I’ve always been a nervous person, but it wasn’t until my son was born that I found out I have an anxiety disorder. Up until that point, I only had one person to take care of, after all, and that was me. I was dealing with my worries OK enough on my own.
Becoming a parent changed all of that.
Suddenly, I was responsible for another human being’s entire life. A very helpless and very small person needed me to provide everything for him and to keep him safe from all of the potentially dangerous things in our world, and I wasn’t sure if I was really all that capable of doing that.
As a new parent, there are so many things to worry about. We want to know that our baby is getting enough to eat and growing well and that their emotional needs are being met, too. (That can be a hard one to measure.) So of course, it’s normal for parents to worry to some extent.
During those first few days at home, my internal monologue became a broken record
Coming home with a newborn for the first time, though, I wasn’t just a little worried.
Rather, I began to obsess over things that were out of my control, to the point that I couldn’t even sleep when I had the opportunity. “Sleep when the baby sleeps,” I heard over and over again—but I was afraid that if my husband and I were both asleep, something terrible would happen. What if he stopped breathing or choked on his spit-up?
During those first few days at home, my internal monologue became a broken record: It started with a perceived threat, like that my newborn could stop breathing. To try to calm myself, I’d list the reasons that this wasn’t likely. He’s healthy, I’d remind myself. We’re doing everything the doctors have told us to do.
But once the reassurance wore off, I’d start to worry again, and I’d do what I could to prevent the perceived threat. Maybe I’d check the temperature in the room, or I’d make sure his swaddle was snug but not too snug. Again, this sometimes helped, but it wouldn’t last long before I was back to square one, obsessively checking on my sleeping baby to make sure he was still OK.
This is what was going through my mind almost all day and night, until I was left exhausted. It wasn’t always the same worry, though, and sometimes it was just a general feeling of impending doom with no obvious trigger. Although my husband supported me the best he could through this, I was very much in my head, and I don’t think he realized the level of anxiety I was experiencing at first.
Sleep-deprived, hormonal, and adjusting to a major life event, I became sad and overwhelmed. But everyone else was so happy for me, and my husband seemed so calm. I thought there must be something wrong with me. Was I a bad mom?
I don’t adjust easily to change, I’ve learned. The fear of the unknown and the stress compound, and my unhealthy thought patterns begin to creep in. I didn’t know this at that time, though; I just felt like I was going crazy.
After a few days of this, I reached a breaking point. I remember soaking in the tub, crying and wondering if I was losing my mind. When I got out, I told my husband I needed to talk to someone, and we called an on-call doctor at the hospital and told her what was going on.
She asked if I thought I might hurt myself or the baby, and I hesitated. I was terrified of the helplessness I was feeling, and I wasn’t sure how to answer her. I just wanted to do everything I could to protect my baby, even from me. It was getting late and my doctor’s office was closed, so we headed to a nearby emergency room to see if I could get some help.
I thought there must be something wrong with me. Was I a bad mom?
In the ER, my husband at my side and our newborn in tow, I cried (again) as I told the nurse and physician about some of the thoughts running through my mind. About the tightness in my chest, the list of worries that continued to pile up, and how I’d hardly slept since giving birth.
Their responses took me by surprise. I was expecting medical advice, but instead these two women began to open up to me about their own experiences postpartum.
The nurse, who was expecting her second child soon, told me she’d struggled with postpartum depression and anxiety with her first child. She said that she was afraid of going through that again with her second, but that she knew it would all be worth it. “You can control some things,” she said, “but you have to let go of the things you can’t. Trust yourself and remember that you’re doing your best.”
After a moment, the doctor chimed in. “Your baby doesn’t even smile at you for five or six weeks,” she said. “Right now, you’re just feeding them and changing diapers around the clock with no reward. You’re basically a feeding trough.” Hearing things described in these terms, the mixed emotions I was feeling made more sense. Maybe I wasn’t such a bad mom after all.
“Just be the trough,” she added. “The reward will come later.”
Over the next few days, as I began to open up and let family and friends know I was struggling, I heard even more stories from the moms in my life. It seemed like so many of them had gone through something similar, and I had no idea. Why didn’t anyone warn me about this? I wondered.
I still don’t have the answer to that, and I’m not sure it would have helped me to mentally prepare before actually going through it myself. But I do know that hearing these stories when I did made me feel less alone. We all survived those first few months as a family, and the reward has been better than anything I could have ever imagined.
When I had my daughter a couple years later, I was well prepared for the emotions I might feel, and things went much more smoothly. By then, I knew that the sleepless nights caring for a newborn wouldn’t last forever, that it was all a part of the process, and that it wouldn’t be long before I’d wish I could go back and do it all again.
Making time to take care of myself is a priority so I can be my best self for my family.
My anxiety isn’t cured. Although I waited far too long, eventually I began to meet with a counselor, who told me I have generalized anxiety disorder. It won’t ever really go away, she told me, but with therapy, I’ve learned not to give my anxious thoughts so much weight. I now know the worst case scenario is usually not going to happen.
We just found out that we’re expecting a (surprise) third baby, and as excited as I am, I’d be lying if I said I don’t have worries. Thankfully, I now also have some tools to handle those worries, which helped me through my second pregnancy. Breathing techniques, mindfulness practice, and self-care are all making their way back into my daily routine. Making time to take care of myself is a priority so I can be my best self for my family.
I also know now that feeling sad, exhausted, and anxious as a new mom isn’t unusual. There can be so much pressure to look like you have it all together, but I often think it would be better if we were all just honest about how hard life can be. If we tell our stories (when we’re ready), not only can we help someone else feel less alone, but we might also begin to heal ourselves.