We waited to grow our family. Checked off all our pre-kids to-dos, found stability in anxiety management, and planned as much as possible. Finally, after seven years of marriage, we were expecting our first child. It was an absolute dream come true.

Pregnancy was near perfect on paper. Routine appointments, excited friends and family, and meticulous preparations filled our days. I endured a mostly silent, never-ending battle with typical pregnancy symptoms and flip-flopped by the minute between excitement and total darkness. The guilt for feeling this way was crumbling on the inside but I did my very best to carry on as if all was well.

Although, perhaps that was my biggest downfall. My reason for writing—for in silence we suffer.

I gave birth in early 2020, almost three weeks before my due date. After a tear-filled, traumatic (yet uncomplicated) labour and delivery, we welcomed our long-awaited baby. Safe and healthy. At least for baby. Inside, I didn’t feel safe and my mind continued to spin out of control. But we had made it—or had we? Much to my surprise, instead of that stereotypical best-moment-of-my-life type feeling, my first thought was, “ew, so sticky”—and so began our rocky start to bonding.

As we headed home, I was determined to outrun the darkness of pregnancy hormones and get back to my regular life (with baby in tow) as soon as possible. By day, we were running errands, meeting excited friends and family, and attending the seemingly never-ending appointments (all with a smile).

And yet, in the quiet of it all you could find me wrapped in tears, doubts, and more darkness.  Instead of bonding with baby I was making silent plans to leave. “This was the biggest mistake of my life. They’re better off without me,” I thought.

The days crawled and the nights stood still. Somehow, I was watching my life play out without really living it. I was a shell of a person living in a foreign body, mind, and identity. As overwhelm continued to suffocate, I erupted in uncharacteristic anger. My partner cared for us both, and my parents stepped up, sensing just the tip of the iceberg. We were…surviving (barely).

And then, just a few short weeks later, March 2020, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. Not just for us, but for the whole world.

Suddenly we were home, just the three of us, together, every moment of every day. For the foreseeable future there was no “regular life” to get back to. We spent these days learning to be”‘us—reading, playing, and resting. Slowly but surely I began to confront my identity in parenthood, gaining a new perspective on not just what I’d “lost” but also on what I’d retained and what I’d gained.

Little by little I was bonding with this newfound family and finding my place where it had always been but that I couldn’t see.

In the months that followed, with the echoes of the world muted, we rebuilt a family life bigger than our dreams could have ever imagined. We were making parenting choices that felt right for us, working together to find a balance of identities and discovering love in a way I didn’t know existed.

Now I have”‘made it.” Finally.

This is where we considered closing our season of growing. I had made it but would I make it again? And yet we continued having the big conversations, precariously assessing risk and doing a whole lot of heartfelt dreaming for our family. We discussed at lengths the pros and cons, our hopes and dreams, and most importantly, the plans for a potential second perinatal experience.

When the time came, welcoming our second child was equal parts scary and exciting. Despite extensive thought and planning, we knew that nothing was guaranteed and this time, with our first love at the core, the stakes felt higher than ever before. Midwives and postpartum doula arranged, a strong support team was our biggest reliance.

Circumstantially, this pregnancy and postpartum period were challenging. Recurrent panic attacks, unrelenting fatigue and a not-so-thriving baby, shaped my second perinatal experience but did not define it. With plenty of encouragement, nourishment, and open conversation from a team of people who felt wholly like trusted cheerleaders, I found my way, savouring this surreal season of life despite the messiness of it all—what a privilege.

These days I count my blessings amongst the chaos of toddlerhood and beyond, knowing things could have gone so differently. I am thankful to be here and thankful for the journey.

In silence we suffer, no more.

—Elanna