Everyone always tells you, “Nothing can prepare you for motherhood,” or, “Motherhood is the hardest thing you’ll ever do in life.” And they’re not wrong.
From the first back pains during pregnancy, to the sleepless nights with a crying baby in your arms, there is truly nothing like it. Nothing can fully prepare you, especially when you’re staring down at two pink lines on a pregnancy test at 19.
Nothing prepared me for the emotional rollercoaster that came with it all—the highs, the lows, and the weight of responsibility that followed me into motherhood. It’s still with me today, a constant companion in ways I never expected.
I always knew I wanted to be a mom. Even as a little girl, I would imagine my future, picturing all sorts of dreams—some big, like being a famous movie star—but first and foremost, the dream of having children. I was lucky to grow up in a home where my mom stayed at home with us. I saw firsthand what it meant to have her present at every step of life, and I knew I wanted to do the same for my own children someday.
When my husband and I first started dating seriously, motherhood was one of the first things we talked about. I was a senior in high school, obsessed with theater, and he was the swoon-worthy ROTC college boy texting me from helicopters—yes, that absolutely pulled me in. We fell hard. I followed him to his college town, juggling part-time school while working full-time at a daycare. Then, a year later, the bold pregnancy test arrived. Were we terrified? Absolutely. But that fear quickly gave way to excitement, helped along by the unwavering support of our families.
My pregnancy with our first son went smoothly—I was the picture of a glowing expectant mother. He arrived, and shortly after, my husband shipped off to Basic Training and AIT. But five months postpartum, we were hit with a surprise: we were pregnant again. I was 21, and suddenly faced with raising two children just 14 months apart. The thought was terrifying, but we navigated it with courage, love, and support.
When our second son was born, complications from a C-section brought new challenges. I developed a blood clot in my leg and required extensive care. Behind the physical struggles, postpartum depression crept in like lightning. The first six months of my son’s life are a blur—something that still breaks my heart. Medications helped, but not all worked for me. Eventually, I found the right treatment that finally pulled me out of the fog, and life slowly began to feel manageable again.
We moved into our first little house in the country, and life with our two “Irish twins” was a chaotic, beautiful adventure.
Fast forward five years, and we were preparing for our daughter. This pregnancy was incredibly difficult. Hospital visits became routine—from kidney issues to the flu and pneumonia, it seemed nothing went smoothly. Her birth brought further complications, including severe blood loss and the discovery of a life-threatening clot running from my belly button to my knee. I was rushed into surgery, spent time in the ICU, and learned I had a serious blood disorder. Breastfeeding was no longer possible, and I had to navigate mobility with a walker. The trauma was immense, and postpartum depression returned, knocking on the door as if to remind me that it does not discriminate.
Depression is a quiet, unrelenting force. It shows up when it wants, where it wants, and refuses to take a backseat. Alongside it came anxiety, magnified by the lack of support once the “fourth trimester” ends. My bed became my sanctuary and prison at once. Simple tasks, like brushing my teeth or taking a shower, felt impossible. There were days when the only reason I left my bed was because my children needed me.
Motherhood while struggling with depression is a lonely battle. We want so badly to conquer everything, to shield our loved ones from pain, while forgetting we too need protection. For years, I struggled, even shutting social media off to escape the pressure to be “perfect.” But perfect is a trap. It’s unattainable, and it’s not required to be a good mother, a good partner, or a good human.
Getting help and finding the right medication helped tremendously. But the most transformative change came from learning to love myself. Accepting my past faults, acknowledging that depression is not me, and prioritizing self-care—mine has become exercise—opened doors I never imagined. Loving myself taught me how to truly love my family, and it has been one of the most healing and eye-opening journeys of my life.
Today, I have the closest, most loving relationship I’ve ever had with my children. I see now how much love flows when you first give it to yourself. And if there’s one thing I want other mothers to know, it’s this: you are not alone.From Terrifying Pregnancy at 19 to Life-Threatening Clots: How One Mom Battled Postpartum Depression and Found Strength in Self-Love
