Maybe I wasn’t okay…

 I was just thinking today about my postpartum after my first live baby was born. I always struggle to phrase it—because it was my second pregnancy, but my first live baby.

Some days, looking back, I realize I was really not okay. I was in such a dark space. I know it sounds cliché, but the feeling was real—like a dark cloud or a heavy rock on my chest. It felt like I couldn’t breathe properly.

That feeling would come and go at first, but during that time, it was constant. Looking back now, I think it lasted around nine months. It only started to lift when I found the daycare I eventually put my daughter in. Even then, I was still full of fear—especially around breastfeeding.

She was already on solids, but the fear still lingered, like she might starve without me.

I also think my OCD contributed. After my miscarriage, I stopped my antidepressants because I was scared it might cause another loss. Then, after giving birth, I was still afraid—afraid the meds might affect my milk or somehow harm my baby. So I followed my own head, even though professionals were available.

With my third pregnancy and second live baby, I went in with a gameplan. I wanted to be in a better headspace. I must say, I was eating more fresh fruit and salads (other food made me want to throw up), and maybe that helped my mood too.

I also spoke to my psychiatrist.

One of the things I learned: Esperide didn’t work for me. It’s meant to help with milk production and also has a slight antidepressant effect. But I was already producing a lot of milk—and with Esperide, it was just too much. I’d take one early in the morning and by night, I was leaking through everything. My breasts were so engorged, and I couldn’t sleep. It made me feel more anxious and even more depressed. I didn’t want to take it again.

That second postpartum was worlds apart from the first.

But I’ll never forget what that first time felt like.

I remember standing in the shower, water turned up almost to burning, just trying to feel something. Just crying. Just trying to get through another day.

I can’t fully explain the hopelessness. I felt guilty and grateful at the same time. Grateful that I had a baby after a miscarriage… but still so hopeless.

I feel so deeply for the mothers who didn’t make it through. The ones who lost their battles with postpartum depression or postpartum psychosis. Because I remember the darkness, and I remember how alone I felt.

I’m thankful I never wanted to harm my baby—but I was so tired, so overwhelmed, and everything felt like it would never end.

And that’s why I want to say this to other moms — any mother:

Whether you’re a first-time mom, a rainbow baby mom, a second-time mom, or a seasoned mom…
Postpartum can come at any time.

Not just with your first baby. Not just after a miscarriage or trauma.
Even if everything goes "perfectly" — it can still hit you.

That’s why I really want to encourage every mother to make a postpartum plan. Not just a birth plan.

Plan for your mental health. Plan your meals. Know who your support people are. Talk to your doctor. Figure out how you’ll rest. You never know when that wave might come—and you don’t have to face it alone.

I remember my mom called me after my baby was born and said my dad had read something about postpartum depression. She asked if I was okay. I just laughed and said, “I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t.

I didn’t want to burden her. She couldn’t come help me. So I white-knuckled it. I told myself I was okay.

But deep down, I wasn’t. I was in a pit of despair, just trying to survive.

That’s one of the reasons I’m building my online teaching work now—teaching courses and making flexible income. Because one day, when my babies have babies, and if they ever walk through a dark postpartum season, I want to be there. I want to show up, not from far away, not through a screen—but right there. Holding them through it. Helping them out.

Because no one should have to go through that alone.