For three long years, I felt like I was merely existing, not living. After battling major depressive disorder for nearly a decade, my mind, heart, and body reached a breaking point. At 23, I was exhausted—exhausted from maintaining a façade. I felt emotionally drained, completely adrift, and utterly numb.
Suddenly, I could no longer function as a “normal” person. Even the simplest tasks felt monumental. Brushing my teeth was akin to summiting a mountain. I felt perpetually fatigued and had no desire to wake up each day. The effort of being awake was so overwhelming that I quit my job to sleep full-time—and I truly slept through three years of my life.
During this time, I was in California, distanced from my family and friends in New York, which made it easier to conceal my struggles. I meticulously curated my social media presence to prevent any inquiries about my well-being, responding to friendly texts only when I had the energy. To the outside world, I seemed fine.
However, my husband witnessed my downward spiral. Despite being aware of my depression throughout our relationship, he saw me transform into a mere shadow of my former self. He was living with a version of me that was disengaged and unresponsive. In an attempt to help, he moved us back to New York, hoping I would reconnect with family. But I couldn’t bring myself to reach out—I was sinking further into my depression, lying on the floor of despair until consciousness slipped away.
I slept through three years of my life, but not always in bed. I often dozed on the couch, waking only for meals. Basic self-care fell by the wayside, leading to frequent UTIs because I couldn’t muster the energy to get to the bathroom. I rarely showered and gained 70 pounds.
By April 2016, my relationship was on shaky ground. I was not the partner I had pledged to be, and my husband had grown weary of my unwillingness to combat my depression. We began to drift apart as I remained lost in my haze.
Then, Everything Changed
On April 4, 2016, I woke feeling utterly miserable. I jokingly mentioned to my husband that I might be pregnant, and we laughed. But after throwing up multiple times that day and taking five pregnancy tests, it was confirmed—I was pregnant, and we were not prepared, either financially or emotionally.
We argued, both feeling unfit for parenthood given my current state. I was unable to care for myself, let alone anyone else. The thought of raising a child filled me with anxiety, but we ultimately decided to embrace this unexpected journey.
Throughout my pregnancy, I fell extremely ill, leading to financial struggles that forced us back into our parents’ homes. Despite the difficult circumstances, I made a conscious effort to remain positive about my health and excited about our baby. My husband worked tirelessly to save money, and we both felt the weight of this exhausting situation—until my 16-week appointment.
I had chosen to keep the sex of our baby a surprise, hoping it would give me something to look forward to. However, I felt disconnected from the pregnancy, as if something dreadful was happening to me. When the doctor inquired if I wanted to know the baby’s sex, I looked to my husband, desperately needing a connection. He nodded in agreement.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced.
Tears welled in my eyes as I turned to my husband. “It’s Mia,” I said softly. “It’s our Mia.” At that moment, I embraced motherhood—albeit as a mother grappling with depression.
Suddenly, my previous emotional escape route was taken away. I had often contemplated suicide as a means of escape from my relentless depression and crippling self-loathing. But now, I had a responsibility that outweighed my own desires. I would soon have someone who needed me more than I had ever needed myself. This realization was terrifying but also necessary.
In the weeks leading up to Mia’s arrival, I recognized I had to make significant changes. I forced myself to be present, even if it was uncomfortable. The notion of being awake for hours was jarring, and I often longed to return to sleep. Yet, I made an effort to eat, maintain hygiene, and prepare myself for the responsibilities of motherhood. I stumbled at times, missing meals and losing weight, but I persisted—something I hadn’t done for three years.
When Mia entered the world, it was a whirlwind. She didn’t cry; instead, she gazed at me as if we were long-lost friends. At that moment, I would have given anything to ensure her safety. She was healthy, and for the first time in years, I felt genuine happiness. I was proud of myself and my body, something I had never experienced before.
I initially thought motherhood would mean forcing myself to stay awake, but now I realize I wake each day because I choose to. Becoming a mother pulled me from my hibernation, allowing me to experience all the beautiful moments I had previously missed.
While I still face challenges, including severe postpartum anxiety and PTSD from my pregnancy complications, I am actively working through them with the support of my husband and medical professionals. I worry about Mia constantly, but at least I’m awake to do so.
For more insights on navigating similar experiences, check out this resource on pregnancy and learn about the at-home insemination kit options available for hopeful parents. You can also read about related topics on this blog post.
In summary, motherhood has compelled me to confront my debilitating depression, leading to a new chapter of resilience and hope.