Morgan on postpartum depression, anxiety and mom rage as a first time parent during Covid-19

September 14, 2020

Content warning: Discussion of postpartum depression, birth trauma, domestic abuse or other tough topics ahead. If you or someone you know is struggling with a postpartum mental health challenge, including postpartum depression or anxiety, call 1-833-9-HELP4MOMS (tel:18009435746)—The National Maternal Mental Health Hotline This free, confidential service provides access to trained counselors and resources 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in English, Spanish, and more than 60 other languages. They can offer support and information related to before, during, and after pregnancy.

It took me five years, several miscarriages and multiple rounds of IVF to have my daughter, but almost immediately after she was born, I started to feel that something was wrong.

I cried at my first postpartum checkup when I didn’t pass the depression screening but my doctor simply told me to ‘“get more sleep.” I physically couldn’t.

In the hospital I was admonished by a nurse for accidentally sleeping three hours straight the day after giving birth and not waking up to breastfeed—so after that, I no longer slept.

For almost a month, I would stay awake and look at my newborn’s chest, or hold her to feel it rise and fall. Because paternity leave is a joke in this country, my husband returned to work after seven days home with us, leaving me feeling absolutely strung out. I gave birth at the start of everyone getting serious about the COVID pandemic, so I was allowed no visitors or help.

Every night when the baby would wake up and cry, I would cry too—and every time I felt like I was losing control. I would fly into a rage with no warning, or become inconsolable after I couldn’t calm my daughter in 30 seconds or less. My husband on several occasions had to decide who to comfort first.

Eventually he would hand me a warm washcloth and I would run into another room, fling myself on the bed and pound it with my fists. After night after night of these episodes, I remember sitting up and staring at my daughter’s bassinet and wishing I would die.

She deserved someone who had their shit together. She deserved a mom who could pull herself out of the sleep deprivation and be there for her, and not run off and hide. She deserved a better mom than me, someone more patient, someone more kind, someone who saved for her college fund already, or someone who had already decided what to make for dinner that wasn’t a PB & J.

When friends asked how I was (from afar of course), I would simply say I was tired. I was tired—tired of being alive. My husband expressed concern for me with the same barely-contained panic that I had. That made me feel even more guilty and ashamed.

I couldn’t even be there for the other important person in my life, who needed so much less from me than my daughter. At the same time that I would be daydreaming about going to sleep and never waking up again, I was terrified for what life might look like for my child without me there. I felt ashamed and embarrassed to be such an incompetent mom to her, but couldn’t think of anyone else who could take care of her. Some days that was the only thing that kept me going.

The worst of the postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, and postpartum rage passed around eight weeks after birth, but none of the symptoms have disappeared completely.

I see now on the other side that I’m not an incompetent mom—just a new one—and the lack of in-person support due to the lonely nature of motherhood, a history of anxiety and depression and the COVID pandemic created a perfect storm for me. I still doubt myself a lot. I compare myself to other moms in my life too much. I struggle with trusting myself and defending my decisions. I’m in touch with my therapist, which is helping a little—but I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same.

During my worst moments, I shame myself for not being able to conceive her naturally (unexplained infertility) and not being able to give birth to her naturally (C-section for breech position). It makes me think that maybe mothering doesn’t come naturally to me. In other moments, she smiles at me or touches my face in the middle of the night and my heart swells so much I think it will burst.

First-time parenting and COVID parenting are now inextricably linked in my mind. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to have another child if it means going through this postpartum experience again. Even though my daughter is the best thing to ever happen to me, postpartum is the worst.