When my child arrived in 2016, I believed my life had irrevocably transformed. Every parent understands that feeling. My sense of self and primary purpose shifted, and I felt it was a positive change. Motherhood was the most profound gift and the most significant shift I had encountered in my three decades of life. My partner shared this sentiment. Despite grappling with postpartum issues initially, we felt compelled by faith to expand our family just two years later, welcoming our daughter 27 months after our son.
Reflecting on my experience during my son’s dramatic birth, I recognize now how deeply it affected me, more than I understood at the time. With a graduate degree in school psychology and years of therapy under my belt, I was aware of my genetic predisposition to anxiety and depressive episodes. However, it was only after our daughter’s arrival that I confronted the reality that while I could manage postpartum anxiety with medication, the postpartum depression and suicidal thoughts that followed her birth required professional intervention. By the time she was eight months old, I was actively engaged in therapy with both a psychologist and a psychiatrist, addressing my mental health struggles.
Ironically, I was married to a clinical psychologist—a man who had navigated his own mental health battles stemming from childhood trauma and past depression. However, professional expertise doesn’t guarantee immunity from mental health issues. He too struggled under the weight of stressors that accompanied my challenging pregnancies, the tumultuous births, and breastfeeding difficulties. The pressures of a colicky newborn, sleepless nights, financial burdens, and the challenge of prioritizing self-care weighed heavily on him. Though he cherished our children and reveled in his role as their father, he often lamented the precious time he missed with me. We found ourselves caught in a tug-of-war between our love for our kids, our need for personal care, and the limited resources we had to nurture our relationship.
Three months before our daughter’s birth, my husband endured a traumatic physical assault at work. Instead of seeking help, he internalized his pain, pouring his energy into caring for our family and his patients as he believed was expected of him as a husband, father, and mental health professional. He was dedicated to building a thriving private practice to give us the life we envisioned.
Tragically, his neglect of self-care and untreated trauma led to a dependency on alcohol. On May 25, 2019—just a month shy of his 33rd birthday—his battle with addiction and untreated mental health issues culminated in his suicide.
The ground fell away beneath us, leaving my children and me in despair. We were shattered, lost, and in disbelief. How did I miss the signs? How could I let this happen? I was a school psychologist, and he was a clinical psychologist!
The overwhelming guilt following my husband’s death intertwined with the trauma of my grief, presenting significant challenges in the aftermath. A supportive community rallied around us, caring for my children and helping me cope as I grappled with the enormity of losing my husband and their father. Yet, my trust in people was irrevocably damaged. If the one person I loved most could leave us so abruptly, how could I trust anyone else? How could I trust myself when I failed to see the storm brewing?
Describing the healing journey since that fateful night as challenging is an understatement—it’s an ongoing process. However, I have learned that sometimes you need to lose yourself to rediscover who you are. You must remain humble and trust that a higher plan exists—one that is far more profound than anything you could have envisioned.
Three Undeniable Truths I’ve Discovered
- Embracing your authentic self takes courage, but life is too fleeting to be anything else. Vulnerability can save lives; we all have a story worth sharing.
- Faith is my guiding light. Though I initially struggled with anger towards God, I recognize a divine plan for my children and me that surpasses my dreams. I find comfort in signs from above—be it through people or nature that connect me to my husband’s spirit and the divine.
- Hope is always present. Healing occurs within community. Surround yourself with those who show up for you, and trust will gradually return. Your story isn’t finished. Mine isn’t either.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or addiction, please seek help. You don’t have to face this alone. For more insights on navigating challenges, explore this blog post and check out this resource for authoritative guidance on self-care. Additionally, for pregnancy-related support, visit this excellent resource.
In summary, my partner’s tragic passing has taught me invaluable lessons about vulnerability, faith, and the power of community. Healing is a continuous journey, one that I am committed to navigating for myself and my children.