I Have Postpartum Depression
I’ve only said that for the first time last week. But it’s been in my mind for well over a month and a half. When I couldn’t fall asleep, those were the words that I held on my lips as I tried to figure out if Adam was awake to hear them or not.
I know that postpartum depression effects a lot of women. But no one really talks about it. Sure, it might be easy to find stuff online about it. But I have yet to meet another woman who would actually talk about it.
There is a sense of shame admitting that you are struggling with it. You have longed for this tiny human to be in your arms for so many months, you shouldn't feel helpless when they get here. They should be enough. When I was pregnant, so many moms warned me about the lack of sleep, the crying babies, etc. but no one said anything about the depression that follows. How you lose a sense of self. How you grow more lonely than you have ever been.
When #1 was about two months old, I mentioned my loneliness to another new mom, a close friend. She admitted that she also felt lonely at times. Before I could admit how bad I felt, she sighed and said that those feelings dissipated as soon as her baby would make eye contact with her and smile. Maybe I should have opened up, but I dropped the topic. How could I admit that a smiling #1 actually made me feel more lonely? Especially to someone who wouldn’t understand that, at times, I hated this thing called motherhood.
Yes, I’m aware that you might think I wasn’t connected to my #1. Or maybe you go to an even more extreme that think I wasn’t being a good mother. But I am a good mom. I intellectually know that (even when my emotions tell me the opposite). And I do feel connected to my daughter. A deep bond that I think only mothers can understand.
But even then, I question how (and sometimes if) I felt connected to her in those first few moments of life. After she was placed on my chest for the first time, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. But after being that way for about 45 minutes, I was ready for Adam to hold her, to have our little group of hospital visitors come in to meet her. Did I feel connected to her? Looking back, I really don’t know. I’m sure some of those are convoluted with mis-memories as each day I love her a little more than the day before. And as time passes, the more I question how I could love her in those early weeks because of how much love I have developed in the past five months. But I do think that my initial connection with her wasn’t as deep as other mothers feel in those first minutes of life.
I came to this realization when a photographer friend of mine shared a photo of another new mom holding her baby for the first time. The photographer captioned it with “THAT moment.” This woman was crying - somewhat sobbing - over this new precious life - a beautiful, perfect baby. She might have had her hair in a messy up do, maybe she was sweaty from what she had just endured. But I didn’t see those minor details of this photo. I saw someone doing something that only half the population even have a chance of doing; she was glorious. Her hands caressed this little life. Her lips soft as she whispered her love through tears. The longer I looked at this photo, I realized that wasn’t me. As other mothers kept commenting about their own “THAT moment,” I started hating each of them because I didn’t have that. I didn’t cry when I held #1. I never cried about how perfect our little girl was. How strong our week old baby was. Or anything else that could be deemed “THAT moment.”
As I stared at this random woman, I began to feel even more disconnected to this exclusive club of mothers. I didn’t have “THAT moment.” I have yet to have “THAT moment.” And that is not me saying I do not love my daughter. I do. But I love her despite not having “THAT moment.”
I might not have had the same experience of that mother crying over the pain being over and the joy being in her arms. But I’ve had what I will call “THOSE moments.” Those moments where I look at my daughter and see innocence and beauty. Those moments where I’m holding her and crying over my own brokenness and fears. Those moments when she snuggles into my chest a little deeper. Those moments where I hold her and whisper that she is my big, brave, beautiful girl.
Maybe I never had “THAT moment,” but I will continue to have my own moments. And those moments make me fall deeper in love with my daughter. And with my own motherhood.
