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PPD and How It Took a Toll on Me

It’s an everyday battle—I know.

I didn’t realize that being a mom would make me feel so empty. It was day one of motherhood, and I was terrified to touch this little joy lying in the room. I was terrified like how I am anytime something beautiful enters my life. I always try to push everything away, and that’s what I did from the start with him. 

For anyone who knows me, I’m a lover. I’m caring, and I love listening to others and being there for them but never to myself. This sweet boy came in my life and I felt nothing. I felt a hole—an emptiness. I felt a void that needed to be filled. I spent days in the hospital not touching him except to feed him. My fiancé would hand him to me and than take him from me. My fiancé spent the hospital days nourishing our sweet baby; I spent them depressed and alone. Family came and nothing helped. I felt embarrassed to be here with our son, and I felt embarrassed to be a mom. 

As the next weeks came, my fiancé was back at work for graveyard shifts and I was left alone with our son. I spent most of the time staying at my mother’s house because I was afraid to be alone. Alone? Why? I was afraid of not being good enough, or if something happened, would my emptiness be the blame? I felt detached from my own son. I felt nothing. I wasn’t eating, showering, or talking to people. I’d go to bed gross and wake up the same way. I was sleep deprived and starving, and all I could think is that I wanted to die. 

No one ever talks about how serious postpartum depression is, but it takes a toll on someone. I was awful to myself and embarrassed to be a mom. My first Mother’s Day was devastating. I felt as if I didn’t deserve it because why should I? I haven’t done anything but feed and put the baby down to sleep and repeat. This is how my son’s first month or two went before I finally got help. I finally opened up to my fiancé, my mom, and then my doctor. It was the hardest and most humiliating thing to do, and now I am here—admitting it to the world. PPD isn’t beautiful. It’s disgusting. It’s hard. It’s draining. It’s starving yourself because you don’t realize you need to eat and because you’d rather feel the starving pain than the emptiness. It’s sleeping all day and waking to feed him and put him down again just to be up an hour or two later to repeat. PPD is learning when you need help and to fight to be a better parent. 

In time, PPD will be the realization that life is about being healthy for your kid to provide for yourself and him and not just him. In the end, my son wouldn't be him without me, and with the help I’ve had, I wouldn’t want him to be anyone else. He is what I fight for everyday. He is the reason I am in the best place with myself. He is my pride. He is what filled my void when I thought otherwise. I’m not writing to say to get help if you have PPD because in time, you will realize you will need it. You will need support and even medication. You can end your depression and start being happy as easy as talking to someone. Start small and then big. It’ll get easier. I promise!

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