My Personal Experience With Postpartum Anxiety
My first postpartum sucked.
I was filled with worry and could never relax or just enjoy my baby
I was angry and on-edge (postpartum rage), and even mean to my poor dogs
I was anxious when I put my baby down, so I barely ever put him down
He screamed his head off if I put him down, so I never put him down
He screamed in the car, and I felt trapped at home, so I put us both at risk by driving in a state of heightened anxiety
I worried if he was getting enough milk, so I just nursed all the time in case
I worried that he would die so I had my eyes on him all the time
I worried that despite my efforts I was already fucking him up somehow
I worried about why he cried so much more than other babies
I worried that this would be how I felt for the rest of my life
Everything felt so big and so scary and so permanent and so important…
So I read everything I could get my hands on in this crazy quest I was on to be the perfect mother. I searched Amazon daily trying to find the solutions to all of my problems. I spent a lot of cash that I shouldn’t have wasted buying all the things that I hoped would save me.
Nothing saved me.
I couldn’t stand to be away from my baby and was agitated if anyone else wanted to hold him, so I never had time to myself. I was often my own worst enemy.
I couldn’t stand to hear my baby cry so I spent my days and nights do anything I could do to keep him from crying.
I lived permanently in fight or flight mode and would lose my shit over every fucking thing – a dirty floor, pee on the toilet seat, a barking dog.
You get it.
I Googled “postpartum depression” a million times, but that wasn’t it.
I loved my baby beyond belief. I felt connected to him and consumed by him.
And I was envious of everyone else who seemed to be managing way better than me.
So I just figured this was it. I was an ungrateful human, a shitty mom, and an angry wife. And I’d just enrolled myself in a lifetime of misery.
And no one – not my mom, not my partner, not my care provider, not my friends – no one knew how to help me. No one realized I was even struggling. I appeared, from the outside, to have it all together.
They didn’t know I needed help. I didn’t know I needed help.
All I knew was that this postpartum thing, this mothering thing, was not at all what I’d imagined it would be.
It. Sucked. So. Bad.
And this is how my marriage began to end.
My partner and I had no time together. I was too anxious to leave my baby alone, too anxious to be away from him, even when he was sleeping.
My needs weren’t being met, but I didn’t even know what my needs were. So how could I get them met? I couldn’t see through the anxiety. I couldn’t ask for what I needed because I didn’t know what that was. I just knew something wasn’t right.
I resented my husband’s freedom to come and go. I resented his uninterrupted sleep, his naps on the couch, and his ability to sleep in on weekends. His ability to savor his meals, shower undisturbed, and spend uninterrupted time in the bathroom was infuriating. I resented him for depriving me of personal time, as he constantly interrupted me with his own needs and inquiries. I resented him because it felt as if his life remained unchanged, while I struggled to recognize myself.
But more than that, I was hurt and sad and lonely because I had entered this parenting thing under the assumption that we would be doing this as a team. But I quickly realized soon after our baby was born, that my life had changed forever. It had changed exponentially.
But his seemed to have remained the same.
He didn’t see that I was drowning.
And instead of being sad and communicating my pain, I got angry. And then I got angrier.
And the anger built and built and built until I had dug myself into a hole so deep there was no climbing out of it.
I wish I’d known better so I could have done better. Not only for my marriage but, for my baby. And for me. The repercussions of those first years of struggle will haunt me until I die.
Oh, what I would do for a do-over.
I would have found a therapist who specialized in perinatal mental health.
I would have learned to set boundaries and to be a better communicator.
I would have prioritized self-care.
I would have hired someone to clean my house.
I would have asked more moms about their postpartum struggles.
I would have involved my partner more actively in parenting duties.
I would have gotten a prescription.
I would have taken better care of my health.
I would have eaten better.
I would have forced myself to take time off from meeting everyone else’s needs.
It’s too late for me and for my baby, but it’s not too late for you and yours.
I share my story with you as a cautionary tale. Get help, even before you need it, prioritize self-care, and build a support team. Don't make the mistakes I made by thinking you have it all under control, or that you even have to. And please do not try to manage it all alone. By taking care of your own well-being and proactively addressing your postpartum struggles, you’ll have the knowledge and power you need to nurture your relationship and create a more fulfilling family dynamic for yourself, your partner, and your children.
Stick Around!
If this resonates, join me for the weekly support group I’m hosting for neurodivergent and anxiety-prone moms. We’re real, we’re raw, and we’re here for each other.
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