Dear New Moms,

I’m writing this one whole day past my rookie year of parenting. My son turned one yesterday, capping off the fastest, scariest, easiest and hardest year of my life. I know, it sounds impossible, but it was all those things and more.

Our first days were rough. My son wouldn’t breastfeed, would only sleep on me and after only one night at home I was questioning whether I was really cut out for this job. Nothing felt natural like I thought it would but I plastered a smile on my face and pushed forward. And I found that despite our rough first days, things got into a good rhythm.

The easiest part of being a mother, for me, was loving my son. And in a way, the bond we had contributed to why this year was the hardest of my life.

I had always been told that postpartum depression was easy to identify because mothers with PPD had a hard time bonding with their babies. I had the exact opposite problem- I love(d) my son more than I can even begin to explain. And that love pushed me to become obsessed with protecting him. Basically, because of how attached I was to my baby, I became paralyzed by the fear that something would happen to him.

All day long I saw hazards. I remember one day deciding half way through the day to change our dinner plans because I was terrified I was going to drop the baby in the hot Crockpot if I had to stir the beans. I was equally afraid that if I opened the oven while my husband was holding the baby nearby that somehow he would trip and throw the baby into the oven. I know. Please feel free to laugh because it is every bit as ridiculous as it sounds.

I just kept assuming that if there was something wrong with me, someone would notice. My OB gave me a PPD questionnaire that I passed with flying colors despite having checked the box for “someone in your house has abnormal fears about something happening to the baby.” There wasn’t a postpartum anxiety questionnaire, nor was it something my doctor even mentioned.

I told my husband that I was having trouble sleeping because I couldn’t shut my brain off, couldn’t stop worrying about things. And he said he thought it was probably normal, that all new moms worry about their baby. I tried to speak up, but I wasn’t going to strong arm people into believing I was crazy when it seemed I was normal.

It wasn’t until I was driving home from visiting with my in-laws one night and I said to my husband, “well, if the baby dies tonight, at least we had a really nice last night” that we realized there was a problem. I had done such a good job up until that point of convincing everyone (including myself) that I was okay, that it wasn’t until then that we realized how not okay I was.

I started therapy for postpartum anxiety in November and am still going weekly. Just talking to someone about it, being honest and saying the words out loud helped almost immediately. I had a somewhat reasonable backslide after my son got a mild brain injury in March, but we’re working through it and I’m back to loving motherhood once again.

What I want new mothers to know is that you need to listen to your gut. My doctor, who I trusted, told me I was fine when I wasn’t. My husband, who I love tremendously, told me I was fine when I wasn’t.

I want you to know that it’s okay to say that you’re not okay, even if everyone else thinks you are. Even if you pass the questionnaire. Even if you look fine from the outside. Never be afraid to seek help and keep pushing if you’re not getting what you need.

What I’ve learned most of all in my year of parenting is that asking for help is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. It’s a sign that you are a good mother who wants to be even better.

Happy Mother’s Day.

~ Katie

Katie is an almost 30-year-old wife, physical therapist, and mother to the baby with the best ears on the internet. You can find more of her grammatically questionably writing at Overflowing Brain and Babble Baby. And you can read more of her dramatic over-sharing on twitter @overflowinbrain.

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