Discovering I had postpartum depression: A CityMom’s story
Editor’s Note: This month, theCityMoms are sharing stories from real mamas about their experiences with depression and anxiety as a part of our postpartum series. It is our hope that by sharing stories like Morgan’s below that we will normalize these conversations and empower moms to seek support.
I remember that morning with such clarity. Holding the baby. The television on. My husband had just left the house for work. I was feeling almost entirely outside of my body. It was one of the first days that I was home alone with both my newborn and toddler, and I felt like I was walking through fog.
Morgan and her family.
As I stood there, my initial thought was, “Shake it off, woman. This is your life with a baby and a toddler. Get to acting like you have it together because this is it. Otherwise, you’re an unfit mother.” I sat on the couch while my oldest took all the DVDs off the shelves, destroying any ounce of picking up I’d done. Then I remembered with horror that we had a handyman coming to give us a quote, and I would have to take off my bathrobe and put on actual clothes. That alone felt like an impossible task.
And I nearly lost it.
Morgan and her husband with their firstborn.
Here I was, looking at the mess from this rambunctious little boy, and it wasn't even 8:00 am. I was sitting in a milk-stained bathrobe holding the baby, not sure what to do with her, knowing she would want more milk soon, not sure what to even fill the day with because all I wanted to do was cocoon in that fluffy robe and fall asleep. I had to wipe away the tears burning my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.
And somewhere in my gut, it dawned on me:
Is this what postpartum depression looks like?
…Maybe it’s a dowdy pink robe that you can't take off.
…Or staring blankly at your husband before he leaves for work.
…Or watching as the three-year-old runs around the house, leaving a wake of toys in his path that you don't have the energy to pick up.
Morgan with her two kiddos.
Or maybe, postpartum depression is holding your newborn and feeling nothing at all in that moment. Except for the resentment that creeps in as she squirms for more milk because (sigh) your boobs are stretched, and they hurt and hasn't it only been an hour?
I named it that day; my thoughts and lack of feelings were Postpartum Depression.
That was when I found a group of women online who held me and talked to me from afar. theCityMoms saved me. These women, most of whom I had never met in real life, responded when I posted. They encouraged me, listened, and checked in day after day. They were there when I wasn’t sure I could make it through the day.
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That was also the day I made the phone call to a nurse named Birdie (recommended by multiple CityMoms) and found a meeting place where I could talk to other women about how I was feeling. I realized after that first meeting that I may have experienced something like this with my son. I learned the deep, overwhelming anxiety and panic attacks I had after him (that felt like me just not being able to hack new motherhood) also had a name. Not postpartum depression but postpartum anxiety. And I wasn’t a bad mom. I wasn’t a woman who couldn’t hack motherhood. I was one of the 15% of women who experience postpartum depression.
Morgan with her newborn and toddler.
I continued to attend meetings throughout maternity leave, and I credit them for getting me through some of my most challenging days as a mother. Days that feel so long ago now. That newborn and toddler are now seven and ten, respectively. I am here, on the other side, as proof that it does get better. I still draw on things I learned in that support group and remind myself there are seasons to parenting, and that we learn through each of them. As I watch my kids interact and thrive in this world, I am reminded that even on the days I don’t have it all together, they are doing alright. And so am I.
