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Heat Waves and Heartache: My Postpartum Journey
It was a scorching 97 degrees when I went into labor, waiting on a crowded subway platform for the uptown train to the hospital. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised by the sweltering heat. I had tried everything to jumpstart labor: devouring a whole pineapple, walking nearly two miles (with only one pit stop for an unsweetened iced tea and a restroom break), and even experimenting with nipple stimulation. At 39 weeks, during the fifth heat wave of that summer, I was ready to transition from pregnancy to parenting.
The hospital felt blissfully cool. Any woman who has endured a summer pregnancy knows how refreshing a cold environment can be, and I appreciated it immensely after 34 hours of labor. But even in that moment of relief, my mind raced with worry for my newborn daughter, knowing our apartment was way too hot for her fragile little body.
We had two air conditioning units in our two-bedroom apartment—one in the living room and one in the bedroom—but that didn’t help much. The sun blazed down in my daughter’s room, while the kitchen baked under its rays all day. If you weren’t sitting right in front of an AC unit, you were sweating. I wandered around in just my nursing bra and underwear, burdened with a hospital-grade maxi pad, and still found myself drenched in sweat. Looking back, I can’t tell if it was the heat or simply the overwhelming realization of having a day alone with my baby, but tears streamed down my face. I cried not out of sadness or loneliness (though those feelings were definitely lurking), but because I couldn’t help it. The tears flowed instinctively, as natural as a cough or sneeze, and I found myself crying three, four, even five times a day.
Understanding Postpartum Depression
Postpartum depression (PPD), often referred to as postnatal depression, is a specific form of depression that impacts women after childbirth. Common symptoms include sadness, fatigue, disruptions in sleep and appetite, decreased sex drive, irritability, crying spells, anxiety, and anger.
Some of these symptoms seemed to fit the typical parenting experience, like exhaustion and sleepless nights, but it was the others that overwhelmed me. I felt anxious constantly, especially on weekdays when my husband would leave for work. I would sob heavily as he walked down the hall, often before the door even closed. I cried over spilled water, cold coffee, a pile of dishes, and even when my cat threw up. I cried just because I was crying. Then, the tears morphed into anger. Everything infuriated me—a messy floor, a fussy baby, and a husband who had the luxury of going to work while I was stuck at home with diapers and spit-up.
The little things were manageable. I could turn on the TV to break the maddening silence or take a quick trip to the mailbox, but that was about it. Life continued around me while I felt like I was stuck.
I started walking every day, no matter the weather. My daughter was protected from the summer sun by overlapping canopies on her stroller, but I was always exposed to the elements. People say sunlight can boost your mood, but I don’t recall it helping me at all. In fact, I can only remember bits of those days—the strange sunburn on the back of my neck, iced coffee, and how grimy our local grocery store, Foodtown, felt. It was cleaner than most Brooklyn bodegas, but still far from perfect. I always found an excuse to stop at the coffee shop, but my frequent visits to Foodtown were less clear. I convinced myself it was for the cool air, but deep down, I was looking for connection, hoping someone would notice I was struggling and offer real help.
Having a history of depression, I recognized that I was in a dark place, yet I kept pushing through. I thought if I tried hard enough, I could overcome it. I should be enjoying this time. I should be happy. Just snap out of it, right?
But I knew better.
I felt like I was watching the first year of my daughter’s life through a murky lens. It was as if I had my eyes open in a chlorine-heavy pool, with phantom stings in my eyes. I stifled tears while she enjoyed her Cheerios, butternut squash, and breast milk. I cried when she learned to smile, sit, stand, and crawl. I cried when she said “mama.” But I didn’t feel like a mama. Mamas loved their children unconditionally. Mamas thrived in motherhood. I felt like a failure—a bad mother who wasn’t giving her child what she deserved.
One of the darkest moments came after a particularly tough day. My daughter was teething and crying, and nothing I did seemed to comfort her. I offered her my breast, but she latched on for just a moment before returning to her wailing state. I stared blankly at the freshly painted closet door in front of me. As I rocked her, tears streamed down my face. In a moment of despair, I imagined holding her tightly, my grip tightening until her cries ceased and her body relaxed. Suddenly jolted awake, I placed her gently in her crib and stepped out of the room. I sank down to the floor in the hallway, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. I pounded my fists against the wooden floor until my hands were red and sore, crying until my throat felt raw. My baby screamed in her crib, and I screamed into a towel I had grabbed from the bathroom. At that moment, I felt as though I wanted to die; it was then I realized I truly needed help.
But I didn’t give in.
I was fortunate enough to seek help and persevere, but even two years later, as the weather warms up, I can feel my defenses rising. The heat brings back memories of tears, reminding me of that dark place I fought so hard to escape. While I still struggle with the discomfort of sweating and the sticky feeling of my skin on plastic chairs, I’ve learned to adapt. I keep my thermostat set to a comfortable 76 degrees, throw on some shorts and sunscreen, and head to the park with my daughter to chase ducks and pick flowers under the sun.
This article was originally published on Sep. 9, 2015. If you’re looking for more resources and support, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, postpartum depression can cast a shadow over what should be a joyous time, leaving mothers feeling overwhelmed and disconnected. By recognizing the signs and seeking help, it’s possible to find a way through the darkness and embrace the beautiful moments of motherhood.