Imagine a scenario where every little thing seems like an impending disaster. Your baby could catch a cold, and you’ll feel utterly helpless. She might wake up hungry during the night, so you stay on high alert. You envision her stopping breathing in her car seat, compelling you to sit right next to her. The thought of her being kidnapped makes you avoid stepping outside altogether. You feel that being alone with her is a risk, because you fear you won’t know how to save her. The relentless cycle continues: she is going to get sick, she is going to get sick, she is going to get sick… but it’s not her; it’s me. I am battling postpartum anxiety.
Have you ever experienced a night terror that felt all too real? Living with postpartum anxiety feels like being trapped in a waking nightmare that spirals endlessly. It mirrors the sensation of falling in a dream with no ground in sight.
In the initial weeks after giving birth, many women encounter what is often referred to as the post-baby blues—a hormonal roller coaster. It’s common to weep without reason and to spend hours marveling at your newborn. It’s typical to feel your heart ache when she’s just a room away and even to miss her while holding her close, feeling as though the bond has weakened. These feelings, though intense, can be a normal part of new motherhood.
However, when irrational fears begin to dominate your life, leading you to withdraw from loved ones or even contemplate extreme actions, it’s a sign that you need to seek help. I had heard about postpartum depression, but my experience felt different. I didn’t feel depressed; rather, I was engulfed by an overwhelming sense of fear. How could I be worthy of such profound love when just two years prior, I had vowed never to have children? I was convinced that something would take her away from me, that my time with her was limited.
My anxiety turned our home—our supposed safe space—into a prison. I wanted to shield her from anything that could pose a threat. Grocery shopping transformed from a mundane errand into a perilous adventure.
In the first week of her life, I didn’t change a single diaper or dress her. My desire to care for her was overshadowed by the fear that I might harm her. The first bath became a traumatic experience. There was no evident danger, yet I watched helplessly, sobbing as I imagined the worst possible scenarios—drowning, accidents, and drops. The shame that followed was crushing.
When I finally attempted to dress her, my clumsiness and lack of skill were painfully apparent. This tiny human, whom I loved beyond comprehension, deserved a mother who was confident and capable—qualities I feared I lacked. I often thought she would be better off with her father, who seemed to transition into parenthood so effortlessly. I didn’t bathe her on my own until she was nearly three months old, and even then, she sensed my worry. That was the first time she cried during a bath, and I couldn’t hold back my own tears either. The image of a broken woman on the bathroom floor, longing for her own mother’s comfort while simultaneously desiring to be alone with her baby, is forever etched in my mind.
Despite the paralyzing fear of bathing her, nothing compared to my intense panic at the thought of her falling ill. I knew it was inevitable, yet I felt like I could see germs lurking everywhere. I imagined tiny bugs crawling over her skin after outings, making me want to wash her with Purell. My mind began to flood with news images of babies suffering from illnesses that should have been eradicated.
For a while, I was in denial about my situation. It became evident that something was wrong when I refused to let anyone hold her except her dad. I even snapped at my own mother for wanting to hold her. I felt the need for others to “scrub in” before getting near her. The moment I washed my two-month-old’s hands at the doctor’s office, desperately trying to convince everyone, including myself, that I was fine, was a wake-up call. It took weeks of intrusive thoughts and uncontrollable tears for me to recognize the gravity of my anxiety.
I needed assistance. I needed something to calm my worries and help me rediscover joy. I began medication a little over two months ago, and I’ve noticed significant improvements in my behavior, self-assurance, and approach to fears.
Mental health issues don’t wait for convenient moments; they can strike in front of friends, family, and even strangers. While I felt embarrassed during those episodes, I quickly learned that mental illness does not define me. My loved ones were not frustrated with my hesitation, tears, or endless questions; they were concerned and empathetic.
For my daughter to thrive, I needed to be well. While changes are natural after having a baby, they shouldn’t be negative transformations that consume your life. Motherhood can be intimidating, but it doesn’t have to be a life lived in fear.
By the way, my daughter did get sick. She coughed for two days. But she’s okay—and so am I.
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Summary:
Postpartum anxiety is a challenging and often misunderstood condition that can lead to overwhelming fears and intrusive thoughts, impacting a mother’s ability to bond with her newborn. Recognizing the signs and seeking help is crucial for mental well-being. With support and appropriate treatment, mothers can overcome their fears and embrace motherhood without the shadow of anxiety.