I was also someone who dreamed of being a mother. I am a caregiver at heart and always was, long before I ever gave birth. I always felt that I was made for motherhood. But then I got pregnant and it was so much harder and lonelier than I ever imagined, I questioned everything. I had complication after complication—hyperemesis gravidarum, anemia, a subchorionic hemorrhage, insomnia, carpal tunnel, and so much pain. I felt like my whole world was rocked. I thought my soul was meant for this but my body was another story.

Before I got pregnant, I struggled with anxiety, depression, and insomnia. At my first appointment with my family doctor he advised me to stop taking any and all of my medications for the safety of my baby. I, of course, obliged and so started an onslaught of worsening and new mental health struggles. The more my body struggled, the more my mind did as well. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I didn’t want to leave my bed. The guilt that my baby was feeling what I was feeling consumed me and the vicious cycle continued. The night after my baby shower my husband woke up at 4am to find me crying my eyes out and frantically organizing every item we had or didn’t have yet for the baby. I was crying because I was so stressed about everything we still needed and felt so guilty that after everyone’s generosity all I could do was worry about what was not crossed off the list.

After I cried through every single one of my midwife appointments, a referral was sent to reproductive mental health. I felt embarrassed and like I was just not made to be a mother. I met with the psychiatrist who provided me much needed informed consent regarding my medication and was set up with a counsellor two weeks before I was due to give birth. Our main focus was my birthing plan. I had sought midwifery care after developing PTSD from a gynecologist inserting an IUD mid panic attack as I begged him to stop. To say I was terrified that my birth would turn out similarly is an understatement.

I laboured for 24 hours, and then the OB came in to talk to me about a c-section. After going through the information, a bit of convincing, and many, many tears, I signed the consent forms just for her to come in a few moments later and tell me her attending was denying me a c-section because the baby was not suffering, and it was about to be shift change. I remember asking “what about me? Do I matter at all?” I wondered how I got to the point of begging for a c-section I never wanted in the first place.

Around eight hours later a new set of OBs came in to see what was taking so long. Without reading my birth plan or my chart which very explicitly said limited cervical checks and absolutely no stirrups, they came in demanding a cervical check and pulling out the stirrups. Cue a full-blown panic attack. I remember retreating further and further onto the bed and looking around at all the faces watching me. I felt like an animal in the zoo. Still, they pushed a cervical check and got their way. A few moments after they finished the check I started having a contraction. The OB took this opportunity to try to “stretch the tissue” to give baby room to come out. I screamed out “who has their fingers inside of me right now?!” mid contraction. My worst fears were all coming true; everything I didn’t want to happen was happening and I felt completely out of control.

The day my daughter was born was simultaneously the best day of my life and the worst. But what is motherhood if not a series of contradictions and mixed feelings. That feeling of loss of control defined my first year of motherhood. I clung to any sense of control that I could and thought that if I did everything perfectly, I would never feel out of control again. But the one thing I could not control were the awful, intrusive thoughts and feelings I was having in the throes of postpartum depression and anxiety. On one of the worst days I ever had postpartum I found myself explaining to my mom and husband that I couldn’t take a nap because I could not be left alone with my thoughts. In those first few weeks the only way I could sleep was on the couch, with the TV on, and with someone beside me.

I had wanted this, dreamed of this, and yet it was so incredibly hard. In those moments I could not see a future with any happiness. I posted on my Instagram story asking if anyone had any advice on how to get through the postpartum stage because the highs were so high and the lows were so low. I was flooded with over 100 messages from parents just giving advice, encouragement, and solidarity. Hearing that I was not alone was quite literally, a lifeline for me. Knowing that others had struggled the way I was made the fear and loneliness lift just enough to know that things would get better. The community I found through motherhood has been such a gift. We are not meant to do this alone but in the world we currently live in it takes effort to create the villages we need. I still struggle at times but not like I used to. My life has joy and purpose again. I still feel unsure of myself and question my decisions but the confidence that I am meant for this life has returned. Thank you for your project. I know the messages and stories will help so many people. 

—Alli