnancies and the postpartum period proved to be the most challenging times. I often found myself dwelling on worst-case scenarios, continually fearful of tragedies that might occur. The fear of miscarriage haunted me, especially since I was a twin and my mother had lost my sister at 20 weeks. That milestone weighed heavily on my mind.
Once I reached the 20-week mark, my focus shifted obsessively to labor and delivery. I discussed my anxiety with my first OB during an early appointment. He was an experienced doctor, well-regarded for his long career in obstetrics. However, when I expressed my concerns, he simply replied, “Just don’t stress over burning the mashed potatoes!” His dismissive comment stung—I was seeking genuine support, not a flippant remark. We later switched doctors after he casually mentioned a concerning detail about our son during an ultrasound, advising me not to Google it. For the record, telling any expectant mother not to search for information is ill-advised, especially when anxiety is involved.
I hated being pregnant. Some may label me cold or heartless for admitting it, but it’s the truth. I had naively believed that pregnancy meant indulging in cravings and avoiding work. Instead, my doctor monitored my weight due to unhealthy gains, and I continued working full-time right up until the day before my induction. Every time I voiced my discomfort, people responded with, “It will all be worth it when you hold your sweet baby.” Really? Would it?
At 38 weeks, I reached my breaking point, leading to the conversation with my doctor about my desire to escape motherhood altogether. Thankfully, he inquired about any thoughts of self-harm (none) and recommended a sleep aid. I resisted, having avoided medication throughout my pregnancy, but he insisted it was necessary for my well-being.
Pregnancy is often portrayed as a miraculous experience, yet for many, including myself, it can be fraught with discomfort and anxiety. It’s crucial for mothers to know that it’s perfectly alright to feel overwhelmed or disconnected from the joyous aspects of pregnancy. We must break the silence surrounding these feelings, as open discussions about anxiety and depression during pregnancy can help reduce stigma. If you suspect you may be experiencing postpartum depression or simply need support, excellent resources like March of Dimes on fertility treatment can be invaluable.
For those interested in enhancing their fertility journey, consider exploring boost fertility supplements. Additionally, for transgender men navigating similar experiences, this resource can provide tailored insights.
In summary, it’s essential for expectant mothers to know they’re not alone in their struggles. By fostering open dialogue, we can create a more supportive environment for sharing the complexities of pregnancy.