Sitting in the rocking chair in my three-week-old son’s nursery, tears streamed down my face. I was overwhelmed by an intense sadness that seemed to pour out of me uncontrollably. As I gazed at my precious boy, feeding him, my heart swelled with love, yet I felt utterly disconnected from myself, as if I were observing a stranger from above.
Just the week prior, I had been snapping at my partner and raising my voice at my daughter, Lily, far more than I should have. Simple things, like a dish left in the sink or my partner forgetting to bring me a glass of water, would send me into a spiral of frustration. Even Lily’s innocent need for attention felt overwhelming.
Recovering from my second C-section, I was in significant pain and wanted to isolate myself. My day-to-day life had become a monotonous cycle: feed the baby, change diapers, drop Lily off at school, attend Bible study, tackle work tasks, and perhaps squeeze in a meal or a shower. On the surface, I appeared fine — smiling and sharing adorable pictures of my kids on social media — but inside, I was slowly crumbling.
One day, while in the drive-thru line at Wendy’s, I was chatting with a close friend who casually asked, “How are you?” I responded with a bright “I’m good! How about you?” But she immediately challenged me, saying, “No, you’re not. You’re not fine, are you?” I broke down, sobbing on the phone as she comforted me, assuring me that I was normal and that she had experienced similar struggles.
After some time, I finally admitted, “I have postpartum depression.” Saying those words was both liberating and terrifying. It was uncomfortable, like the feeling you get when someone says, “We need to talk.” But it was a necessary step toward healing. It took a loved one to help me recognize that I was battling something real — something I had been trying to manage alone for too long.
Later that evening, after the kids were asleep, I confided in my partner, “I think I have postpartum depression and anxiety.” To my surprise, he responded, “I know.” His acknowledgment hit me hard. He had known and hadn’t said anything, leaving me with questions and a sense of blame that was unwarranted. I realized that we were both navigating unfamiliar territory together.
After many tears and heartfelt conversations, I scheduled an appointment with my midwife, who was familiar with my history and would understand what I was going through. During the appointment, I struggled to complete the postpartum depression screening due to my tears. I told my midwife that the questions seemed absurd, as anyone feeling as I did couldn’t possibly answer them. She offered a comforting laugh and a hug, which brought me some relief.
In our discussion, she reassured me that what I was experiencing was not unusual, that I was indeed a good mom, and there were resources available for me. We explored various options; I was hesitant about medication due to my past experiences with depression. Instead, we considered therapy, exercise, essential oils for emotional support, and adding help around the house. She provided a prescription as a safety net but encouraged me to focus on other strategies first.
I leaned heavily on my partner and a close friend during this difficult period, revealing my struggles to very few people. In fact, many of my family and friends are learning about my journey through this blog post. Writing has always been a therapeutic outlet for me, helping me articulate my experiences.
As time has passed, I’ve made progress. While my depression has subsided, I still grapple with anxiety and find myself reacting more strongly than I’d like at times. Some days feel incredibly challenging, leaving me questioning my abilities as a mother. But I also have days filled with joy, laughter, and quality time with my family.
Throughout this journey, I’ve learned that parenting is filled with ups and downs. I accept that I’m not perfect and that’s okay. I am loved, I am a good partner and parent, and it’s not about achieving perfection. It’s about confronting my struggles, seeking help, and ultimately finding strength in my faith.
I share my story not for sympathy or to portray myself as a hero, but in the hope that others may find solace in knowing they are not alone. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m grateful for the progress I’ve made. Admitting my postpartum depression and anxiety doesn’t define my love for my children or my role as a mother. It’s simply a challenge I am navigating.
If you are facing postpartum mood disorders, know that you can overcome this too. You are an incredible mom, deserving of love and support. Remember, you can do this.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt account, Sarah Thompson discusses her experience with postpartum depression after the birth of her second child and reflects on the emotional struggles she faced. Despite feeling overwhelmed and disconnected, she learns to confront her challenges with the support of loved ones and professional help. Sarah emphasizes that admitting to mental health struggles does not diminish her love for her children. Her journey serves as a reminder that many mothers face similar battles and that it’s essential to seek help and embrace the imperfections of parenting.