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The Hidden Struggles of Suicidal Thoughts During Pregnancy
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Content warning: suicidal ideation
“I just want to end it all,” I confessed to my physician during my sixth month of pregnancy. After his routine examination, he asked if there was anything else on my mind. For reasons I still can’t articulate—perhaps it was a cry for help or just sheer exhaustion—I spoke my truth: I didn’t want to carry on living.
The details that followed are a blur, akin to those hazy recollections from a high school party involving a first sip of a sugary drink. What stands out is the determination of my doctor as he strode purposefully to the perinatal psychiatry department, insisting I needed to be seen immediately. He was as commanding as a drill sergeant rallying his troops. Unfortunately, they couldn’t accommodate me that day. Or the next. A month passed before I could get an appointment, which felt like an eternity; I couldn’t fathom surviving even thirty more days.
We debated the possibility of hospitalization, but the thought of enduring hospital food at 28 weeks pregnant was disheartening. Food was one of the few things I still looked forward to. After battling crippling morning sickness that left me vomiting eight times a day for the first twenty weeks, my newfound ability to eat and keep it down became my refuge. I promised my doctor that if I could return home, I’d manage. And perhaps I wasn’t lying; “managing” is a relative term. When living with a constant low-level of suicidality, merely not taking that final step can feel like an accomplishment. I left his office, grabbed a breakfast sandwich from Tim Horton’s, and called an Uber to head home.
For years, I’ve been open about my mental health struggles. I deal with generalized anxiety disorder, persistent depressive disorder, and complex post-traumatic stress disorder—issues rooted in a challenging upbringing marred by trauma and a lack of therapeutic support. But I recently realized that none of these conditions were my fault. That belief shifted when I became pregnant.
Pregnant women are often seen as protective vessels for their children. We’re warned against consuming certain foods or beverages to avoid any harm. Family members suddenly offer unsolicited advice, like reminding you to take “small steps” to avoid slipping on ice—something they never cared about before your pregnancy. It becomes a full-time job to ensure your baby is safe and healthy. Thus, admitting that you’re grappling with thoughts of self-harm feels almost impossible; there’s nothing more contradictory to being a nurturing vessel than contemplating sinking the very ship you’re meant to safeguard.
My pregnancy was desired, but everything surrounding it felt unwanted. I didn’t want the three threatened miscarriages that sent me racing to the emergency room, blood staining my underwear. I didn’t want the relentless nausea that forced me to sneak out of work meetings to vomit in alleyways. I certainly didn’t want to lose an organ, yet my expanding uterus had pushed my right kidney out of its place. We discovered this anomaly during my baby’s 19-week anatomy scan, and to this day, it roams freely within my body, adrift and unsure of its rightful space.
The thoughts of self-harm weren’t born from a desire to die, but rather from an overwhelming inability to handle the pressures of creating and nurturing new life. I struggled to cope with the fear of losing my child, or the realization that my own health was jeopardized during her development. The relentless nature of pregnancy felt suffocating; there were no breaks, no reprieve. It’s a job that no one else can perform, not even for a moment.
Even after seeking help, challenges persisted. A psychiatrist prescribed anti-anxiety medication to alleviate my suffering, but the local pharmacist refused to fill my Ativan prescription. “I’m just not comfortable giving this to a pregnant woman,” he stated. I walked home in tears, feeling helpless without the medication I so desperately needed. I didn’t appreciate being lectured by someone who had never experienced pregnancy and lacked expertise in mental health.
I struggled with the friends who distanced themselves after I shared my thoughts about self-harm—thoughts I was actively fighting against since becoming pregnant. The implicit judgment that labeled such feelings as selfish, especially for a woman expecting a child, made me feel like a villain, as if I were undeserving of help.
When loved ones expressed their frustration with my struggles, I reached out to a suicide hotline at 39 weeks pregnant, desperate to survive long enough to deliver my baby. Six days later, I went into labor, only to find that my epidural failed. Everyone kept saying, “You’re doing great!” But how could they know? I wasn’t succeeding; I was merely trying to survive. None of those present had given birth, from my husband to nurses and doctors. They couldn’t grasp how powerless I felt in that transitional space, trying to bring one life into the world while grappling with my own.
When I first laid eyes on my daughter, I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. I was relieved I hadn’t given up on our intertwined lives over the past nine months. But even that moment was tinged with shame; I was terrified of how close I had come to abandoning her, contemplating actions that would have irrevocably changed both our lives. I felt like a terrible mother before I even held her in my arms.
In conversations with other mothers, I often made light of my morning sickness, carefully omitting any mention of suicidal thoughts. I feared someone would label me unworthy of my daughter, the precious child who deserved a better mother than I felt I was. For months, I had nightmares about her vanishing, whether from suffocation under a heavy blanket or being taken away by someone who deemed me unfit.
As I pen these thoughts, I remain anxious—anxious that you, the reader, will see me as a monster for contemplating ending the life of a wanted child. Yet, I continue to write in hopes that someone will understand. Perhaps I’m not a monster for having fleeting thoughts of stepping into traffic seven months after conception. Maybe I’m not a bad person for experiencing a dark chapter during a challenging time.
My pregnancy with my daughter was the best worst experience of my life. I hope that someone out there can relate.
For additional insights into mental health during pregnancy, you can explore this helpful resource here. If you’re seeking reliable information on at-home insemination, check out this page. You can also find more on our blog about the emotional complexities of pregnancy, including support options here.
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Summary:
Expecting mothers may feel immense pressure to be perfect vessels for their babies, often leading to feelings of shame and guilt when struggling with mental health issues like suicidal ideation. The author recounts their personal experience with these thoughts during pregnancy, highlighting the challenges of seeking help, the stigma surrounding mental health, and the complex emotions tied to motherhood. Ultimately, the piece emphasizes the importance of understanding and support for those facing similar struggles.