My first pregnancy was seamless, embodying all the joys women are led to expect: weekly bump snapshots likening my growing baby to delightful fruits, prenatal yoga classes filled with laughter, indulgent ice cream treats, and a smooth journey with no complications. With this blissful experience in mind, I eagerly embarked on my second pregnancy.
However, around the fifth month, I encountered what I later identified as antenatal depression. The excitement I once felt began to fade into resentment; I started to dread the prospect of becoming a mother for the second time. My irritability surged, often resulting in me snapping at my partner for trivial reasons. Energy and patience eluded me, and I found myself withdrawing from social interactions, too exhausted to feign happiness or engage in discussions about my prominent baby bump. The illusion of joy I was supposed to embody felt impossibly out of reach.
During my morning showers, I would take a moment to check in with myself, but the only response I found was tears—streaming down my face and blending with the water, yet feeling far more intense, like a burning reminder of my persistent depression.
As a middle school special education teacher, I struggled to maintain my effectiveness in the classroom. There were days when I lacked the energy to circulate around my students, ensuring they understood the lessons I was attempting to convey. When misbehavior erupted among the students—throwing crumpled papers or chatting instead of listening—I felt their awareness of my fatigue. I lacked the stamina to redirect their behavior positively, resulting in my own short temper and damaging the relationships I had nurtured throughout the school year. After the final class each day, I would lock the door and break down in tears.
Sunday nights became an exercise in dread. The thought of another week where I felt like I was failing my students filled me with anxiety. I couldn’t plan engaging lessons to prevent misbehavior, let alone enjoy moments with my 2-year-old daughter or have meaningful conversations with my partner. Instead, my mind spiraled into hypothetical scenarios that I feared I wouldn’t be able to handle—imaginary conflicts in the classroom that made my heart race just thinking about them.
Yet, I remained silent. I was ashamed of not feeling radiant and joyful, as pregnant women are expected to be. I had no reason to feel this way—my loving fiancé, a beautiful daughter, and a job I cherished—but I had never heard of anyone experiencing depression during pregnancy. Deep down, I felt isolated, believing there was something inherently wrong with me.
I was also painfully aware that my depression could negatively impact my unborn daughter, possibly dooming her to face similar struggles later in life. Medical professionals often recommend that women with preexisting depression continue their treatment during pregnancy, as the risks associated with stress in the womb far outweigh those of medication. But I was already at the highest dosage of my medication and felt trapped with no other options. I feared the consequences of exposing my daughter to both the effects of prenatal stress and the medication.
As I envisioned the delivery, fear gripped me; unlike my first experience, I doubted I would have the endurance to handle labor. I longed for an elective C-section, as the thought of pushing felt overwhelmingly daunting.
Moreover, I was terrified of the prospect of becoming my new daughter’s mother. A part of me hoped that once the baby arrived, my struggles would dissipate, allowing me to embrace the joys of motherhood. Yet another part of me worried that my depression would persist, morphing into postpartum depression, preventing me from bonding with my child.
Months earlier, I had watched a dear friend battle postpartum depression, feeling helpless as she struggled to connect with her newborn. I grieved for her lost moments of nurturing, and now I found myself facing the possibility of a similar fate, except I would be acutely aware of what I was missing.
At a midwife appointment in my eighth month, my tears revealed the truth of my struggle. After sharing my experiences, I nervously inquired whether this was a normal reaction. She reassured me, explaining that hormonal changes during pregnancy can lead to these feelings, and encouraged me to consult my psychiatrist about adjusting my medications. She also recommended therapy with a specialist in maternity.
Since that day, I have increased my medication, added a new antidepressant, and begun weekly therapy sessions with a maternity-focused doctor. Additionally, I initiated maternity leave six weeks prior to my due date to help reduce stress. Together, these changes have made my antenatal depression more manageable, though it hasn’t completely vanished.
Still, I hesitate to speak openly about my experience. I’ve only confided in my closest friends, those I trust to provide support rather than judgment. The stigma surrounding this condition leaves me embarrassed, especially since I had never even heard the term until I was already grappling with it.
While postpartum depression has gained visibility, antenatal depression often remains in the shadows. By sharing my story, I hope to shed light on this issue so that other women don’t feel as isolated as I did. Struggling with these feelings doesn’t equate to failing as a mother; rather, the effort to navigate through the darkness is a testament to the love we already have for our children.
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Summary:
This article discusses the often-overlooked issue of antenatal depression, highlighting a mother’s experience as she navigates feelings of resentment, anxiety, and inadequacy during her second pregnancy. Despite societal expectations of joy during pregnancy, she confronts her struggles in silence, fearing the impact on her unborn child. Through therapy and medication adjustments, she begins to manage her condition while advocating for awareness of antenatal depression.