"I should be fine by now" and other lies depression has told me.

A conversation about maternal mental health and why awareness is still a place to start.

March 23, 2021 — 3 pm.

It has been three weeks and two days since my emergency cesarean surgery and it will be my first counseling session in a month. Instead of hauling my swollen pregnant body to an upstairs office, I’ve got my laptop next to me on the pull-out sofa we’ve made our bed.

Life circles around this Ikea sofa. If I am not in the recliner chair in the bedroom-turned-nursery, I spend most of my time uncomfortably easing into it with a baby and dogs and anything else I need within arm’s reach.

In preparation, I’ve anxiously planned this whole afternoon to the best of my ability (forgetting newborns are unpredictable), documenting every feeding and sleep session on my cellphone. By 2:45 p.m., I have nursed my daughter.

By 2:55 p.m., she has spit up on my shirt.

No worries, I think with very many worries, while setting her down to sleep in the playpen next to me. I rush to change (as much as someone who’s been sliced open can rush) and settle my body back down on the couch.

The video call opens and shows my therapist’s short hair and smile. She asks how I’m feeling, and I don’t know what to say aloud despite the thoughts racing in my head.

I’m exhausted. I’m sticky with sweat and breastmilk. I can’t shower or use the bathroom properly. I have to be home alone with my newborn most of the day because my husband can’t stop paying the bills. I’m forgetful and angry and in a lot of pain. I almost died. I don’t want to think about it. Where do I start?

My daughter starts vomiting with the gusto of a baby firehose.

I toss the laptop aside and pick her up, feeling the stretching and tearing of my incision as I move too fast. I wipe her with a cloth and she continues to throw up, dousing me in the rejected breastmilk I’ve been agonizing over. The milk spreads down my tank top and is everywhere.

I cannot make out what my counselor is saying, but I scream, “I can’t do this!” and slam the laptop shut, never to see her face again.

I tear off the soaking clothes on both of our bodies. I swaddle us together, skin to skin, in my blankets. Somewhere between the sobs and tears, I call or text my husband to come home, and he finds us there 30 minutes later on the couch, naked together in a cocoon.

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In the beginning of my daughter’s life, I felt lightness and love from her while there was darkness and danger inside of myself. I could not function outside of my care for her life and I secretly feared she would die every day. For the first years of motherhood, I relied on small morsels of support without knowing what kind of help I even needed.

A friend consistently sent me messages about her day and asked about mine like an anchor to a world I couldn’t handle on my own. She forced me out of the house and out into her yard for the bare minimum of social interactions.

I tried three SSRI medications to manage the bone-deep feelings of anxiety and depression I masked. I burst into tears when I had to answer a phone call for our small business.

After 2.5 years I wound up with sudden and crippling pain. Do you know what makes depression worse? The never-ending dismissal of pain from medical providers. I began to look for a counselor again and for anything that would help me gain relief.

Life was constantly moving yet I was arrested by depression in motherhood. I diminished my experiences with routine thoughts that I should be fine by now or that it was just hormones.

According to a 2024 State of Maternal Support Report, moms felt that the following were the most needed areas of support:

• 67% emotional support

• 67.8% practical assistance with childcare or household tasks

• 46.2% social connections

• 39.6% access to resources or information

Every time I started to feel support in any of those areas, I had to give it up due to financial or time restraints.

When choosing my own needs over my child’s needs, I couldn’t choose myself. The anxiety told me that leaving her with her loving father while I showered might result in her choking and dying. I wonder how much less suffering we mothers might experience with the right type of consistent support and understanding of what this darkness can look like.

You may not know that what you are feeling is deserving of attention.

You may recognize the need for help but have no idea where to start or what resources are available.

You may have health or socioeconomic barriers in the way of you receiving information or care options.

Outside of these areas of support and gaining rapid access to medical treatments, I think awareness is still a place we need to build upon despite the increase in conversations in the past decade.

We need to understand what struggles we can face in motherhood in the context of mental health. We need to know the language of diagnosis or treatment, know what resources are available, and become advocates for our friends and for ourselves.

The reason I created the 2024 Mental Health & Motherhood Virtual Conference was to reach out to the mother I am today as well as the mother I was when I was naked and raw with my baby in 2021. We have to keep going, my friend. Sometimes the hardest part is showing up.

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Do you have resource that has helped you in motherhood? Please share in the comments.

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