If you’re just joining For Stitch & Giggles, I’d love for you to read my postpartum story. Here’s Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4. I write this newsletter for pregnant and postpartum moms everywhere. You’re not alone.
Trigger Warnings: postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, postpartum insomnia, thoughts of despair and hopelessness – if you are triggered by any of these topics, please skip this newsletter and come back the next time. I never want to interrupt a mom’s healing journey.
If you’ve been with me on my healing journey in For Stitch & Giggles for a while, you have probably realized that I write pretty openly and vulnerably. I don’t try to paint a nice picture of the hardships of pregnancy and postpartum. I’m very real. I want moms reading this to say, “Yes. Finally. Someone who’s saying how I actually feel inside.”
This article is going to be especially vulnerable and hard for me to write. But it’s something deep that I’ve been feeling for some time now. And I need to get it out.
Charlotte is my nine-month-old baby. She’s such a gift. We tried to get pregnant for a year with her. I realize this is nothing compared to many of you who struggled with infertility, and I’m not trying to make any kind of comparison. But that year showed me the absolute heartbreak and ups and downs that so many moms experience on the TTC (trying to conceive) journey. And honestly, a year is just a fraction of what many of you have gone through. That year was brutal. So when we got a positive pregnancy test, and then found out the baby was a girl, I was immensely happy. Our son was two, almost three. We just wanted one more. And yes, I was really hoping for a girl.
So it all just felt like a huge present from God. An answer to prayer. A big desire of my heart.
Please don’t take this post as me being ungrateful for the absolute treasure my daughter is. My heart is so full even looking at her now. I’m past the worst of my PPD, PPA, and PPI. I’m on the other side. I feel so much better. I could cry with gratitude. (And I have.)
But now my daughter is nine months old. She’s crawling. She’s babbling, smiling, getting teeth. She’s nearing a year old. I can’t believe it.
Now I can truly look back at those first 3-4 months. I can scroll through the sparse pictures I took in the worst of my depression. See how little and precious she was.
And I’m grieving now. I’m thankful to be where I am. But I’m grieving the thing that PPD took from me: time.
Those first two months especially are a dark blur now. I remember mostly the bad moments. The moments of panic. Anxiety. Depression. The hopelessness.
But I don’t remember how tiny she was. How she fit into my arms. How she did the newborn curl or stretch. I don’t really remember her first smile. Or her first giggle.
The whole month of December is just a strange kaleidoscope of hard days and sleepless nights, mixed with some blurry memories of Christmas lights. I had an anxiety attack on Christmas night, and that’s all I remember from Charlotte’s first Christmas.
And I am grieving those first few months of her life when I wasn’t myself. When I couldn’t enjoy her. When I couldn’t cherish every moment. There were moments of good memories with her that I have. But depression really can wash a lot of it into this gray lens. I was just trying to survive most days.
I lost the first half of my maternity leave to PPD. And by the time I was starting to come out of it, I had to return to work. My time with her was gone. I had to take her to daycare. And I feel a bitterness against my own experience for what it stole from me. I know it’s not healthy, and I’m going to work on letting it go, but I just want to say it here. There might be some other moms who have felt the same way. And I think it’s ok to grieve what we lost because of PPD.
We are not planning to have baby #3. We honestly couldn’t financially afford it. And I do not want to experience postpartum like I did again. So we are happy with our two precious kids. They are my whole world.
There’s a kind of grief that comes along with deciding that you’re done having babies. There’s always a tiny voice in the back of your head, “Are you really done?” Selling the baby clothes is just plain heartbreaking, no matter what. And I’ve been organizing clothes to sell at the end of the month.
Knowing that my last experience postpartum is the final one is hard to accept. Part of me wishes I could relive it differently. Get to experience postpartum better like I did with our oldest. Get to cherish those months at home with our baby instead of fighting for my life.
But I can’t change the past. I can’t change the fact that it did happen to me. I did have PPD, PPA, and PPI. I fought hard. I didn’t give up. I got through it to the other side. I’m a fighter. I made it through.
Part of healing is grieving. I’m allowing myself to grieve the months that PPD took. I’m allowed to feel sad when I look at the baby pictures of Charlotte but have really no memories of that season. I’m allowed to wish things had been different. I can even feel angry at PPD itself, though there’s nothing really I could have done to change the fact that I got it. I am allowed to grieve and feel the hard, heavy emotions.
And then I’m going to start moving on. I’m going to focus my efforts on helping others. Letting my story be an encouragement to other moms in the thick of it. Focus on being the mom who says, “I’ve been there. I got through it. You’re going to get to the other side of this. I promise.”
I’m going to hold my baby girl every day. I’m going to rock her to sleep. I’m going to smile. Savor the moments. Experience the joy that she is.
And I’m going to try not to look back anymore.
My story is my story. I’m not changing it. Because I believe God allowed me to journey through it for a reason.
Because maybe I’m the person that someone else needs to get through theirs.
Important note: I am not a licensed therapist. My experiences are lived experiences and not intended to be taken as medical or psychiatric advice. If you are in a crisis, call 988, the national suicide hotline. If you are not in a crisis, but need timely support, call or text 1-833-852-6262, the National Maternal Mental Health Hotline.
Other resources:
Postpartum Support International (PSI)
If you have a pregnant or postpartum mom in your life, forward this to them. If you’ve been with me for a while, consider upgrading to paid to support what I do for postpartum moms around the world.
I respond to every message I receive. If you need support or just want to talk to someone who understands, I’m here.
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