2016 Throwback Postpartum Edition
Sensitivity warning: Detailed personal account of postpartum depression and difficulties as a new parent.
In 2016, I was a new mom with a healthy baby boy.
Before I go any further into my story of postpartum depression, I want to make the following important points clear:
I do not want to dilute or diminish anyone’s positive experiences as a new parent.
I also do not want to excuse nor justify my own behaviors and my incorrect thinking while dealing with postpartum depression. Instead, I am aiming to be respectful to my lived experiences by giving a factual and accurate recounting.
It is important to create space and acknowledge the facts of my own difficult journey as I learned how to mother. I am far enough away, and healed enough from these traumatic experiences that I can recount them from a healthy place.
I am, and have always been, worthy of kindness and respect.
Real self-care including sleep, eating well, exercise, counseling, down time, prescription medication, and cognitive therapy are all necessary for me. I have a supportive and present partner, friends, and family who love me.
Postpartum depression sucks.
I labored with my son for 24 hours. It was incredibly difficult physically and mentally. Within the 72 hours around his birth, I slept a grand total of 2 hours. I could not look at my labor or birth photos for a full 6 months.
My son was cute. He did cute baby things. His little toes were adorable. After a few months, his gummy smiles were delightful. Being afraid of farts was hilarious, until he started crying.
When my son was an infant, I did not connect to him emotionally. At all. Zilch. I was chronically and cyclically sad because I was not “in love” with my child. I did not enjoy breastfeeding. I could not stand it when my baby fell asleep on me because I felt trapped. I loved my son objectively in my mind, but my heart felt empty. Even though I had a good support system, I still felt lonely. Looking back, I can now recognize that I was fearful too.
Here was a human that was quite literally half of me. I was afraid he would get sick. I was afraid I could not meet his needs. He cried a lot. Babies do not talk. I was deeply afraid of how he changed my body, my relationship dynamics, and my role. About 85% of my previously enjoyed free time (which was historically a major grounding space) was now consumed by all things baby care. The incessant interruptions were a leeching poison. The tortuous sleep deprivation was a manifested evil. As my son grew, the constantly moving milestones and trial and error were viscously cruel; a cycle of unrealized outcomes I could never quite grasp. (Perfectionist much?)
My son was not a snuggly baby. At 9 months old, with a blazing fever and a double ear infection, he laid his head on my shoulder for the first time in his life. I cried for a couple days over that.
2016 was a year of doing tiny right things over and over accompanied by dread. Postpartum depression relentlessly robbed those lovey dovey “new mom” feelings from me. Motivated by fear, I still chose to do all the minuscule good things to care for myself and my son. With painful slowness, and copious doubt, my stubborn steadfast choices added up. Over the next two years, I painstakingly recovered from emotional withdrawal. Out of a hopelessly bottomless deficit, I began to break even.
There are new postpartum therapies and treatments available in 2026 for which I would have been a perfect candidate. Sure, that was only 10 years ago, but some things have changed by leaps and bounds in a decade. Pro advice: do not underestimate the revolutionary power of grocery pickup. I am thankful that new moms have more tools now than I did in 2016. Hang in there. Ask for and receive help graciously. Hugs.