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Motherhood can be utterly exhausting — a truth we can all agree on. There were days when my fatigue was so overwhelming that I found myself questioning whether shredded cheese needed refrigeration, only for my partner to discover it sitting in the microwave later that evening. On another occasion, I stepped into the shower without having removed my nursing bra and underwear. And in a moment of confusion, I even forgot my own son’s name.
As new parents, we all have those moments when sleep deprivation starts to take a toll on our mental clarity — what my friend affectionately refers to as “Swiss cheese brain.” I certainly experienced those lapses, but I was also grappling with intense postpartum depression (PPD). Consequently, much of my son’s first year passed by in a blur, leaving me with memories that feel as distant as those of strangers. I was physically there, but mentally, I was absent.
PPD has been a significant presence in my journey through motherhood, casting a shadow over my son’s early months and lingering in the years that followed. It’s only now, five years later, that I’m beginning to confront the myriad ways it has shaped my life. One of the most heart-wrenching realizations I’ve had recently is the time I lost with my son — time I can never reclaim. Although I was there every day, those early days were robotic; I was unable to connect emotionally and truly relish the experience of being a mother. My only focus was ensuring my son was healthy and thriving, while I battled feelings of despair. I simply lacked the mental space to embrace the joy of motherhood.
And I am furious about it.
Sadly, my experience, while personal, is far from uncommon. Studies indicate that about 1 in 7 new mothers experience PPD — and that’s just among those diagnosed. Few women emerge from new motherhood unscathed, physically or emotionally, and I was no exception.
My PPD began to rear its ugly head about a week after my son’s birth. It’s insidious, creeping into your mind gradually and often misinterpreted as mere exhaustion. For me, it manifested as intrusive thoughts — “You’re a terrible mother” would haunt me for a day, only to be followed by a good day that I dismissed as just part of the chaos of new motherhood. Then, the darkness would return, stronger than before — “Your family would be better off without you.” It wasn’t long before I was submerged in depression without even realizing it.
I also battled insomnia, intense bouts of rage (directed not at my baby but at walls and kitchen cabinets), and even suicidal thoughts. The fear of seeking help loomed large; I worried about being hospitalized and separated from my child or, worse, having him taken away. I struggled to bond with my baby and felt so emotionally detached that I couldn’t enjoy being a mother. My existence revolved around survival — feed, change, and soothe the baby, then repeat. I convinced myself that my only worth was in breastfeeding, and once that was done, I planned to end my life. I had a specific date in mind and a detailed plan of how it would happen.
Fortunately, I sought help before it came to that. With the right medication and therapy, I gradually began to reclaim my life. I started to experience the joy of motherhood, finally becoming fully engaged with my baby.
It would be nice if my story ended there, neatly tied up. But, as anyone who has battled mental health challenges knows, recovery isn’t linear. I faced setbacks, medication adjustments, and the everyday stresses of life. Just as PPD arrived in fits and starts, so did its departure. I take daily medication now, and I may continue to do so indefinitely. I am a work in progress.
Lately, I find myself yearning for the baby with chubby legs and an infectious laugh. I couldn’t appreciate those moments then; I wished the days away. Now that I’m healthy, I’ve picked up the pieces of my life, but my baby has grown into a little boy. Looking at photos and videos of his infancy feels like a punch to the gut. I miss that little one, the one I sometimes feel I never truly got to know.
I remind myself to be gentle with my feelings. Every mother faces challenges, and I was not alone in my struggles. On top of that, my mind wasn’t functioning as it should have. I don’t wish to relive those moments; I simply wish I could have been healthier and more present. I would give anything to hold that tiny baby again, to marvel at him as he deserved, to be fully engaged in a way that was impossible for me back then.
Motherhood transformed every aspect of my being. It opened me up to new joy but also tore me apart. The pain continues in various ways. Right now, the most profound hurt is for that little baby I never had a fair chance to connect with. He’s perfect now, but he was perfect then, too. I just wasn’t able to see it.
For those navigating similar challenges, know that help is available. If you’re interested in exploring resources related to pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent guide for insights. You can also consider fertility supplements to enhance your chances of conception from Make a Mom to help you on your journey. And for more reflections on motherhood, visit this related post.
Summary
This heartfelt narrative explores the challenges of postpartum depression, detailing the struggles of a mother who felt mentally absent during her son’s early life. She reflects on the pain of lost moments and the long road to recovery, emphasizing the importance of seeking help and acknowledging the shared experiences of motherhood.
Keyphrase: postpartum depression and motherhood
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