The news was supposed to be joyous: I was pregnant. I’d always longed for a child, and now, with my loving husband and fulfilling career, it seemed like all the pieces were falling into place. But as I shared the news with a close friend, a wave of anxiety washed over me. My smile felt forced, my heart heavy. It was the first sign of what would become a brutal battle with prenatal depression.
The initial weeks were a blur of canceled plans and self-imposed isolation. I retreated to the couch, avoiding emails, phone calls, and the world outside. The darkness crept in, and I found myself clinging to the idea of oblivion, even imagining myself driving my car into a concrete barrier. The thought offered a strange sense of peace, a way out of the crushing weight of despair.
My experience, while deeply personal, is not unique. Prenatal depression affects 10-20% of pregnant women, yet the societal pressure to embrace pregnancy as a time of pure joy often leads to feelings of shame and guilt, causing many women to suffer in silence. This was my reality too. I pushed my feelings down, attributing my overwhelming sadness to a genetic predisposition towards being a ‘bad mother.’ I convinced myself that a switch had been flipped, and my inherent maternal shortcomings had been activated.
My mother, determined to break the cycle of neglect she experienced from her own mother, had devoted herself to raising me. However, the 90s lacked the understanding of how childhood trauma could impact parenting, and she struggled to fully sever the chain of dysfunction. This instilled in me a fierce desire to heal my own past and be a different kind of mother. I had spent years in therapy, pouring over self-help books on attachment and trauma, working tirelessly to build a secure foundation for myself and future generations.
Yet, here I was, drowning in self-doubt. I found myself recoiling from the sight of children, their innocent laughter and movements triggering a visceral aversion. The scent of a baby’s head, something I’d once envisioned myself cherishing, filled me with a sense of dread. I desperately wanted to hide my true feelings, projecting an image of excited anticipation even as my internal world crumbled.
One late night, amidst a desperate search for answers, I stumbled upon countless online forums filled with women sharing their struggles with prenatal depression. Their stories mirrored my own: the overwhelming fear of motherhood, the confusion about wanting a baby and yet feeling incapable of handling it, and the immense relief in knowing that they weren’t alone. One post mentioned that a severe reaction to progesterone-based birth control could increase the risk of prenatal depression. It was a revelation. I had stopped taking the pill years ago due to its side effects. Could my depression be a consequence of the hormonal shift during pregnancy? The realization brought tears of both relief and anger. I wasn’t inherently broken; I wasn’t a bad mother. I was simply experiencing the powerful effects of hormonal fluctuations.
Dr. Amalia Rondón Tobón, a psychiatrist, explained that while family history and environmental stressors play a role, the surge in estrogen and progesterone during pregnancy can significantly impact mental health. This knowledge was transformative. It severed the link between my depression and my ability to parent. I finally felt empowered to speak openly about my struggles – to friends, family, medical professionals, and even to other women online who shared my journey. My struggles were not a secret to hide; they were a shared human experience.
The birth of my son was a turning point. My dark cloud lifted, and the joy I had longed for finally arrived. I felt alive, brimming with love and excitement for this tiny human I had brought into the world. When I became pregnant with my second child, the familiar wave of depression returned. However, this time, I was prepared. Armed with the knowledge and support gained from my first experience, I was able to speak openly about my feelings. The fear and shame were replaced with a sense of understanding and acceptance.
Prenatal depression was a challenging chapter in my life, but it taught me a vital lesson: there is no switch that determines whether you are a good mother or a bad mother. A perfect pregnancy does not guarantee a perfect birth experience, and a perfect birth does not guarantee a perfect postpartum journey. These are chapters in a mother’s life that are full of challenges, joys, and everything in between. The journey of motherhood is a beautiful, messy, and often unexpected one, and it’s okay to not always have it figured out. It’s okay to struggle, to ask for help, and to acknowledge that we are all simply doing the best we can.
