It was during the chaos of a wailing infant and battling through painful breastfeeding when I realized I had lost sight of any positive perspective. This situation was unsustainable; I was exhausted, pale, and so hungry I barely felt it anymore. The romantic idea of the “fourth trimester” had vanished.
I understood that new motherhood was challenging, yet I sensed that my feelings were far from typical. The anxiety and nausea I felt while nursing my daughter, paired with the overwhelming fear of safety guidelines that made me view my baby as a ticking time bomb — it was all too much. Did my doctor realize that I couldn’t sleep with her on my chest or that “back is best” felt like a directive I was failing to follow?
I vividly recall one night in the nursery, desperately trying to get her to latch. After five hours without feeding, frustration set in. I caved and offered her a pacifier, called the breastfeeding support line (it was amusing how I once laughed at the concept), and handed the baby to my husband while I tried to pump just an ounce — which she consumed eagerly.
In that moment, I felt my identity slipping away, morphing into a martyr for Team Carter. I had never loved something so deeply that I would sacrifice my well-being for it, but it felt unhealthy, like an avalanche burying me under its weight.
Initially, I had received the usual support: my mom helped for two weeks, friends brought meals, and family visited occasionally. But when that support dwindled, I felt panic set in. What was this supposed transition supposed to look like? I imagined a touch of confusion and some bonding, not this overwhelming darkness where I felt completely alone and responsible for another life.
My postpartum depression could be labeled as “high functioning.” I was managing daily tasks and wearing multiple hats, yet I was perpetually terrified. My appetite was wrecked every time I nursed due to undiagnosed D-MER, and whenever I tried to express my feelings to my husband, I sounded dramatic, masking the chaos inside.
After some reflection, I found the courage to discuss my abnormal postpartum symptoms with my husband and then with my doctor. He handed me a questionnaire, and I was sure my answers would raise red flags. As we talked, he suggested I was too hard on myself and encouraged me to spend more time outside and have a date night.
What happened next was incredibly disheartening. After gathering the strength to seek help, I felt dismissed. I had no idea how much effort it took to get to that point. With my daughter in her stroller beside me, I firmly stated, “Respectfully, I know myself well enough to recognize this isn’t my normal state, and I would like to try medication.”
Why should self-awareness disqualify me from mental health support? In fact, being aware of my depression was alarming, as it meant I had experienced it before. During that time, I had managed to hide my darkness from others, but motherhood illuminated the reality that merely surviving wasn’t living. I had lost sight of who I was.
Today, I continue to battle the shadows of depression and the accompanying lies, but I no longer believe that being functional equates to being healthy. Seeking help is a courageous act; we don’t need to juggle everything to prove our worth. Sometimes, the bravest step is to let down our guard and show our wounds.
Why share our scars? Even if nothing changes in the moment, I choose courage for the child within me who always dreamed of parenthood and for the little ones I am raising, who may one day walk a similar path. I choose to embrace authenticity and make transparency the norm, so they won’t feel the need to hide their struggles.
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Summary
This article narrates the experience of a new mother grappling with postpartum depression while seeking help from her doctor. Despite feeling dismissed, she ultimately advocates for her mental health, emphasizing the importance of self-awareness and the courage to ask for support. The narrative highlights the challenges of motherhood and the necessity of transparency in discussing mental health.
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