Dealing with Postpartum Depression
I loved playing dolls when I was little. I had many Cabbage Patch and Mattel Magic Nursery dolls that I treated better than my cat, Misty. I had a handmade wooden cradle and a blanket to hold my “babies” just right. I loved those “babies” more than anything.
I remember the first time my cousin’s mother saw me with my daughter. She smiled and said “you finally have the real baby you’ve always wanted.” And she was right, but something was still wrong.
After a few months of struggling I decided to face what I feared the most in motherhood, postpartum depression. I spent the first few months feeling like I wasn’t connecting with my daughter. I didn’t feel entirely a part, but definitely not as close and I thought I would. It broke my heart and I couldn’t force myself to tell anyone of this awful feeling. I was a bad mother. That’s all that I kept thinking. I started to think maybe I should have waited longer to have a baby. Maybe I wasn’t ready to give up sleeping in on the weekends or being able to run out to the bar whenever my friends asked.
But I was ready.
I am ready.
I finally reached out to my husband, who was finding it difficult to deal with my mood swings, and we decided to it was best for me to get help. I was put on anti-depressants a few months ago and I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Although I still have bad days, I am constantly trying my best to cope with everything while still trying to be a good mother, wife, daughter, granddaughter, sister, aunt, niece, cousin, co-worker, employee and friend.
I have decided to no longer be ashamed of my feelings or lack there of. I hope all of you women out there who have experienced postpartum depression will feel the same way today and forever.
Annabelle and me a few months ago.
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