The night we came home with our baby I couldn’t stop crying. We were surrounded by family who wanted to meet him and they told us to go nap. I tried to sleep, but every time I nearly fell asleep, my body jolted me awake. I was having a panic attack, something I’ve dealt with before, so I was trying to breathe through it. “You’re okay… just breathe.” But every time I closed my eyes, my mind flooded with thoughts like, “What did we do? I can’t do this. I’m going to be a terrible mom. I just can’t do this.” And the worst thought of all was, “Maybe if he dies of SIDS it’s for the best because I clearly am not capable of this.” I was filled with shame and screeching fear. I somehow kept powering through and doing everything to keep this four-weeks-early tiny baby alive, but I was not happy. I didn’t feel any happiness for this baby until about five and a half months. I cried most days and I had feelings of regret that I kept trying to push deep down. I don’t know how I kept going. Perhaps stubbornness or shame. Maybe it was love for this little being but I just couldn’t see it. 

Now almost a year in, I know I love my son. He’s my little buddy, amazing me every day. I also now recognize I had postpartum depression and anxiety. I didn’t know what help was out there and no one asked me how I was doing. I was hanging by a thread those first five and a half months and I realize I needed more help. Our son had colic and cried every day from 3-11. We couldn’t figure out breastfeeding, he had bad reflux, and was generally pretty unhappy the first four months. I remember one night thinking it was amazing that we got a full two hours of sleep (because I held him upright in my arms and slept with my head hanging over my shoulder). That level of sleep deprivation was really terrible. I didn’t know where to turn for help. In retrospect, I’ve learned there are a lot of gaps for moms in the healthcare system. I’ve also learned that society puts unrealistic expectations on new moms that are really harmful. 

Moral of the story: Help moms. Ask them how they’re doing. Some of them are not okay despite putting on a brave face.

—Anonymous