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I long for more children. Though I cherish my two little ones, I often find myself imagining the joy a third or fourth child could bring. Sadly, that dream feels out of reach.
After the birth of my son, who is now four, I was consumed by postpartum depression. It left me emotionally shattered, and I began misusing my anxiety medication as a way to cope with the overwhelming pain. I was taking doses far beyond what was prescribed, and on many days, simply getting out of bed felt like an insurmountable task. I would manage to wake up, prepare my kids for preschool, and then retreat back to bed until it was time to pick them up.
As my struggles deepened, I started enrolling them in afternoon care because I couldn’t endure being with them for extended periods. It’s a tough truth to face. Alongside postpartum depression, I battled severe anxiety that often erupted into rage, making me hypersensitive to noise, which led to frustration when my kids played.
There were times when I pretended to have migraines so that my husband or mother-in-law could take over childcare. The guilt was crushing, leaving me feeling like an inadequate mother.
Eventually, I reached a point of despair that led to suicidal thoughts. When I confided in my (former) doctor, he told me I had treatment-resistant depression, suggesting that most medications might not work for me. His words felt like abandonment. I was lost and terrified. One Friday, I ended up in the emergency room due to my suicidal ideation and was hospitalized for a weekend.
Months later, I finally opened up to my husband about the severity of my mental health issues. This led to a six-week stay at a psychiatric hospital, where I finally received the help I desperately needed.
Two years have passed, but I didn’t emerge from that hospital completely healed. I underwent electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) every four to six weeks and participated in weekly therapy sessions. I had to stick rigidly to my medication regimen and learn coping strategies for my anxiety. There’s no room for mistakes—it’s been a continuous battle.
Now, I’m beginning to feel a sense of control over my mental health, allowing myself to feel, dare I say, “normal”? It’s a bittersweet triumph because I can’t shake the feeling that my opportunity to have another baby has slipped away. At 37, there’s still some time left, but after everything I endured with my previous two pregnancies, bringing another child into this world seems daunting. The thought of facing those dark feelings again terrifies me, and I know my husband feels the same.
I often wonder if my desire for more children is a natural instinct or a reflection of something I feel has been taken from me—perhaps both.
I have so much to be thankful for, and I celebrate my family. Yet, there’s a lingering sense of betrayal towards my body and my stubborn mind. I find myself imagining cradling a newborn, the scent of their head, and the joy of breastfeeding. I envision sewing baby blankets that match those of my other children, eagerly anticipating their first words and steps. I picture our home bustling with the laughter of a larger family, but I must halt those thoughts.
Instead, I focus on the cherished memories with my kids. I hold onto the laughter, the joy of building forts from couch cushions, their hugs and kisses, and all the “I love yous.” I think of the advice I’ll give (likely ignored) and the holidays we’ll celebrate together. I strive to find the silver linings in each day and treasure them.
I lovingly let go of the dreams of what could have been and concentrate on the life I have, which is already more than enough. My family feels complete, and I am learning to feel complete too.
For more insights on navigating this emotional journey, check out this post. If you’re interested in exploring fertility options, Make a Mom is a great resource. Additionally, American Pregnancy offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
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