Wait….that was Postpartum Depression?
People talk a lot about what happens when you have a baby.
They tell you to expect sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and a house that somehow never stays clean. They tell you your priorities will change and that life will never be the same.
What no one told me was that I might stop recognizing myself.
When I look back on those first couple of years after becoming a mom, so much of it feels like a blur. Not because it wasn't important. But because I don't think I was fully present. Some people remember every milestone, every newborn stage, and every tiny moment with perfect clarity. I wish I could say the same. Instead, I remember one overwhelming feeling:
Survival.
My goal wasn't to enjoy the day. It wasn't to be productive. It wasn't even to feel like myself again. My goal was simply to make it to bedtime.
Before becoming a mom, I had built much of my identity around my career. I loved my work. I loved helping people, solving problems, and building relationships with the people I worked alongside. My career gave me purpose, confidence, and a sense of who I was. After maternity leave, I returned to work, but something felt different.
My brain wasn't working the way it always had.
I started making small mistakes that I normally never would have made. Thankfully, I caught them before they became serious, but it scared me. I kept wondering what was wrong with me. This wasn't me. I never told anyone about my struggles because I viewed it as a weakness. I didn’t want anyone to think any less of me. I’m known for being strong, able to handle anything, resilient. I couldn’t let anyone down. At the time, I had no idea those small changes were part of something much bigger.
In the meantime, my son's father and I were trying to figure out childcare and eventually we made the difficult decision for me to stay home. As many of you may remember, during COVID, daycare waitlists stretched well over a year in many places. So we looked for a nanny. However, that cost would have taken nearly the amount of my salary. I would’ve been going to work just to be able to pay someone else to watch my baby. Financially, staying home made more sense.
However, emotionally, I wasn't prepared.
The identity I had spent years building disappeared almost overnight. At the same time, I was adjusting to motherhood while struggling with breastfeeding, dealing with high blood pressure, functioning on very little sleep, and trying to recover physically and emotionally.
Looking back now, that season felt like an out-of-body experience. It was as if I was watching myself live this new life instead of actually living it. At the same time, it felt like I was living under a dark cloud that never seemed to move. Not a storm that came and went, but a constant heaviness that followed me everywhere. I woke up with it, carried it through every part of my day, and went to bed with it still hanging over me. I kept waiting for it to lift, thinking maybe tomorrow would feel different. But tomorrow always felt the same. I went through the motions. I took care of my son. I did everything I knew how to do.
It wasn't until years later that I realized postpartum depression didn't look the way I thought it would
I wasn't crying every day.
I wasn't falling apart in obvious ways. On the outside, I probably looked like I was handling everything just fine. If anything, I became quieter. More numb. More robotic. Every day blurred into the next.
Feed the baby.
Change the diaper.
Wash the bottles.
Try to sleep.
Wake up and do it all over again.
I wasn't really living my life. I was simply moving through it.
The hardest part was the guilt. I constantly felt like I wasn't doing enough. No matter how much I did, it never felt like it was enough. Every piece of advice, even when it came from people who loved me, felt like confirmation that I was somehow getting motherhood wrong.
There was even a season when I quietly wondered if my son would be better off with someone else. I remember thinking maybe my mom should raise him because, in my mind, she could do a much better job than I was doing. Looking back now, I realize that wasn't because I didn't love my son. It was because I truly believed he deserved better than I thought I could give him. Those thoughts were a reflection of how deeply postpartum depression had distorted the way I saw myself.
I think that's why so much of those first couple of years feels like a blur. It wasn't because those moments weren't important. They were some of the most important moments of my life. I simply don't think I was fully there to experience them the way I wanted to.
One of the hardest things I've ever admitted is that I didn't experience the instant bond everyone talks about. I loved my son from the moment he was born. There was never a question about that. But postpartum depression made it difficult to feel emotionally present in motherhood the way I had imagined I would.
At the time, I thought it meant I was failing as a mother. Looking back now, I understand I wasn't failing. I was surviving.
