I told myself that my feelings were all normal as I left the hospital worried and excited. In the first two days, I went from tired and worried to just worried. Where was the magic that was supposed to be hitting? Where was the abundant joy I was supposed to be feeling? As the days got rougher, I began to turn inward. When he was inconsolable or colicky, I started to blame myself.

Ironic, no? I was one of those who counseled and helped women through their own pre pregnancy and pregnancy journey, labor, birth, delivery and postpartum periods and even losses. I’d encouraged, consoled and cared for women as they shared their concerns and struggles with me over the years. And I found myself, with an absolutely vulnerable, small, beautiful baby in my arms that I felt completely detached from and unable to bond to. And I was terrified to let anybody know how I felt. My brain didn’t feel like he belonged to me; the thoughts I was having scared me and shamed me. And all the while, I felt powerless against an undertow I could not escape or swim out of, alone. I knew how to speak the speak and walk the walk as a provider AND I found myself at the mercy of an experience which I did not believe I would survive in moments.

My postpartum journey is where I, personally, really needed the most help. Breastfeeding felt like a hopeless punishment I was doomed to fail as I watched his weight drop and his disinterest pierce my pride. It brought me to a feral desperation I had not experienced before. At 8 weeks old he was admitted to Children's Hospital with a viral infection. I sat at his crib side and watched him on oxygen with an IV, too exhausted to eat and just working to breathe. I remember how helpless I felt in this battle for both of us. I told myself I was flailing and failing. All those things that were supposed to “happen naturally” but hadn’t or had been interrupted by one unexpected event after another, left me feeling like this was a cruel joke or a class I was bombing left and right. Getting help, feeling seen and understood and being heard were all hard to come by, and I had more resources in my back pocket than most. To make matters more complicated, I showed up at my appointments and my providers asked how I was doing. I admitted to being depressed postpartum but never told the whole truth. I told myself I couldn’t dare say out loud the thoughts my brain had been thinking. What if they were shocked, disturbed, or worse; what if they thought I wasn’t going to be a good mother to this baby I had had? I felt I couldn’t tell the truth about how bad I was feeling. I believed I was supposed to hold all of this all together, endlessly expressing positivity and gratitude when all I felt was sadness, frustration and shame. Some of them bought what I was selling but I only remained in the darkness. I felt betrayed by my brain. I felt exhausted and raw in my body. And no matter how hard I tried to push through, or suck it up, I wasn’t able to do that on my own. I needed help. And I’m here to tell you that help is available and you don’t have to do this alone!