I long for more children. While I cherish my two kids, I often imagine what it would be like to welcome a third or even a fourth child into our lives. However, due to my mental health struggles, expanding our family isn’t a possibility.
After the birth of my son, who is now four, I was overwhelmed by postpartum depression. It turned my world upside down, leading me to misuse my anxiety medication in an attempt to numb the pain. I found myself taking three to four times the prescribed amount, often unable to rise from bed. My routine consisted of waking up just to get the children ready for preschool, then retreating back to bed until it was time to pick them up.
Admitting that I placed them in afternoon care because I couldn’t manage being with them for extended periods was difficult. Alongside postpartum depression, I dealt with intense anxiety that sometimes erupted as anger. This made me hypersensitive to noise, often leaving me irritable when the kids played.
I began pretending to have migraines so that my husband or mother-in-law would take over childcare. This deception filled me with guilt and made me feel like a failure as a mom. I reached a point where suicidal thoughts overwhelmed me. When I sought help from my doctor, he told me I had treatment-resistant depression, leaving me feeling abandoned. One fateful Friday, I went to the emergency room due to my suicidal ideation and was hospitalized for the weekend.
A couple of months later, I finally opened up to my husband about the severity of my struggles. This led to a six-week stay at a psychiatric hospital, where I received the help I desperately needed.
Though two years have passed since my hospitalization, I didn’t leave with a cure. I underwent electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) every four to six weeks and attended weekly therapy sessions. It’s essential for me to stay on track with my medication and learn coping mechanisms for my anxiety. I can’t afford to falter, even once. It’s been and continues to be a challenging journey.
I’m finally beginning to feel a semblance of control over my mental health. It is bittersweet to celebrate this progress, as I fear I may have missed my chance to expand my family. At 37, there’s still time, but I struggle to justify having another child after everything I’ve experienced with my other two. The thought of facing those feelings of despair again is daunting, both for me and my husband. I wonder if my desire for more children stems from biology or a sense of loss—perhaps a mix of both.
Despite my struggles, I am grateful for what I have. I savor my family, yet I can’t shake the feeling of betrayal by my own body and mind. I envision cradling a newborn, the scent of their head, and the joy of breastfeeding. I imagine sewing baby blankets to match my other children’s. I think about the laughter and memories we could create as a larger family. However, I know I must pause my daydreams.
Instead, I focus on the beautiful moments with my current kids. I treasure our laughter, the joy of building forts from cushions, and their warm hugs. I hold on to the love we share and all the wisdom I hope to impart (likely to be ignored) as we celebrate holidays together. I strive to find joy in each day and cherish it deeply.
I lovingly let go of the dreams that could have been and redirect my attention to what I already have, which is more than enough. My family feels complete, and so do I.
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Summary:
This heartfelt narrative explores the author’s struggles with mental illness, particularly postpartum depression and anxiety, which have impacted her desire for a larger family. Despite her challenges, she remains grateful for her two children and focuses on cherishing the moments they share. The journey of managing her mental health has been arduous, but she finds strength in celebrating her present family while letting go of unfulfilled dreams.