Amidst the chaos of soothing a wailing infant and managing my own physical discomfort from nursing, I realized that my once-optimistic perspective was fading. The reality of my situation was unsustainable; I was exhausted, pale, and so hungry that I had lost my appetite. This was not the idyllic fourth trimester I had imagined.
I understood that the early days of motherhood were challenging, yet the overwhelming anxiety and nausea I felt each time I nursed our baby seemed far from normal. The stringent sleep safety guidelines made me feel as though my precious child was a ticking time bomb. I questioned how I could safely sleep with her on my chest when I was constantly reminded that “back is best.” I vividly recall a night in the nursery where I tried unsuccessfully to get her to latch, only for her to refuse time and again. After five hours without nursing, I felt like a complete failure. I succumbed to giving her a pacifier, reached out to a breastfeeding support line (an ironic twist given my earlier skepticism), and handed her over to my partner while I attempted to pump a mere ounce of milk—something she eagerly consumed.
I could feel my sense of self slipping away, transforming into a martyr for Team Carter. I had never felt such a profound love before, but the weight of it was suffocating. I had received the usual support: my mother stayed for two weeks, friends dropped off meals, and family members visited occasionally with gifts. However, when that support dwindled, I was left feeling lost. I anticipated some uncertainty in this transition, perhaps a little stress and bonding; instead, I felt as if I were wandering in darkness, responsible for another life while feeling utterly helpless.
My experience with postpartum depression could be categorized as “high functioning.” I went about my daily tasks and wore multiple hats, but I was in a constant state of fear. My appetite had been diminished due to undiagnosed D-MER, and every time I attempted to share my feelings with my partner, I sounded overly dramatic and incredulous, masking my inner turmoil.
With some contemplation, I found the courage to express to my husband that I was facing unusual postpartum symptoms, and I subsequently approached my doctor. He handed me a questionnaire, and I hoped my responses would raise red flags. After reviewing my answers, he asked me about my feelings and daily accomplishments. I spoke honestly about my struggles, fully aware of the rut I was in. However, his initial response was that I was being too hard on myself, suggesting I simply needed more sunlight and a date night.
What transpired next was disheartening. Having finally gathered the courage to seek help, I felt dismissed. He seemed oblivious to the effort it took to reach this point. With my daughter in the stroller beside me, I firmly stated, “Respectfully, I know myself well enough to understand this isn’t my normal state, and I would like to explore medication.” Why does self-awareness sometimes seem like a disqualifier in mental health discussions? In my opinion, it’s more concerning that I recognized my depressive state, as it indicated a familiarity with darkness I had hoped to leave behind. Motherhood illuminated the fact that merely surviving was not a way to live; I mourned the loss of my true self.
Even now, I contend with depression and the accompanying false narratives, yet I refuse to accept the notion that being functional equates to being healthy. Seeking help is an act of immense bravery; we shouldn’t feel compelled to juggle every responsibility to prove ourselves. Sometimes, the most courageous choice is to set down some burdens and allow our wounds to be seen. Why reveal our scars if it doesn’t change our current situation?
I choose to be brave for the child within me who yearned to be a parent and for the children I am raising who may one day find themselves in similar circumstances. I strive for transparency, hoping to create an environment where they feel safe to express their pain.
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In summary, reaching out for help can be a daunting task, especially when faced with the risk of being dismissed. It’s essential to acknowledge our struggles and advocate for our mental health. Motherhood can be overwhelming, but embracing vulnerability and seeking support can pave the way for healing and growth.