What did postpartum depression steal from me?

When my daughter was born, I expected to be exhausted. What I didn’t expect is He is afraid That I might not like her. That’s what Postpartum depression It seemed to me, how I came back.

After I stopped breastfeeding, I became much happier. for me anxiety She shrunk because I knew she was getting enough to eat. After each feeding, Lily would fall asleep on my chest. I patted the milk on her chin with a burp cloth and she snored weakly. I wished I could match her peace, but I couldn’t shake her desire to escape.

I just want to get in my car and never come backI was whispering to her while she was asleep. I don’t think I love you.

Life with Lily and Joe got better after I stopped breastfeeding, but I still haven’t sleeping enough. Even though the kids wake up a lot, the rational part of me has lost all arguments. I fought sleep. I read every child’s book. Nothing worked.

“Kids need to eat,” Joe said. “They have small stomachs.”

“Yes, but my sister’s baby has been sleeping six hours so far.”

“This isn’t our baby, Lauren.”

He looked at her like a miracle. I looked at it like it was a test I was failing.

the shame It built slowly. He told me I was flawed. I stopped sharing how I felt with my friends, fearing they would pity me or, worse, approve of it. I haven’t told anyone how many times I’ve fantasized about leaving. Or how many times you spent crying or to cut Myself with a razor only to feel a different pain. One I can name. One I can bandage.

Joe noticed the signs. One night, after a long bath, he reached into my arms and saw them.

“What did you do to yourself?”

I told him I was fine. He didn’t believe me.

“You need help. Now.”

He found a postpartum clinic in Manhattan. The next day, he packed the car and drove me there. I cried all the way.

“I’m a terrible mother,” I said.

“You’re not a terrible mother,” he said. “You’re having a terrible time.”

While taking it, I asked the psychiatrist: Will I ever love her?

She said: “Yes.” “This is the postpartum textbook depression. You will get better. And you will love it.”

I told them that I sometimes think about driving off the road. I imagined doing this with the baby in the back seat. That’s what scared me more than anything else: that I thought so. I thought so more than once.

They did not admit me to the hospital. Instead, they let me attend the outpatient program every day, as long as Joe and Lily accompanied me back and forth. So we did. Five days a week. Every rush hour. For weeks.

I learned the skills of cognitive behavioral therapy, radical acceptance, and the stopping method, but I didn’t feel better. Women came and went from the group. I stayed. Why was it working for them and not for me?

I’m starting to think they want their kids more.

I didn’t know if I wanted mine.

One night in October, after too much wine and too little sleep, I took more pills than I intended. Joe found me slurring my words and called my mom to watch Lily. He examined me at the hospital.

the Psychological The unit was cold. No towels. No locks. Plastic utensils. A young man tried to strangle himself. A woman cut her throat with a spoon.

I didn’t belong there. But I did.

Five days later, I started imagining spring again. I dreamed of my garden, and for the first time Lily was there.

It scared me too, because I forgot to include it in the first list dreams.

I came home different. I knotted it. I cried. I said, “I promise I’ll be better.”

But I was no better. not yet.

The cracks are back. She lost control one night and broke things like chairs, toys and a changing table. Lily was far from the room, but not out of harm’s way. Joe gave me a choice: go back to the hospital or stay with my parents. I chose my father.

Then Child Protective Services got involved. Joe’s therapist reported the incident.

I was angry with him. But I also knew he was trying to protect Lily (and me).

“I think I should take Lily to Washington to stay with my father. Just for a while. Just so you can rest. We’re not leaving you. We just need time,” he said.

So I said: Should I see her before she goes?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

I stayed with my parents and did everything right: to treatmedications, check-ins. CPS eventually closed the case.

When I met Lily, I knew: I loved her.

I’m still learning what kind of mother I am. But I know now that love doesn’t always come the way we expect. Sometimes, it’s a long way home.

If you or someone you love is thinking… suicideseek help immediately. For 24/7 help, call Suicide and Crisis Lifeline 988, or reach out to the Crisis Text Line by texting 741741. To find a therapist near you, visit Therapy guide in Psychology Today.