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Motherhood is undeniably taxing — a sentiment shared by many. I vividly recall days when I was so exhausted that I forgot whether shredded cheese needed refrigeration, leading my partner to discover it in the microwave later that evening. On other occasions, I would step into the shower still wearing my nursing bra and underwear. At one point, I even blanked on my own son’s name.
These moments are common among new parents, especially when sleep deprivation clouds our minds. My friend aptly refers to this as “Swiss cheese brain.” However, my experience was compounded by the overwhelming weight of postpartum depression (PPD), which dulled my perception of the first year of my son’s life. When I glance at photos from that time, it feels as distant as viewing strangers. Mentally, I was absent.
PPD has significantly shaped my journey through motherhood, casting a shadow over my son’s early years, and its effects linger even now, five years later. One of the most heart-wrenching realizations I’ve faced is the time I lost with my son—time that can never be reclaimed. Although I was physically present every day, my experience of motherhood during those early months felt mechanical. My focus was solely on ensuring my son’s health and growth, while I battled a profound depression that left little room for joy or connection with him. The frustration I feel about this is immense.
Sadly, I’m not alone in this struggle. Research indicates that 1 in 7 new mothers experience PPD, and that number only accounts for those diagnosed. Few women emerge from the transition to motherhood emotionally unscathed, and I certainly didn’t.
My PPD began creeping in about a week after my son was born. It’s insidious, gradually infiltrating your thoughts and often mistaken for regular exhaustion. It would manifest as self-deprecating thoughts (“You’re a terrible mother”) followed by glimpses of normalcy, only for the darkness to return stronger than before (“Your family would be better off without you”). Eventually, I found myself overwhelmed by depression before I recognized what was happening.
I also struggled with insomnia, unexpected bursts of anger (always directed at inanimate objects, never my child), and suicidal ideation. Fear held me back from seeking help; I worried about being hospitalized or having my child taken from me. I found it hard to bond with my baby, feeling emotionally detached and merely going through the motions of motherhood. My existence revolved around survival: feed him, change him, get him to sleep, and repeat. I had convinced myself that my only worth lay in breastfeeding, and once that was over, I had a plan for my life to end.
Fortunately, I sought help before I reached that point. With medication and therapy, I gradually began to reclaim my life and finally started to savor motherhood.
However, my journey didn’t conclude there. As anyone with mental health challenges can understand, recovery isn’t linear. I faced setbacks and adjustments with my medication, and the struggles of daily life remained. Just like the onset of PPD, its resolution came in fits and starts. I now take daily medication and may continue to do so indefinitely. I’m a work in progress.
Recently, I find myself yearning for the chubby-legged baby with the adorable smile. I couldn’t appreciate those moments then; I wished for time to fly by. I’m healthy now, which I’m grateful for, and I’ve started to piece together the fragments of my past. Yet, the baby I remember has grown into a boy, and looking at old photos is a bittersweet experience. I feel a deep longing for that tiny baby I sometimes feel I never got to know.
I strive to give myself grace, acknowledging the universal challenges and suffering that accompany motherhood. It wasn’t solely my experience. Additionally, my mind wasn’t functioning as it should have. I don’t yearn for a complete do-over, but I wish I could have been healthier and more present during that time. Still, I would give anything for just one more moment with him as a baby—to hold him close and truly marvel at him, to be fully engaged in a way that was impossible back then.
Motherhood transformed me at a fundamental level. It opened me up in beautiful ways but also shattered me. It will continue to shape me in many ways. Right now, the most painful reflection is on that little baby who didn’t get a fair chance with me. He’s wonderful now, but he was perfect then, too. I just couldn’t see it.