Sixteen months after my son Leo arrived, I finally felt like I was emerging from the shadow of severe postpartum depression and anxiety. It had taken a significant amount of time to seek help and even longer to heal, but at last, I was truly savoring my time with him.
I remember that milestone vividly because I attended a local support group for postpartum depression (PPD), feeling strong enough to connect with other women experiencing similar struggles. The group provided a much-needed outlet where I could reassure the new moms facing PPD and anxiety that they would find their way through. I shared my story of resilience, detailing how I sought medication and therapy to reclaim my sense of self again. Leaving the group, I felt immense gratitude that my tumultuous journey had reached a hopeful conclusion.
However, just a few weeks later, while attending a work conference, I realized that my period was noticeably absent. I wasn’t overly concerned since the last intimate moment with my husband had hardly seemed significant, but I had a pregnancy test tucked away in my bag from a previous scare (I had irrationally linked intimacy with potential pregnancy and PPD). On a whim, I decided to take it.
As Vampire Weekend played softly in the background—music I still can’t listen to without recalling that moment—I laid the test on the counter while responding to work emails. Twenty minutes later, I returned to check the results.
Panic surged as I saw the positive line. I shook the stick and turned it around, desperate to make the line vanish. There was no way this could be real; the test must be faulty—it had been in my bag for too long. This couldn’t be happening.
After my experience with postpartum depression after Leo, I had absolutely no desire to have another child. I couldn’t face returning to that dark place so soon.
That night, I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching the test as I sought to comprehend the reality that was unfolding. Morning came, and the line remained—growing more pronounced as the weight of the situation settled in.
I summoned the courage to call my husband. Our journey through my postpartum struggles had strained our relationship. While I battled internal demons, he distanced himself, feeling helpless and opting to immerse himself in triathlon training. I feared this news would push us further apart. What should have been an exciting phone call felt heavy with dread.
“I took a pregnancy test,” I told him, “and it’s positive. We can discuss it in person when I return home.” He was with a friend at the time, and his response was characteristically dry. “Well, this is going to be exciting,” he said, infusing an odd levity into the heavy moment.
Over the next couple of days, I foolishly confided in a colleague who was thrilled by my news. When I expressed my fears about handling a second child after my first experience, she insisted that having two kids was the best decision she ever made and encouraged me to embrace this “gift.” I retreated to the bathroom, tears streaming down my face.
The darkness I thought I had conquered began to seep back into my mind. The feelings of hopelessness and despair crept back in, threatening to overwhelm me.
Upon returning home, I was excited to see Leo but was also flooded with memories of the struggles I had faced during his infancy. I confided in my husband that I wasn’t ready to discuss the pregnancy yet; I needed time to process. I withdrew into myself, hoping to find clarity.
I took a few sick days from work, hiding under the covers, grappling with my feelings. I didn’t want this baby and dreaded reliving the challenges I had faced with Leo. I scheduled an appointment for an abortion and kept it to myself.
One night, my husband asked me to sit with him, sensing my internal battle. He reassured me that he would support whichever choice I made; he just didn’t want to lose me. We wept together, and in that moment, I felt a sense of unity and resolve—maybe we could navigate this journey together.
As I began to accept the possibility of another baby, I slowly wrapped my mind around this new reality. Determined to have a different experience, I prioritized my emotional well-being during my second pregnancy. I continued individual therapy and initiated couples therapy with my husband to strengthen our bond. On numerous occasions, he expressed his regret for not knowing how to support me after Leo was born and promised to do better this time.
I incorporated acupuncture into my routine, exercised, and aimed to rest whenever possible. I reflected on the factors that contributed to my postpartum depression the first time: the isolation of being alone with Leo day after day, feeling disconnected from my professional achievements, lacking a community of new moms willing to discuss the struggles of motherhood, and feeling immense shame in asking for help.
This time, I took control. I wouldn’t let this experience just happen to me. I devised a comprehensive postpartum plan, incorporating all the elements I had missed previously. My mother-in-law agreed to stay with us for the first month after the baby arrived, followed by my mom the next month. I negotiated a flexible work schedule that would allow me to balance my professional life with my new parenting responsibilities.
I connected with a group of other second-time expectant mothers, ensuring I had a solid support system in place. I opted for an epidural, having found my first labor physically and emotionally traumatic. Most importantly, I made it a priority to ensure those around me were aware of the signs of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders (PMADs), with a treatment team on standby.
As Karen Kleiman notes in her book, What Am I Thinking? Having A Baby After Postpartum Depression, “The good news is that with proper preparation and planning and a healthcare team that is mobilized on your behalf, we can intervene in ways that will minimize the likelihood that you will experience a depression to the same degree that you did previously.”
And you know what? My second experience was remarkably different. The safety measures I had implemented paid off. The support I cultivated, the community I built, and my perspective shifted significantly; I learned to ask for help daily.
I can’t imagine life without my daughter, Mia. She’s a spirited, confident little force, and I adore her completely.
I am not advocating for mothers who have faced PMADs to try for another child. Instead, I want to instill hope in those who have navigated similar struggles; there can be a brighter path forward. For more insights on navigating pregnancy after experiencing challenges like PPD, you can check out this excellent resource.
In summary, my journey through the fears of expanding my family led to a transformative experience. By prioritizing my mental health and seeking support, I was able to create a different narrative for my second pregnancy. There is hope for those who have faced similar challenges, and every parent’s journey is unique.
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