Yesterday, I found myself searching online for the “average number of times a mother cries each day with a six-month-old.” After a moment, I realized I needed to specify my query further: “What’s a typical crying frequency for a mother of a six-month-old?”
Some days, I feel like I’m nailing motherhood. I look at my children and think, “Wow, you’re doing something right because these kids are incredible.” However, on most days, I feel utterly incompetent. Who thought I was capable of caring for these beautiful beings? I haven’t had the energy to shower in days, yet I’m responsible for a toddler and a baby.
Transitioning from having no children to one is an overwhelming experience. Your life flips upside down almost instantly. The adjustment is incredibly challenging. Moving from one child to two is an entirely different chaos, bringing new challenges that no one truly prepares you for until you’re in the thick of it. I can’t even begin to fathom raising three or more children; those parents are true warriors.
During my first encounter with postpartum depression, I spent hours cradling my daughter, crying, watching movies, and drifting into a world of sadness, confusion, and guilt. I had the luxury of processing those overwhelming feelings in solitude, with only my husband as a witness.
I thought my second postpartum experience would be easier. I often remarked on how clear-headed I felt this time around. My newborn, Leo, was a dream—he cried only when he was hungry or needed a diaper change. In contrast, Amelia was a colicky baby who cried incessantly. I had a traumatic experience with her birth, almost losing her, which understandably plunged me into a deep depression.
However, about a month after having Leo, the weight of sadness hit me hard. I tried to push those feelings away, but soon found myself overwhelmed and unsure how to escape the depths of despair. Unlike the anxiety I faced with Amelia, this time it was a deep emptiness. I couldn’t quite articulate what I was feeling—just an overwhelming desire for it to end.
I kept telling myself that I had no reason to feel this way. Leo was an easy baby, and Amelia adored him. My life felt whole. I attributed my emotional state to complications following delivery—retained placenta that led to hemorrhaging for six weeks. Surely, once that was resolved, I’d feel better. But that wasn’t the case. I spiraled deeper into depression, struggling to smile or find joy. I felt perpetually exhausted.
I would turn on the TV, not really watching, barely absorbing anything. Picking up my phone felt physically painful, and I avoided socializing outside of my husband. Then came the troubling realization that I didn’t even want to hold Leo; I felt utterly shattered.
One afternoon, while sobbing on the couch, Amelia approached me, wrapped her arms around me, and whispered, “It’s okay, Mommy.” That moment struck me. I had been so focused on my pain that I overlooked how it was affecting my daughter. I couldn’t ignore it anymore; I needed help.
I contacted my primary care physician and requested an increase in my Zoloft dosage and made an appointment with my therapist. Just taking those steps instilled a glimmer of hope in me.
After months of intensive therapy and adjusting my medication, I’m now six months postpartum and feeling better. I wouldn’t call it miraculous, but I no longer feel hopeless. There are good days and bad days, but lately, the good have begun to outnumber the bad.
One morning, I watched my children laughing together, and my heart felt like it might burst from happiness. It was one of the most rewarding moments I’ve ever experienced. I found joy in nearly every moment that day, even laughing at Amelia’s tantrums. I crept into their rooms at night, watching them sleep, unable to get enough of their presence.
The next day, however, I screamed into a pillow and hurled a toy down the stairs in frustration, only to collect the pieces and throw them back down again. Afterward, I broke down and impulsively cut my bangs (note to self: never make drastic decisions in moments of crisis).
Today is Wednesday, and I’ve only cried once (cue the victory dance!). Both kids started daycare for the first time, and while I enjoyed a rare moment of freedom, I found myself eager to pick them up early because I missed them so much.
I’m learning to accept that every day is a journey. Some days, we navigate through the terrain like champions, tackling challenges with a sense of adventure. Other days, we find ourselves stuck, unable to move forward, feeling overwhelmed.
Just as a broken vehicle needs to be towed and repaired by professionals, we mothers often need to seek help for ourselves. It doesn’t diminish our abilities as parents to admit when we’re struggling or overwhelmed. There’s no shame in calling for assistance; it’s a sign of strength. Our friends, family, and professionals can help us out of those muddy moments and guide us back onto the road of recovery.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the challenges of postpartum depression, detailing a mother’s emotional journey through sadness, guilt, and eventual healing. It emphasizes the importance of seeking help and accepting that daily life can be full of ups and downs. The author’s experience showcases the complexities of motherhood, particularly when grappling with mental health challenges.
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