It’s been ages since I watched “Look Who’s Talking,” but I can’t shake the image of Kirstie Alley perched on a park bench, engrossed in a book about postpartum depression. With a defiant glance up from her pages, she proclaims, “Well, I’m not gonna!” Fast forward, and there she is, sobbing on the couch at a random TV commercial. That scene pretty much summed up my entire understanding of postpartum challenges before I became a mom.
Despite my meticulous planning for every facet of my pregnancy, I quickly realized that I couldn’t control whether I would experience postpartum anxiety or depression. The most I could do was arm myself with knowledge about potential warning signs and causes—just in case.
To my surprise, I found scant mention of postpartum anxiety in my readings. I learned that around 80% of mothers face some form of postpartum emotional turmoil, yet it remains a topic many won’t even recognize until they experience it. Some might go through it without even naming it for what it is. None of the literature prepared me for the emotional rollercoaster that lay ahead.
After an exhausting 46 hours in the hospital, my daughter arrived via C-section in November 2015. She was perfect, and I felt my world was finally complete. Yet, as night fell on our first day as a family, I had no inkling that fatigue would soon be overshadowed by something far more alarming.
Out of nowhere, a wave of panic crashed over me as if someone had flipped a switch. I felt a sudden tunnel vision and an overwhelming urge for fresh air. Having spent three days in the hospital, I was certain that a quick breath outside would ease my mind.
But I was wrong. The panic intensified, and no amount of cool night air could provide relief. It was a full-blown panic attack, and with no prior history of anxiety, I was utterly unprepared for it.
I can’t recall how I eventually calmed down or managed to fall asleep that night, but I do remember the kind hospital psychiatrist who visited me the next day. He offered reassurance that what I was feeling was entirely normal. I wanted to believe him, yet I felt anything but normal. He referred me to a postpartum therapist, claiming I would be just fine.
His words were comforting, but they didn’t resonate with me. I had transitioned from bliss to sheer terror in what felt like an instant, leaving me bewildered and vulnerable. I tried to be logical; after all, my panic followed a series of stressful events, including two failed inductions and an unexpected C-section. I convinced myself that once I returned home, everything would fall into place.
But once again, I was mistaken. Back in my familiar living room, now filled with an unfamiliar tiny human, the panic surged again. Waves of emotions crashed over me—feelings foreign to a new mother with hormones running wild. I felt like I was about to burst, and I knew that this sensation wasn’t going to magically vanish. I picked up the phone and scheduled an appointment with the therapist for the next day.
Words can hardly capture the transformative experience of postpartum therapy. During those early visits, I felt like a ghost of my former self. Yet, my therapist didn’t simply tell me I would be okay; she affirmed that I already was. That validation was exactly what I needed. While my husband and friends were supportive, I craved insight from someone trained in postpartum therapy who could assure me that my feelings were common and that it was perfectly normal to have days when I felt the urge to run away.
Gradually, things improved. As weeks passed, my body healed, my mind settled, and life began to feel more familiar. My husband and I fell into a routine with our baby, who graciously began to sleep for 6-7 hour stretches. I connected with fellow new moms who shared my fears, and we supported each other through the chaos. When I returned to work after maternity leave, I noticed my old life merging with my new one, and it felt right. The surreal fog that had enveloped me lifted, often without me even realizing it.
My final session of postpartum therapy took place in the summer of 2016, about seven months after my daughter’s arrival. I am now the proud mom of a spirited, adventurous little girl who is full of life. While I still encounter moments of anxiety, they are fleeting and no longer suffocating. I’ve also opened up to my mom friends—new and old—about my journey with postpartum anxiety. To my surprise, many respond with, “I felt the same way!” It’s nothing to hide or be ashamed of; I wear it like a badge of courage, akin to my C-section scar. It was part of my journey into motherhood.
Being a first-time mom is a blend of wonder and fear. If you’re willing to share the joyful moments, don’t shy away from discussing the scary ones too. Remember, asking for help isn’t just okay; it’s one of the best things you can do for yourself and your precious new baby when you need it.
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Summary:
Navigating postpartum anxiety and panic can feel isolating, but it’s more common than many realize. Through therapy and support from friends and family, I learned that these feelings are shared by many mothers. It’s crucial to talk about both the highs and lows of motherhood. Seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness, and it can lead to healing and connection.