On June 3, 2011, I found myself in a locked room at Maplewood Hospital, lying on a simple bed with only a plate of dinner that the crisis team had kindly brought me. I was utterly sleep-deprived, grappling with overwhelming feelings of hopelessness and the crippling weight of postpartum depression. I was convinced that anyone in the world would be a better mother to my son than I could ever hope to be. My communication had dwindled, and I spent hours rocking back and forth, desperately trying to block out the chaos of the world around me.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was showered with support from family and friends. Everyone was so thrilled for us, indulging in my countless pregnancy rants, throwing beautiful baby showers, and showering me with advice that I thought I would find invaluable.
But once my son arrived, reality hit hard.
The journey began even before his birth, as I faced five long months of bed rest that left my body weak and frail. When it was finally time to deliver, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but that relief was short-lived. After 72 grueling hours of labor, including a traumatic forceps delivery, the pain was almost too much to bear.
Suddenly, the joyful visions I had of carrying my little one around with friends felt completely out of reach. The happiness I anticipated seemed as elusive as the sleep I desperately craved. As postpartum depression set in almost immediately, I questioned everything—how had I ended up here? Why did I want this? What had I done?
My mind felt so foggy that even basic decisions became overwhelming. I often found myself frozen, paralyzed by panic attacks. Food turned into a source of stress and disgust. I felt like I was failing as a mother, as a wife, as a human being. I couldn’t even remember how to use my phone, struggled to fill out simple forms, and fixated on trivial details like nightlights, all to distract from the terror that I wasn’t cut out for this role.
Ten days after my son’s birth, I sent a heartfelt message to my family and friends, expressing my despair and feelings of hopelessness. A few hours later, I voluntarily admitted myself to a psychiatric ward.
As word spread about my hospitalization, a wave of support came my way. My sister-in-law moved into our home, taking on night shifts with the baby. Close friends took time off work to help my husband care for our little one. Meals arrived daily from kind strangers and our local community. Others brought diapers, wipes, and clothes.
During my day passes home, the few friends I allowed to visit made sure I was safe, never judging or telling me how I should feel as a mother. It was humbling yet comforting to know I wasn’t alone.
Some afternoons, I would silently rock in my chair with my baby while a friend sat quietly by my side. At other times, they would hold him for hours, giving me precious moments to rest and gather my thoughts. They never made me feel “abnormal” because of my postpartum struggles.
Eventually, after many months of battling my demons, my mind finally started to loosen its grip on my soul. With the help of sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medication, I began to regain perspective. I emerged from this experience a stronger mother and a passionate advocate for other moms.
True friendship reveals itself not in the easy moments but during the difficult times when life feels like it’s falling apart. The unwavering support I received from friends and even strangers was a beautiful reminder of love in its purest form. My heart is filled with gratitude for those who paused their lives to save mine. It truly doesn’t just take a village to raise a child; it takes a village to support a mom. Finding a community of fellow parents is one of the greatest gifts you can receive. For more insights on this journey, feel free to explore this resource on in vitro fertilisation.
Thank you to all the members of my incredible mommy tribe.