See that woman in the picture? She’s me, and not long after giving birth to my son, I was fighting battles most people couldn’t see.
I desperately wanted to “love every moment” of motherhood, but instead, I found myself trapped in a swirl of conflicting emotions. How could I love something so deeply, yet feel such an urgent desire to escape it?
The thoughts were intrusive, terrifying, and completely uncharted territory for me. My mind would spiral to places I had never visited before, and I constantly worried that these thoughts would consume me entirely. It felt as though someone had possessed me, dragging me down into a dark, unending hole I feared I would never climb out of.
Looking back on giving birth to my son almost seven years ago, you might expect me to be filled with pure joy. But that wasn’t entirely the case.
I remember grief.
I remember pain.
I remember exhaustion, confusion, desperation, and a profound sadness that felt impossible to shake.
I remember feeling completely alone in a world of nearly eight billion people, as if no one could truly see me.
I questioned every choice I had made. Why on earth had I thought I was ready to bring a child into the world? Who gave me permission to raise another human being?
The reality of my pregnancy, birth, and early motherhood was far from the glorious, magical experience I had imagined. Instead, it was shrouded in a cold, constant fog, swirling around me like a never-ending vortex.
A painful pregnancy left me physically drained, and a traumatic emergency C-section—ten days after my due date—made me believe the worst was behind me. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Postpartum depression and anxiety quickly took hold. They robbed me of the gratitude I should have felt for my beautiful, healthy baby boy. Of course, there were fleeting moments of bliss. I mean, I created a human being—something miraculous. But even those moments were shadowed by exhaustion and fear.
I spent weeks traveling across the city, visiting my third lactation consultant, attending numerous doctor and pediatrician appointments, and receiving support from a doula. Yet, the more I tried to do everything “right,” the deeper I fell into the abyss.
I had a C-section incision that wouldn’t heal properly, forcing me onto antibiotics that wreaked havoc on my body. My nipples were torn and raw from unsuccessful attempts at breastfeeding, adding physical pain to my already overwhelming emotional turmoil. The world felt like it was closing in on me, inch by inch.
Eventually, I reached a crossroads: return to medication or risk suffering even worse consequences. I chose to go back on meds. I did it to save myself, to protect my child, and to preserve my family.
In honor of Maternal Mental Health Week, I’m sharing my story not to frighten anyone, but to reveal the raw, honest truth many mothers experience after birth. Motherhood isn’t always filled with rainbows and magic—it can be a very dark, isolating place.
Nearly seven years later, I am in a better place. Though some days still feel like I’m in the trenches, I’ve found support that allows me to navigate these feelings. I’ve built a strong, loving relationship with my son, and in so many ways, he helps me as much as I help him.
I refuse to close the door on my postpartum experience. We need to keep having this conversation—openly, honestly, and without shame.
Mamas, please know you are not alone.
I hear you.
I see you.
I am you.
