Dear Little Ones,
I need to express something important. I’m truly sorry. Sorry that I’m not the mother I envisioned for you. This experience is not what I imagined at all: the heaviness of despair, the bursts of irritation, and the persistent cloud of hopelessness that seem to loom over me every single day. I wish I could be the fun mom who sings goofy songs as we create masterpieces with paint. I long to race you through parks filled with sunlight, to catch tiny creatures and indulge in ice cream for lunch. I want to mold playdough into silly shapes, craft glittery projects, and dress up in pirate costumes to celebrate Dress Like a Pirate Day.
Yet, there are days when simply getting out of bed feels like a monumental task. I fumble through breakfast, resorting to turning on the television more often than I’d like. The thought of singing a song eludes me. My body aches, and when it doesn’t, my spirit does. The afternoons drag on, and I find myself too drained for any creative projects. Everything seems dull and stifling. This isn’t what I envisioned for us, and it’s certainly not what I want for you.
They label it postpartum depression—a cruel interplay of hormones and brain chemistry that makes joy feel like a distant memory. It’s as if happiness is a dream I once had but can hardly recall upon awakening. Some days it feels closer, yet it’s always just beyond my grasp.
Understand this: my sorrow has nothing to do with you. It exists alongside the incredible joy you bring, which is perhaps the hardest truth to bear. I feel a profound sadness while being surrounded by your light. I find myself snapping when I should be laughing, and turning away when I should be embracing you. I force myself to hold you tight, my dear, because sometimes my sadness makes me forget to do so. That very forgetfulness deepens my sorrow.
Even when I’m enveloped in unhappiness, it doesn’t stem from my feelings towards you. Even in our toughest moments—when I raise my voice out of frustration—I hold immense love for you. I cherish you even when flour covers the kitchen floor or when you decide the dog could use a splash of paint. I love you as I wake in the stillness of night, again and again. I love you through my struggles.
My love for you is unwavering, even on days when I feel empty. I might go through the motions, but I find solace in the belief that love is an action, not merely a feeling. I hope my actions convey enough love to you.
This depression doesn’t follow any logic; it offers no rationale—only a cruel twist of biology. I never asked for this void. The grayness can feel suffocating while others tell me to relish every moment with you. But how can I appreciate what feels so out of focus? How can I savor fleeting moments while gasping for breath?
Those who romanticize how quickly babies grow can’t see the suffocating fog surrounding me. Their intentions are good, but the invisibility of depression is a unique torment: a woman struggling may appear to be enjoying the sunshine. If she reaches out for help, she risks being dismissed. People might say it’s simply a phase, that I should just ride out the hormonal shifts. The most painful fear is that the world may misinterpret my depression as a lack of love. They might conclude that if I truly loved my children, I would be joyful.
I don’t require others to verbalize these thoughts; I hear them in my mind daily, echoing the twisted voice of depression.
This illness has taken so much from us—stolen time, emotions, and the picture-perfect moments I see in other mothers’ lives. Yet, postpartum depression’s cruelest trick is its greatest flaw: it cannot take you from me.
No matter how dark it may seem, I have the privilege of caring for you. I might feel drained, but I ensure you experience love. My arms may feel heavy, yet I wrap them around you. I kiss you, despite the pain I carry. You are my motivation, my love. I want nothing but the best for you, and that best is a mother—broken but devoted. And that mother is me.
I have you, and I will keep pushing forward. In the end, that has to be enough for both of us.
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Summary
This heartfelt letter conveys a mother’s struggle with postpartum depression while expressing her unwavering love for her sons. Despite the challenges she faces, she emphasizes that her love for them remains strong, even when her mental health is compromised. She seeks understanding and connection, acknowledging the complexities of motherhood during this difficult time.
Keyphrase: postpartum depression letter to sons
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