This is a picture of me when I was suffering from postpartum depression. Daily bouts of crying for six months, mustering enough strength to make do with the bare minimum, suffocated by the sweltering love for my two little ones that consumed me.
“But you look so happy here,” I’m sure you’re thinking
I was, there at that moment.
I was loving the yumminess of my baby boy while parts of me were in so much pain. At the time, no one really knew how bad I felt. I didn’t even realize it was postpartum until much later.
I remember when I took that photo with my son. We were on our way to visit my then father-in-law. I remember casually mentioning how hard it was to sit through another Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Doc Mcstuffins episode; how I felt my mind turning to mush. I didn’t know how to grapple with feelings like every day could feel like an eternity, yet I never felt like there was enough time to get anything done.
I felt disconnected from my then-husband and my daughter. It was like I was living out my worst fear of having a messed-up relationship with my babies. I knew that the more I fed into this fear, the more it came true.
But I didn’t know how to get out of this cycle. I felt ridiculous for feeling this bad. My ego got in the way.
Me? A psychologist with postpartum?
No way! I study this, so I am impervious to it. But it was the perfect storm.
Perfectionistic tendencies, mixed in with building a solo practice, raising a two-and-a-half-year-old, not sleeping from pumping, and feeding my baby around the clock led to it.
I thank my lucky stars for the few people I confided in and who helped me. They were my magic carpet ride when my mind could be my worst enemy.
It gets better
Slowly, things settled, and I developed a stronger sense of myself as their imperfectly perfect mom.
It was years in progress. Even though things began to improve as the PPD subsided, my perfectionist tendencies reared their ugly heads (and still do, although less often). I created the foundation for an unbreakable bond with my children.
I’m not saying this because I am special. I’m saying this because many moms worry that having PPD will ruin their relationship with their children for good. They fear that having it makes them an unfit and ungrateful mom.
I’m here to say no. If you take the time to heal, with whatever courage and energy you can muster, the effects of it will compound on themselves and pay forward.
Happy 8th birthday, Rashi!
Thank you for being one of the two greatest loves of my life. For being an incredible little boy with a huge heart and a heck of an imagination. Thank you for loving me as I am.
Motherhood and postpartum depression
For more on motherhood, click here for The Motherhood Fallacy.
If you think you may be experiencing postpartum depression, click here.