The Silence Of Post-Partum Depression

We found out we were having a baby three months after our wedding. We were ecstatic. “It’s a girl!” echoed through the room as we cut into the gender reveal cake. A little me was on the way, due just a few weeks after my own birthday.

Things went relatively smooth until around week 32. I began swelling in my legs and ankles. My thighs rubbed together when I walked, and then came the hemorrhoids. I was miserable, but still had almost six weeks to go before I was considered full term. By week 35, I was placed on bed rest due to preeclampsia until I would be induced at 37 weeks.

The day of induction came before I could even process it. We had breakfast and headed to the hospital. I labored for more than 24 hours. I was exhausted, miserable, and in pain. The epidural barely worked. But on 9.9.2016, our baby girl safely made it earthside. I was exhausted, but happy she was finally here.

The next few hours were a blur. I lost a significant amount of blood, my blood pressure dropped dangerously low, and somewhere in between all of that, I was desperately trying to get her to latch. I wasn’t successful. I already felt like I was failing. After two blood transfusions, IV fluids, and blood pressure medication, I was discharged home.

The first few days at home were filled with visitors, love, congratulations, and complete exhaustion. I was tired beyond words, but somehow still couldn’t sleep. Feeding quickly became another battle. She wouldn’t latch, and she developed jaundice, requiring repeated lab visits and 24/7 time under the bili light. I eventually started pumping and produced a lot of milk, but my life became an endless cycle every two hours: feed, pump, clean parts, repeat. Over and over again.

Slowly, I began to break. I couldn’t sleep. I felt like a failure. I couldn’t understand why breastfeeding seemed to come so naturally to everyone else except me. There were so many emotions, and I didn’t know how to process any of them.

Then the intrusive thoughts came. Thoughts of hurting my daughter. Thoughts of hurting my husband. The two people I loved most in this world. The thoughts terrified me. I cried many nights in shame, praying things would somehow magically get better. I prayed she would finally sleep through the night. I prayed she would suddenly latch. I prayed I would wake up feeling like myself again.

But things didn’t get better. They got worse. Everything became more intense until one day I finally broke. I realized I couldn’t keep living like that anymore. I needed help.

The next few months were pure hell. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and afraid. I felt like a failure. How could my body betray me? How could my brain think such awful things? Eventually, everything came crashing down.

I started seeing a therapist and was placed on antidepressants. Since then, there have been good days, bad days, and everything in between. And even on the hardest days, I remind myself how far I’ve come. For that, I am proud.

What I didn’t know then was that postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, and intrusive thoughts are far more common than many mothers realize. Yet so many of us suffer silently because we are terrified of being judged, misunderstood, or seen as “bad mothers.” But intrusive thoughts are not confessions. They are symptoms. And struggling does not make you weak. It makes you human.

To the mother reading this who feels overwhelmed, ashamed, disconnected, angry, anxious, numb, terrified, or like she is failing: you are not alone. Please ask for help. Please tell someone. Please know there is life on the other side of this. Healing may not happen overnight, and some days may still feel heavy, but healing is possible. And if no one has told you lately: I am proud of you for staying.

xoxo

damalia