The Darkness After Birth: My Battle with Postpartum Depression

I wish I could say that the moment I held my baby

for the first time, my heart overflowed with love and happiness. That’s what’s supposed to happen, right?

That’s the image we see in movies, the story we hear from well-meaning friends and family. But for me, it wasn’t like that at all. Instead, I felt a numbness that scared me.

At first, I blamed it on exhaustion. Of course, I was tired—my body had just been through labor, and my newborn

needed me constantly. But as the days turned into weeks, the exhaustion turned into something else. I wasn’t just tired. I was drowning. Drowning in my own fear, in their fear. I just gave my daughter life.. Life into a fucked up world. 

"Congratulations baby. Welcome to the land of the free. To bad we will never be free"

The Guilt That Came With It

I told myself I should be happy. I had a beautiful baby. A healthy one. I should feel grateful. But instead, I felt nothing. Or worse, I felt trapped, overwhelmed, and ashamed.

Motherhood is supposed to be beautiful. That's what everyone says, right?

Its supposed to be filled with joy, gratitude, and those perfect little moments that make all the exhaustion worth it.

But for me? Motherhood feels like drowning. 

I have two daughters, two months old, and 10 years old. Two girls who deserve the absolute best version of me.

But every single day, I fight against the version of me that doesn't want to be here anymore. 

I waited for the overwhelming rush of happiness that everyone talks about.

I waited for that deep, all-consuming love to take over and erase all the pain, the exhaustion, the fear.

But instead, I felt empty. I felt lifeless.

I love her. I love both my girls more than words can say. But depression doesn't care about love. It doesn't care that

I want to enjoy these moments, that I want to be happy, that I want to be the mother they need.

It just lingers. It weighs me down. It whispers lies to me every single day.

You're not enough..

They deserve better than you.

You are failing.

You should just disappear. End it all. Call it quits!

I hear these thoughts constantly, and some days, I believe them.

Trying to Hold It Together

I wake up exhausted before the day even starts. The baby cries through the night, and even when she's finally asleep, my mind won't let me rest. The anxiety, the intrusive thoughts, the overwhelming guilt.. they never stop.

I remember sitting on the edge of my bed one night while my baby screamed in the bassinet next to me. My husband was asleep, the house was dark, and I just sat there, staring at the wall, feeling absolutely empty. The thought crossed my mind

Maybe they’d be better off without me. That thought terrified me. But I didn’t say anything.

Because what kind of mother thinks that?

And then there's my 10-year-old. She watches me closely. She sees the days when I can barely function,

the days when I'm just going through the motions. I try to hide it from her, to smile and pretend like everything is okay, but I know she senses the truth.

She spent the last 10 years learning from me. Watching me. Wanting to be like me..

Is she going to end up like this.. Will my lifelong depression follow her? Will my traumatic past be her future?

That breaks me the most.

I don't want my daughters to grow up remembering a mother who was barely holding on. I don't want them to think that my love for them wasn't enough to keep me here. Because it is, I know it is. But depression is a monster that tells me otherwise.

The Guilt That Never Ends

I feel guilty all the time.

Guilty that I'm not more present. Guilty that when I am present, I wish I wasn't. Guilty that I don't feel the happiness I should feel. Guilty that my mind constantly drifts to dark places when I should just be soaking in my newborns sweet little face. Guilty that I'm the reason why my marriage is "failing" even though it's not.

I think about my 10-year-old and all the times I've had to force myself to engage, to listen, to be there when all

I wanted to do was disappear. All the times she begged me to play with her, but I couldn't peel myself off the couch. 

All the times she asked for friends to come over so she could have someone to play with.

She deserves a mother who isn't constantly at war with herself. She deserves better.

They both do.

Fighting to Stay

Some days are worse than others. Some days, I convince myself that I'm never going to feel okay again.

But I stay.

I stay because even when I don't believe it, I know my daughters need me. I stay because I have to

believe that one day, this darkness will lift. I stay because I refuse to let depression take me away from the

two little humans who love me more than I love myself.

The Silent Struggle

Depression isn’t just feeling sad. It’s feeling disconnected from the baby you love but can’t seem to bond with.

It’s resenting the responsibility that suddenly feels suffocating. It’s crying in the shower so no one sees.

It’s pretending you’re fine when inside, you feel like a stranger to yourself.

And for me, it was silence. I didn’t tell anyone for a long time.

I thought I had to handle it alone. That it would just go away. That if I admitted it, I’d be seen as a bad mother.

But it didn’t go away.

Eventually, I broke. I started hurting myself.. The pain felt good. But the more I did it, the more the thoughts grew.

Every day I told myself "Today is the day, I'm ending it all today"

I hoped someone would magically reach out and tell me no. But, how could they? Everyone thought I was fine. That is what really fucked with me head. I started avoiding people. Maybe if I drifted away slowly they would forget about me, that when I finally did end it all, they wouldn't feel so sad. Would they feel sad? Would anyone miss me? Would they show up at my funeral? Does anyone care about me..?

Theses are the thoughts that would keep me up at night. These were the thoughts that I would hear throughout the day. Why was I worried about someone showing up at my funeral when I was clearly still living? 

Am I insane? Is this was insanity feels like? 

I finally told my husband I wasn’t okay. I showed him the scars, the bruises...

I told him the thoughts I was having. I remember the look on his face, he was scared. He actually thought I was capable of killing myself.

He started worrying about me daily. While he was at work.. The love of his life was deeply into her suicidal thoughts while caring for his children.. This is when I knew, I needed help.

Saying the words out loud felt like lifting a weight I had been carrying for years. With his support,

I talked to my doctor, who reassured me that I wasn’t broken, that this was postpartum depression, and that I wasn’t alone.

I started therapy. I leaned on friends who had been there before.

I let go of the guilt little by little. And I began to heal.

It wasn’t overnight, and some days are still really hard. Some days I find myself lying on the bathroom floor crying. Crying louder than my newborn. But I stand up, take a look at myself in the mirror and tell myself "You are more than this"

I learned that asking for help didn’t make me weak—it made me stronger.

And I learned that loving my girls and struggling with depression weren’t mutually exclusive.

If you’re reading this and feeling any of what I felt, please know you’re not alone.

Postpartum depression doesn’t define you as a mother. Asking for help doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re human.

Talk to someone. A partner, a friend, a doctor—anyone. Leave an anonymous comment and lets chat. I am here for you. I want to be the person who you can open up to.

You don’t have to do this alone. And no matter what that voice in your head tells you, you are a good mother.

You are enough. And you will get through this.