Mamaita on postpartum depression and the medication that saved her life

I had postpartum depression with bebè #2, and it was some of the worst emotional pain in my life. The icing on the cake was realizing that what I had experienced after having my first, previously labeled “new mom jitters” was most definitely PPD in a form of itself, and yet something that I had been talked out of time and time again.

By the time bebè 2 came, I didn’t wait for other people’s opinions. I knew I had it, and I knew I wasn’t OK and needed help. I had so many conflicting feelings toward my baby–she was slightly preterm and born during a high flu season–it meant she got extra attention and I had to physically quarantine from my 2 year old son, my birthday buddy, my whole world up until bebè arrived.

And while I loved her so much, almost too much, I wanted nothing to do with her. The stress of having 2 kids, returning to work full time, taking care of a new home, feeding so many mouths–on top of around-the-clock breastfeeding and nonstop literal squats because it was the only way she’d stop screaming–was just too much to bear. 

Related: Why does my breastfed baby want to feed SO frequently?

I knew things were bad-bad when I started having “episodes” of major depression. I would go to empty out the dishwasher and by the time I’d reach the cabinet with the clean plate, I’d be bawling. Out of nowhere, with no explicit reason why, I’d feel immediately overwhelmed with drowning waves of grief and sadness; the types of cries that make you belly-breathe from how hard and deep-rooted the feelings are. 

And then I’d bend back down to pick up another dish and it would stop. 

I’d be coldly wiping away the tears, numb and tired. This went on for days. 

I would daydream of falling asleep outside and someone taking away my kids; I felt worthless. Like a subpar human and horrendous mother to these bright and beautiful lights who deserved so much better—infinitely better than I could ever offer.

Related: This mom didn’t know how bad she was sleeping until she saw herself in our viral video

By my second postpartum visit, my OB’s nurse recommended Zoloft. I had scored pretty high on the PPD screening since giving birth, and the numbers were getting higher instead of lower – a big red flag. She spent 30 minutes sharing her story and trying to rid my brain of the stigma associated with antidepressants.

I am first generation American and my family always talked in whispers about people who needed drugs for their “mental health.” I had broken a lot of the noise of stereotypes by going to therapy, but actual medication felt too real and too new. What about the side effects? What if it made things worse? What if something bad happened?

I started the Zoloft a month later after having another episode while giving my kids a bath. I had a horrible flash and immediately called for my husband. I left the room and went into a total panic attack, afraid of my mind, feeling totally out of control and like absolute trash for losing my cool in front of my sweet babes. My 2 year old was so concerned, he asked to rub my back to help me feel better. 

Related: Spotting postpartum depression can be difficult. Here’s why you should enlist your partner’s help

Zoloft saved my life–I’m sure of it. While it wasn’t all sing-alongs and rainbows (I had to adjust the dose after losing a close family member and spiraling into a somehow darker depression than after birth), it was magical. I felt human again.

For the first time in months, I could feel sad without feeling depressed. I could feel worried without feeling crippling anxiety. I could think clearly and hug and kiss my baby with intent and a genuine smile. I fell in love with her all over again, and finally started to happily embrace my life as a working mom-of-two. 

I saw my psychiatrist and psychotherapist weekly. I laid firmer ground rules with work about my time. My husband and I came up with a schedule that worked best for us and our hectic lives. 

Related: Why routines are the key to a happy, thriving family

After bebè turned a year, I decided to start going off the Zoloft. My dose had been higher than not for some time, and I was feeling very “numb.” I couldn’t cry when I actually wanted to. I was being careless with my words and picking fights with my husband. I felt very emotionally detached. And while it was a tricky transition because bebè was also weaning from breastfeeding and work was busier than ever, over the course of 2 months, I did it. 

Being on the “other side,” I can confidently say: Do for you, mama. Medication, therapy, the gym, alone time, friend time–whatever helps you gain a semblance of self and of pride, beyond motherhood, is worth it.

Babies are hard, like, REALLY hard. On your body, your life, your heart, AND your brain. It changes–literally–everything about you. And it’s scary AF. But know that you are not alone. And during those sleepless, seemingly endless nights, remember that there’s more of us–wondering the same exact thing, and counting down the hours until that next nap.