After grappling with major depressive disorder for nearly a decade, I found myself in a state of complete emotional exhaustion by the age of 23. I was weary of maintaining a facade, drained of energy, lost, and utterly numb. My ability to function as a typical human being vanished overnight. Even the simplest tasks felt monumental; brushing my teeth became akin to climbing a towering mountain. I lacked the will to stay awake, much less to engage with the world around me. Eventually, I abandoned my job and surrendered to a slumber that lasted three long years.
During this time, I was living in California, far from the support of family and friends in New York. The distance provided an easy cover for my struggles, allowing me to project an image of normalcy. I meticulously curated my social media presence to avoid raising suspicions and occasionally replied to texts when I had the strength. From the outside, I appeared fine.
Yet my husband witnessed my downward spiral. Having seen my ongoing battle with depression throughout our relationship, he recognized that this phase was different. I had become a mere shadow of my former self, retreating further into isolation. In an effort to bring me closer to family, he relocated us back to New York, hoping it would encourage socialization. But I was unresponsive to his efforts, sinking deeper into despair and lying on the floor of my depression until I slipped into unconsciousness.
I spent those three years mostly on the couch, waking only to eat. I neglected basic self-care, leading to frequent health issues and a significant weight gain of 70 pounds. By April 2016, my marriage was on shaky ground. I was not the partner I had vowed to be, and my husband was weary of my refusal to confront my depression. We were drifting apart as I remained ensconced in my sleep.
Then, everything changed on April 4, 2016. I woke up feeling unwell and jokingly suggested to my husband that I might be pregnant. After several bouts of vomiting and confirmation from five pregnancy tests, it turned out I was indeed expecting—though we felt ill-prepared, both financially and emotionally.
We had intense discussions about my capability to be a mother in my current state. I struggled to care for myself, let alone support him, and the thought of nurturing a child was overwhelming. However, we decided to embrace the unexpected journey ahead.
My pregnancy was riddled with complications, leading us to move back in with our parents to manage medical expenses. Despite our turbulent situation, I fought to maintain a positive outlook about my health and the baby. In my 16-week appointment, I faced a moment of hope. I chose to be surprised by the baby’s sex, hoping it might create a bond. The doctor revealed, “It’s a girl.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered to my husband, “It’s Mia.” From that moment, I became a mother—a depressed mother, yes, but a mother nonetheless.
With the arrival of Mia, my emotional safety net was abruptly taken away. In the past, I had often contemplated suicide as an escape from my endless struggle. But now, I realized I had a little one depending on me more than I had ever depended on myself. This new reality was daunting, yet it was precisely the catalyst I needed.
In the weeks leading up to Mia’s birth, I recognized that I needed to change. I had no choice but to confront my situation. I pushed myself to be present, battling the discomfort of being awake for extended periods. I relearned how to care for myself—I ate, brushed my teeth, showered, and tried to stay alert throughout the day to prepare for motherhood. It was jarring and exhausting, but it was a stark contrast to the years I had spent in hibernation.
Mia’s entrance into the world was swift. She didn’t cry but gazed at me as if we were long-lost friends, and in that moment, I realized I would do anything to protect her. For the first time in years, I felt genuine happiness and pride in myself. I had never appreciated my body or my accomplishments more than I did at that moment.
Before Mia came along, I expected that motherhood would be a struggle to stay awake. Instead, I find myself awake each day because I want to be. Motherhood has dragged me from my slumber and into the vibrant life I had been missing. While I still face challenges, including severe postpartum anxiety and PTSD from my pregnancy complications, I am grateful to be awake to tackle these issues.
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In summary, motherhood has compelled me to confront my debilitating depression, pushing me toward a life filled with purpose and engagement, even amid ongoing challenges.