Postpartum Depression

Today's topic is a doozy.

Mental health has been part of my story for a long time. My journey with anxiety and depression started back in 2016, and while there have been seasons where I've felt strong and like I finally had everythin

g under control, it's been something I've continued to battle over the years—especially during COVID. I've learned how to recognize my triggers, how to manage it (most of the time), and how to give myself grace when things get hard.

Because of that, I thought I was prepared for motherhood. Actually, let me rephrase that.

I had convinced myself throughout my entire pregnancy that I was going to be one of the lucky ones. You know, the moms who somehow avoid postpartum depression completely and just glide through those first months with their baby. Looking back, that's kind of laughable. But at the time, I truly believed it. What I didn't expect was postpartum depression to show up months after Mo was born. When people talk about postpartum depression, most people picture it happening right after delivery. Honestly, I did too. The first few months weren't easy, but they felt normal. I was exhausted. I wasn't sleeping. I was learning how to keep a tiny human alive. But I was also riding this weird high of, "Wow. I did that. I gave birth. We made it. She's healthy. I'm healthy. Everything is okay."

Then somewhere around four months postpartum, right in the middle of the holiday season, things started to shift. What should have been one of the happiest times of my life felt heavy. Christmas lights were up. Family traditions were happening. We were celebrating Mo's very first holiday season. It should have felt magical, and parts of it were. But underneath all of that, there was a sadness I couldn't shake. Part of me still believes some of that sadness came from grief. Mo's first Thanksgiving. Her first Christmas. Her first holiday memories. All I wanted was for her great-grandparents to be there the way mine were for me. I wanted her to experience those moments with the people who meant so much to my childhood. And while I know they were there in spirit, it wasn't the same.

As a teacher, coach, wife, mother, and small business owner, I've always been the person who keeps going. I stay busy. I take care of people. I handle things. And on paper, life was exactly what Joseph and I had planned. I was back at work. Mo was attending daycare five minutes down the road. Our families were healthy. Everything was falling into place. It was perfect. At least it looked perfect.

But behind the scenes, I was struggling just to make it through the day.

My anxiety was through the roof. My brain never stopped. Every thought turned into another worry. Every worry turned into ten more. At the same time, there was this sadness that seemed to appear out of nowhere and settle in.

One of the hardest parts was the guilt. I loved my baby more than I can put into words. I had a supportive husband, incredible family, amazing friends, and so many blessings surrounding me. So why wasn't I happy? Why couldn't I just enjoy this season everyone told me would go by so fast? I constantly questioned myself. Was I doing enough? Was I a good mom? Why did everyone else seem to have it figured out?

Now I know better. Social media doesn't tell the whole story.

The smiling family photos don't tell the whole story.

The moms who look like they have it all together probably have hard days too.

Many of us are struggling quietly and doing our best to hide it.

Because I'd dealt with anxiety and depression before, I recognized some of the warning signs pretty quickly. The constant worrying. Feeling overwhelmed by the smallest things. Pulling away from things I normally enjoyed. Carrying around a heaviness that never seemed to leave.

The difference this time was that I was carrying all of that while also taking care of a baby.

I wasn't just physically tired anymore. I was emotionally exhausted.

And while I had people I could have talked to, I didn't.

One friend was expecting her baby in February. Another had never experienced postpartum depression. Another had just gotten engaged and was planning one of the happiest seasons of her life. The last thing I wanted to do was dump my struggles onto them. So I kept a lot of it to myself. As hard as that season was, it taught me a lot.

It taught me that strength doesn't always look like pushing through. It taught me that asking for help isn't weakness. It taught me that I wasn't meant to carry every burden by myself, even though that's usually my first instinct. And trust me, if you ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you I'm still working on that one. Even now, anxiety and depression occasionally try to sneak their way back in. Truthfully, I'm pretty sure I'm walking through a bit of that right now.

Healing isn't a straight line. There isn't some magical finish line where you suddenly never struggle again. It's something I continue to manage, and if I'm being honest, something I don't always prioritize the way I should. But when I look back at that version of myself—the one sitting in the middle of postpartum depression, trying to survive her baby's first holiday season—I realize how strong she really was. She kept showing up. She kept loving her family. She kept taking care of her baby. And somehow, even on the hardest days, she kept moving forward.

If you're reading this and any part of it sounds familiar, I want you to know you're not alone. Postpartum depression doesn't always show up immediately. Sometimes it appears weeks later. Sometimes months later. Sometimes when everyone else thinks you're finally settled into motherhood. Whether you've struggled with anxiety and depression for years or you've never experienced anything like it before, your feelings matter. Your struggles are real. And you deserve support.

Motherhood has been one of the greatest blessings of my life, but it has also challenged me in ways I never could have imagined.

My postpartum journey wasn't picture-perfect, and honestly, that's okay.

It's part of my story. And if sharing my story helps even one mom feel a little less alone, then every vulnerable word is worth it.

If you're one of my friends I listed above. Thank you for being there for me even when you didn't know what was going on.