It's incredibly difficult to feel connected to someone else when you don't even feel connected to yourself.
Healing didn't happen in six weeks. It didn't happen in six months. For me, it took over two years before I truly started feeling like myself again. Even now, there are parts of that season I simply don't remember.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was living with postpartum depression.
At the time, I never would have called it that. I thought I was just exhausted, overwhelmed, and struggling to adjust to motherhood. It wasn't until much later, after I had started feeling like myself again, that I looked back and realized what I had actually been living through.
Today, so much of what I experienced makes sense in a way they didn't then. What scares me most is how normal it all felt at the time.
I honestly don’t remember anyone really asking me how I was doing. Every conversation was about the baby.
After delivery, I only had a couple of follow-up appointments with my OB-GYN. They checked my blood pressure, made sure I was healing physically, and that was about it. At my son's pediatric appointments, the doctor would ask me, "How are you doing?" But I automatically assumed they were asking about the baby. So when I answered, I talked about him. Whether he was sleeping. Whether he was eating. Whether he was gaining weight.
I don't remember anyone asking questions that made me stop and think about me.
I wasn't hiding what I was feeling. I simply didn't realize what I was feeling had a name.
For a long time, I thought that meant I didn't have much of a story to tell. Now I see it differently.
Maybe forgetting pieces of it is part of the story. Maybe that's what survival sometimes looks like.
If there's one thing I hope another mother takes away from my story, it's this: postpartum depression isn't always obvious while you're living through it. Sometimes understanding comes later.
Sometimes we only realize what we survived after we've finally made it through.
I started this blog because I don't want another mother to leave her postpartum appointments feeling like she's supposed to have everything figured out. I don't want another woman to believe she's failing because she doesn't recognize herself. I want this to be a place where mothers can come for honest conversations, practical support, and gentle reminders that they are seen, heard, and understood.
I'm not writing as an expert.
I'm writing as someone who’s been there.
And if my story helps even one mother feel seen, understood, or encouraged to ask for help, then sharing it will have been worth it.
If you're reading this and some of these feelings sound familiar, I don't want you to walk away believing this is simply what motherhood has to be. Every person's experience is different, and I'm not suggesting that every difficult season after having a baby is postpartum depression. But I do hope you'll know this: postpartum depression isn't always obvious while you're living through it. If something doesn't feel right, talk to someone you trust and bring it up with your healthcare provider.
For years, I thought I was just exhausted. I thought I was simply struggling to adjust to motherhood. I had no idea there was a name for what I was experiencing. Looking back, I wish I had recognized it sooner, not because it would have changed the beginning of my story, but because I might have given myself more grace while I was living it.
If my story helps even one mother recognize herself a little sooner than I did, then sharing it will have been worth it.
🤍
To the Mom Who Needs This Today
If you're reading this while wondering why you don't feel like yourself anymore, I want you to hear this from someone who's been there.
You are not failing. You are not weak. And you are not a bad mother because this feels harder than you ever imagined.
Motherhood changes so much, and sometimes those changes include your mental health, your identity, your relationships, and the way you see yourself. Struggling doesn't mean you've done anything wrong.
If something doesn't feel right or if you're overwhelmed, constantly anxious, deeply sad, or simply feel like you've lost yourself, please don't convince yourself that you just have to push through it alone. Reach out to someone you trust. Talk to your healthcare provider. Accept help when it's offered, and ask for it when it's not.
Asking for help isn't a sign that you're failing. Sometimes it's the first step toward finding yourself again. Healing doesn't always happen quickly, and it doesn't happen the same way for everyone. But healing is possible.
Until then, be gentle with yourself. You're carrying more than anyone can see.
The woman you're missing isn't gone. She's healing.
With Grace,
Leigh Renee`
Let’s Talk About It
This is a space for the conversations we don’t have often enough.
Healing happens in conversation, not isolation
Whether you're sharing your story, offering encouragement, or simply letting another mother know she isn't alone, your voice matters. If you feel comfortable, we invite you to join the conversation.
