For three years, I drifted through life in a state of hibernation, battling major depressive disorder for nearly a decade. At 23, I reached a breaking point, feeling utterly exhausted from the façade I maintained. Emotionally depleted, lost, and numb, I could no longer function in what society deemed “normal.” Everyday tasks became monumental. Even the simple act of brushing my teeth felt like scaling a mountain. I found myself retreating further into sleep, ultimately resigning from my job to embrace a full-time slumber.
This period of deep fatigue began while I was living in California, far from the support of family and friends in New York. The distance provided a convenient cover for my struggles. I meticulously curated my social media presence to suggest everything was fine, responding to texts only when I had the energy. To the outside world, I appeared to be doing well.
Yet, my husband witnessed my decline firsthand. He had been by my side through my ongoing battle with depression, but this was a different level of darkness. I had become a mere shadow of my former self, a ghost devoid of engagement. In an attempt to help, he relocated us back to New York, hoping proximity to family would encourage me to socialize. Despite his efforts, I was unwilling to fight for myself, sinking further into despair.
I spent those three years largely on the couch, waking only to eat. I neglected my basic needs, resulting in frequent UTIs from my inability to rise and use the restroom. I barely showered and gained a significant amount of weight.
By April 2016, my marriage was on shaky ground. I was failing to be the partner I promised to be, and my husband could no longer tolerate my unwillingness to combat my depression. We were drifting apart while I remained in a sleep-like state.
Then, on April 4, 2016, I woke up feeling terrible. In jest, I joked to my husband about possibly being pregnant, but the day turned serious when I vomited multiple times and confirmed my pregnancy with five tests. The news overwhelmed us; we were not prepared for this life change, financially or emotionally.
Fears about my fitness to be a mother loomed large. I struggled to care for myself, let alone support my husband or nurture a child. However, we decided to move forward with the pregnancy. My health rapidly deteriorated, leading to mounting medical bills and forcing us back into our parents’ homes—a far from ideal situation.
During this time, I worked tirelessly to cultivate positivity about my illness and excitement about our baby. My husband focused on saving money, and together we navigated the exhausting challenges of our situation—until my 16-week appointment.
I had chosen to wait to learn the sex of our baby, hoping for a surprise to keep my spirits up. As I lay in the hospital for what felt like an eternity, a doctor wheeled me to the anatomy scan.
“Do you want to know the sex of the baby?” the doctor asked. I looked at my husband, longing for something to cling to. I needed proof that there was a real baby inside me. His nod spurred my courage.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced.
Tears welled in my eyes as I turned to my husband. “It’s Mia,” I said, recognizing the name instantly. In that moment, I embraced my identity as a mother—a depressed mother, yes, but a mother nonetheless.
Suddenly, my emotional safety net was stripped away. In the past, I had contemplated suicide, viewing it as an escape from my relentless cycle of depression, anxiety, and self-hatred. But with Mia on the way, I felt an overwhelming responsibility to live, to fight. The thought was terrifying, yet it was precisely the motivation I needed.
In the weeks leading up to her birth, I knew I had to make significant changes. I forced myself to stay awake, a jarring experience after years of lethargy. I struggled to fill my waking hours, often yearning for the comfort of sleep. Yet, I made an effort to eat, shower, and prepare for the demands of motherhood.
When Mia was born, everything shifted. She arrived in a flash, looking up at me without a cry, as if recognizing an old friend. In that moment, I realized I would do anything to protect her. For the first time in years, I experienced genuine happiness and pride in myself. I appreciated my body and felt accomplished.
Motherhood did not merely mean forcing myself to be awake; it transformed my desire to be present. Now, I wake each day, motivated by my love for Mia and the wonderful experiences I had previously missed.
While I continue to face challenges, including severe postpartum anxiety and PTSD from my complicated pregnancy, I am committed to being present for my daughter. I worry about her constantly, but at least now I am awake to do so.
For those navigating similar journeys, resources like this article and this kit can provide guidance, while this site offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, motherhood has compelled me to confront my debilitating depression, motivating me to reclaim my life and embrace my role as a parent.
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