Ten years ago, I was four months postpartum with my first child—a healthy and beautiful baby girl. I had a wonderfully simple, by-the-book pregnancy—I’d felt great physically and mentally throughout—and I honestly thought that my newborn and I would be super connected right off the bat. I had registered for organic baby clothes and blankets, I had a cute diaper bag all packed and ready to go, and I had high hopes that I’d be that barefoot, goddess-vibe new mama, happily breastfeeding my child under a tree somewhere in the warm sun. That’s what first-time moms think motherhood is going to be like, right?
I became convinced that I was failing as a new mom, and I began obsessing over every little thing—to both my and my daughter’s detriment
Enter: reality. I had an unplanned-yet-planned C-section, because at 36 weeks we discovered that my daughter was breech. We tried everything to get her to turn before 38 weeks, but it wasn’t happening—and neither was my original plan for a vaginal birth. Although the actual cesarean went as well as it could have, I wasn’t prepared for how medical everything became all of a sudden. The pain post-surgery was intense, and we were basically stuck in the hospital for five days because my daughter was losing weight and I was having trouble feeding her. I found that healing from major surgery also really threw me off my game physically and mentally.
For the next several weeks, I became convinced that I was failing as a new mom, and I began obsessing over every little thing—to both my and my daughter’s detriment. It didn’t help that, even though I sought professional help for my mental health, I was bounced around between multiple doctors before finally receiving a postpartum mood and anxiety disorder (PMAD) diagnosis of postpartum OCD, a fairly rare mental health complication of pregnancy. Had I not done some of my own research and advocated for myself, I may have never found the proper PMAD treatment that I needed, which eventually helped me and my daughter get back on track.
When my daughter was born, I didn’t quite get the memo on the bonding-with-your-child thing. Making that initial connection with her in the hospital was a struggle; I loved her with all of my being, but I majorly struggled with feeding her and getting her onto the schedule I set up for her, and that didn’t work for me at all. I needed to know what to do and when to do it. I needed to be able to mark some kind of success at this new parenting thing. What I really wanted was a user manual for my own child, and it took me a while to accept that such a thing doesn’t exist.
Up late one night after another failed breastfeeding attempt, I went online, relying on Google to find out what was going on with me. I needed to know how to fix it ASAP. I think I typed, “Why isn’t breastfeeding working?” or “How to get your newborn on a schedule,” because I was determined to get an answer that would help me cope with the up-all-night and stress-all-day mess I was in. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t producing any breast milk. I worried about my daughter’s health and safety all the time. I worried about us not bonding all the time. I worried about germs, and I became obsessive about cleaning baby bottles and all of their bazillion parts. I worried about taking my daughter out of the house and I didn’t want to take her to any public place, because I didn’t want people to see me failing as a mom.
The irony of it all was that my daughter’s pediatrician said she was “thriving,” and yet I was convinced that I was completely failing as a mom. I didn’t just think it—deep down, I knew it. I told everyone close to me that I was a failure and that my daughter would be better off with another mom, because I just could not keep trying and not succeeding. The anxiety and the guilt that breastfeeding wasn’t working was just too overwhelming to bear any longer. I wasn’t happy; my husband wasn’t happy; our families weren’t happy; it was all just a big mess that I had created for all of us. I thought it was my fault—all of it. I knew something was really wrong with me, but my doctors brushed me off. My OB-GYN sent me to a psychiatrist, and that psychiatrist sent me back to my OB-GYN. I bounced back and forth with no answer and no plan on how to get better.
As it turns out, previous mood disorders, and family history of OCD or anxiety, are major risk factors for PMADs.
I didn’t understand why being a mom wasn’t coming naturally to me. I’d always loved being around children, and connecting with them had been easy for me. So why wasn’t I good at it? Heck, why wasn’t I even just OK at it? I just didn’t get it. I thought that I wasn’t cut out for motherhood and I should just give up.
As it turned out, I wasn’t failing as a mom; I had an undiagnosed perinatal mood disorder and I just needed some help finding my way out of it. According to the Bloom Foundation, one in five pregnant and new moms will suffer from a PMAD: “Anxiety and/or depression during pregnancy and the first year after giving birth affect up to 1 in 5 new or expectant mothers and their families. These illnesses . . . are the #1 complication of pregnancy and childbirth.” PMADs can appear anytime during pregnancy and in the first 12 months after childbirth.
I knew nothing about PMADs besides having read maybe one article about postpartum depression (PPD) in a glossy magazine in the doctor’s office. I also had no idea that postpartum OCD even existed. I had struggled with anxiety and/or depression in college and in my early 20s but I didn’t think I needed to worry about it when I was pregnant. Nobody ever told me that I should. Postpartum complications were barely mentioned in the pregnancy classes we took at the hospital. As it turns out, previous mood disorders, and family history of OCD or anxiety, are major risk factors for PMADs.
It took weeks of suffering with my symptoms and calling my OB-GYN and psychotherapist to finally figure out what was going on with me. When I was finally diagnosed, I was so angry that nobody had told me any of this—that I had to do all of the research myself to figure it all out and find the help that I so desperately needed. Ultimately, I had to be my own advocate, as many moms do.
It was a lot to juggle all at once, but once I figured out how to overcome my postpartum OCD, it became possible for me to do all of these things and more.
In the end, I found a different OB-GYN who was well versed in PMADs and was supportive of women taking antidepressants during and after pregnancy. I also switched therapists because the one I had was not providing the support that I needed. I found a different psychotherapist who had experience with women with mood disorders and was a much better fit, in general. After several months of taking an anti-anxiety medication and going to weekly cognitive behavioral therapy sessions, I felt more like myself and was able to enjoy every aspect of parenting. I let go of my initial by-the-book expectations and allowed some of my own intuition to shine through. I joined local new-mom groups and met some women who are some of my closest friends today. I took my daughter to library story-time classes and music classes and made friends while maintaining confidence that I could handle (and enjoy!) these outings with my daughter on my own. I got a part-time job online and I finished the second half of my online master’s program, completing my degree while parenting full-time. It was a lot to juggle all at once, but once I figured out how to overcome my postpartum OCD, it became possible for me to do all of these things and more.
When my daughter was four, my husband and I decided that we wanted to have another child. We were initially very hesitant to even consider it because of my previous experience, but deep down, I knew that it would be different the second time around. I made sure that I had my support system in place before even becoming pregnant again. My therapist and I had already established a very supportive relationship, and my new OB was on board for a second pregnancy. The plan was for me to remain on my medication both during and after my pregnancy to avoid any relapse in PMAD symptoms. I also planned to bottle-feed, since breastfeeding created so much stress and anxiety for me the first time. As hard as this decision was to make, I knew that it was the right one for me. I also planned to have help taking care of my newborn so I could focus on sleeping and healing after the birth, which would be another surgery.
I ended up having a wonderful second pregnancy and had another daughter just a few weeks shy of my daughter’s fifth birthday, with no complications of postpartum OCD. Two girls—and two totally different postpartum experiences.
Ten years later, I am still doing some emotional healing around my whole experience with postpartum OCD, and I will continue to share my story to help other new moms know that they are not alone in their journey and that they, too, can heal and be stronger from it.
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