postpartum depression

I clearly remember the first time that I was forced to accept that something was wrong.

The hypervigilance began in the last month of my pregnancy, when cars on the freeway started to feel a little closer than usual. By the time I was due, it felt like they were purposely heading for my car.

“All mothers need access to affordable, reliable, and appropriate mental health care,” explains Jenna Hatfield, 34, the Online Awareness & Engagement Manager for Postpartum Progress, a non-profit organization dedicated to raising awareness about maternal mental illness. “Too often we see moms slip through the cracks because there’s too much red tape to access care or continue care they’ve sought out. Additionally, under-served moms aren’t always made aware of the care available to them, and that’s simply not acceptable.”

No one ever really tells you what it’s like when the magic of pregnancy has become the sometimes-not-so-magic of postpartum. This is my postpartum reality.

It was the weirdest thing. I looked at this tiny human and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No overwhelming joy at finally meeting this person I’d been so excited for in months prior, no lurking sadness about no longer being pregnant and relishing in those shared “inside mommy’s belly” moments. Just... nothing. My brain said, “You have a baby now,” and that was that.