My first pregnancy was a breeze. It embodied everything society portrays pregnancy to be: weekly bump updates comparing my growing baby to various fruits, prenatal yoga sessions with friends, indulgent ice cream treats, and an overall smooth journey. With this ideal experience in mind, I eagerly anticipated my second pregnancy without hesitation.
However, around the fifth month, I found myself grappling with what I later discovered was called antenatal depression. Suddenly, I began to resent my pregnancy and feared the prospect of welcoming a second child. I became increasingly irritable, often snapping at my partner, and found myself drained of energy and patience. Social gatherings became daunting; I avoided them to escape the effort of feigning happiness and to elude conversations about my noticeably pregnant belly. I felt burdened by the need to project joy that I simply did not possess.
In the solitude of my morning showers, I would check in with my emotions. Each day, my answer was the same: tears, blending with the cascading water, yet feeling hotter and more intense, a constant reminder of my depression’s grip on me.
As a middle school special education teacher, my ability to perform at work diminished. There were days when I lacked the stamina to engage with my students effectively, which was especially difficult when they tested my limits with misbehavior. They sensed my fatigue, and instead of using positive reinforcement to redirect their behavior, I resorted to short-tempered responses, jeopardizing the rapport I had built throughout the school year. After class, I would close the door and allow the tears to flow.
Sunday nights felt unbearable. The anxiety of facing another week where I felt I was failing my students consumed me. I struggled to plan engaging lessons and enjoyed little time with my 2-year-old daughter or meaningful conversations with my partner. Instead, I was trapped in a cycle of imagining worst-case scenarios that I feared I wouldn’t be able to handle. My heart raced at the mere thought of potential conflicts in my classroom.
Despite my struggles, I remained silent. I felt ashamed that I wasn’t radiating the joy expected of pregnant women. I had a beautiful daughter, another healthy child on the way, a supportive partner, and a job I loved. I thought my depression was unwarranted, convinced that it was something wrong with me.
Knowing my depression could adversely affect my unborn daughter weighed heavily on me. I feared that my struggles could lead to her facing similar challenges. Medical professionals often recommend that women stay on antidepressants during pregnancy, as the stress of untreated depression can be more harmful than the medication itself. Yet, having dealt with depression for years, I had already reached the maximum dose of my medication. What options did I have left? I feared that my daughter would suffer the consequences of both prenatal antidepressant exposure and my ongoing depression.
As I contemplated delivery, I felt a profound sense of dread. I worried that I wouldn’t have the strength to endure the labor, longing for an elective C-section instead. Beyond that, I feared becoming the mother my new daughter deserved. There was a part of me that believed I would feel better once the baby arrived, basking in the joys of motherhood. Yet, another part of me feared that my depression would continue beyond delivery, evolving into postpartum depression and rendering me unable to bond with my child.
Months earlier, I had watched a friend struggle with postpartum depression after her first child was born. She couldn’t breastfeed because it felt suffocating, and she isolated herself from her baby. Heartbroken for her, I feared facing a similar fate, knowing that if I experienced postpartum depression, I would be acutely aware of what I was missing.
During a midwife appointment in my eighth month, I finally spoke up about my struggles. My tears spoke volumes, and after sharing my silent battle, I nervously inquired if what I was going through was typical. “Absolutely,” she reassured me. “It’s common due to the surge of estrogen during pregnancy; some women experience it from the first trimester.” She recommended I consult my psychiatrist about adjusting my medication and seeking a therapist specializing in maternal mental health.
Since then, I have added another antidepressant, increased its dosage, and started weekly therapy with a specialist in maternity health. Taking maternity leave six weeks before my due date has also helped alleviate stress. While these steps have made managing my antenatal depression more bearable, it hasn’t completely vanished.
Still, I rarely discuss my experience. I’ve confided in only a few trusted friends who offer support rather than judgment. The stigma surrounding antenatal depression persists, often overshadowed by discussions of postpartum depression, which has recently gained more attention. By sharing my story, I hope to reach other women experiencing similar struggles, assuring them that they are not alone and that navigating this challenge is a testament to their love for their child. It doesn’t signify failure; rather, it reflects the strength of their commitment to motherhood.
For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource from the NICHD. If you’re considering home insemination, visit Make a Mom for guidance on the process. Also, you can read more about antenatal depression and related topics at Intracervical Insemination.
Summary
This article sheds light on the often-overlooked issue of antenatal depression, detailing one woman’s journey through her second pregnancy as she navigates her mental health struggles. Despite the societal expectation of a joyful and glowing pregnancy, she reveals her feelings of resentment and fear, ultimately finding support through therapy and medication adjustments. By sharing her experience, she aims to raise awareness and support for others who may feel alone in their struggles during this challenging time.