The decision to bring a child into this world comes with a whirlwind of emotions. My spouse and I had been dancing with joy the moment we discovered we were expecting. The anticipation of welcoming our baby filled our days with dreams and our nights with hopes.

I had envisioned that moment so many times – cradling my baby, breathing in his newborn scent, and feeling an overpowering surge of love. But life threw me a curveball I wasn’t prepared for – postpartum depression.

woman carrying baby

Like many new parents, I had often been told that the instincts of motherhood would naturally take over. “You’ll just know what to do,” they said. But when I gazed into my son’s eyes, all I felt was a paralyzing uncertainty. I was drowning in a sea of doubts and unknowns.

There was this night in the hospital, just after he was born, where I found myself in tears, calling for the nurse every time he cried. My heart ached as I thought, “Isn’t a mother supposed to know her child’s needs?”

Coming home wasn’t any easier. Every time night fell or when my support system momentarily stepped away, the walls would seem to close in on me. There was this inexplicable anxiety that gnawed at me. My spouse, ever-supportive, was beside me, but even then, the anxiety was relentless. It was my silent struggle, one I hid behind closed doors, fearing judgment or misunderstanding.

I waited, day after day, hoping these feelings were just passing clouds. “Tomorrow will be different,” I’d tell myself. Yet, the storm inside me was intensifying. I wasn’t just waiting for the sun to shine; I was yearning for it.

Journey Through the Shadows: Overcoming Postpartum Depression

Life often feels like a tapestry of emotions and moments woven together. However, as a new mother, my tapestry felt like it was unravelling. Day by day, I found myself trapped in a haze that felt distant from reality. And while I played the part of a joyful mother to the world, my soul screamed silently.

woman in black t-shirt and black shorts standing on black area rug

I can’t forget the day my facade crumbled. The overwhelming duties of motherhood, combined with work and household chores, had taken their toll. I was losing touch with myself and those around me, especially my husband. Our baby, a beacon of love, became a symbol of my growing inadequacy. Why was I snapping at his innocent cries? Why did tears stream down my face without any apparent reason?

It was on one particularly difficult day that the realization dawned on me: I was not okay. And pretending to be was doing no one any favors. The weight of my emotional turbulence became so heavy that it affected my professional life. I missed work because once the tears started, they refused to stop.

Seeking help was my next step. On visiting my doctor, I was introduced to a questionnaire on depression. My previous encounters with this sheet saw me masking the truth, but this time, I owed it to myself and my family to be genuine. My honesty led to a diagnosis of postpartum depression.

Medication was introduced to my regimen, but the journey wasn’t straightforward. Adjustments in doses and frequent visits to the doctor became part of my healing process. The road to recovery was laid with the assistance of a counselor, who helped me understand my compulsive behaviors, like obsessive cleaning. With his guidance, I realized I had been stretching myself thin and ignoring the essence of self-care.

This revelation pushed me to rediscover myself. I explored hobbies and interests that I had overlooked or had never considered before motherhood. These activities didn’t just provide an escape but also strengthened my bond with my husband and allowed me to be more present for my son.

woman using smartphone

Nine months postpartum, I finally feel the sun peeking through the clouds. I have a bond with my son that’s more profound than I could have ever imagined, and perhaps, in an odd way, my struggles have sculpted a better version of myself.

One Year Later

One thing that deeply perturbs me is the silence around postpartum depression. The journey might be personal, but the issue is universal. Meaning …

Sharing this isn’t easy. It’s a deeply personal journey, one marked by despair and hope, darkness and light. But I share it in the hopes that another parent out there knows they’re not alone.

So don’t forget! The sun does shine again. It might take time, it might require help, but it does. Because every parent deserves to feel the warmth of that sunshine on their face, even after the stormiest nights.

The journey through postpartum depression might be terribly scary, and dark, but remember, at its end, there’s always light. “This too shall pass.”  And so reaching out to a therapist today, like I did, is one way to break through.

Jonnie Maisel is a dedicated student at the University of Montana, where she is passionately pursuing a degree in Speech Pathology. Drawing from personal experiences and academic insights, Jonnie crafts compelling narratives that shed light on topics close to her heart. Her writings resonate with a broad audience, thanks to her empathetic voice and candid storytelling style. Outside of her studies and writing, Jonnie is an avid advocate for mental health awareness, and she hopes to intertwine her career in speech pathology with her commitment to supporting those facing emotional challenges.