By Agatha //
Editor’s note: This story contains description of suicidal ideation.
I’d always thought that experiencing motherhood for the first time would be a beautiful thing, with a special bond between mother and child, and the closeness with your newborn. Unfortunately, when I had my first child, I had none of these feelings.
My life turned upside down in September 2021, when I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. The seemingly normal worries of any first-time mother quickly grew into debilitating anxiety, and eventually escalated into severe emotional collapses with suicidal thoughts.
My experience of postpartum depression started with a series of sleepless nights and meltdowns in which I began crying uncontrollably.
I could not stop worrying. I often paced up and down at home, and I felt fearful when my son cried. I didn’t dare to take care of him, and I was overwhelmed with guilt because of this.
In the first week, during a sleepless night, I felt as if my brain was on fire. I wanted the thoughts to stop, but no matter how hard I tried, they continued to race through my mind in a haphazard manner. Did I freeze the breast milk properly? Did my son have the right diapers? Should I remove my money from my bank account? Random thoughts and images came to me. I told myself I should declutter my cupboard. The face of my primary school Chinese teacher suddenly came to my mind. I could not block out the sound of the ticking clock. A tune from a popular show was ringing in my head again and again, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I thought of a new colleague who would be joining my company soon, and was afraid he’d find out what a terrible boss I was. Should I quit my job? Was I a burden to my husband? Did my son love me?
The thoughts would not stop, and my body started to twitch uncontrollably while I was lying down. I started to kick my legs around to tire myself out. I got up, and the next thing I knew, I was at the toilet door, slumped to the floor, crying out for my mind to be still.
As my depression deepened, I felt worthless and started to think about harming myself and considered various ways to do this.
I was lucky to have found a doctor, who advised me to go on medication immediately. But this meant stopping breastfeeding, and this made me even more guilty. I had to take sleeping pills and could not take care of my son at night. I could not go back to work as planned. Above all, I hated myself for having depression and worried about passing it on to my son. The circle of anxiety, guilt and dark thoughts swallowed me up.
It took a month to find the right medication, and another two weeks for the effects to kick in. However, I now went from constant anxiety to complete numbness and lethargy. I could neither feel happy nor sad. I could not laugh, and I could not feel love for my son. This added to my feelings of guilt. What mother, I thought, does not feel love for her baby?
My physical discomfort intensified. I had hot flashes, sweating, trembling fingers, bruised skin, and hair and weight loss. I could not even do a small task such as trimming my son’s nails, no matter how hard I tried to stop trembling, and I worried that I would never be able to do this. What kind of a useless mother would I be?
My road to recovery was fraught with doubt and despair. I isolated myself, avoiding TV and social media. I stopped meeting people, and became suspicious of almost everyone. I was paralyzed by indecision. It took me hours to reply to simple messages. I could never decide what to wear or eat. Simple daily decisions became tiring and arduous tasks.
Yet, the road to recovery was also filled with hope.
I trembled the first time when I took care of my son for a few hours independently. I sat at the edge of the sofa and watched him sleep. I wanted to ensure that he felt comfortable, and found myself adjusting the fan speed multiple times. I was nervous about him waking up, as that meant I had to carry him and change his diaper. I spent an hour preparing myself mentally. When he woke up, I rubbed my hands together for a while to ease the trembling before carrying him. I forced myself to sing a lullaby in a trembling voice while changing him. It soothed him, and it also soothed me. He smiled, and I felt as if my heart had burst.
That first night when I managed to take care of my son by myself, I cried. I wrote down a record of such small wins, and read them each night to keep myself going.
I started to meet a few close friends and to read news. Five months on, I found myself being able to laugh more and eat more. I was also finally able to feel that I could actually enjoy motherhood.
It took a lot of hard work to push myself to recover. It took a lot of patience and encouragement from people who were close to and cared for me. And it also took a lot of research and reading to help me accept that what I had was not shameful or wrong.
On 26 December, for the first time, I felt that I had finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel and would be able to heal.
Today, sometimes when I look out at the balcony, I think about those times. What if I hadn’t controlled the dark thoughts back then? What if I had given up on the opportunity to fight?
I still remember the shock and exasperation that my dad and husband showed when I first told them that I wanted to hurt myself. I recall the nights when I cried and begged my husband to send me to the hospital because I was terrified I might kill myself, and the times when I could not stop stomping my feet to shake off the racing thoughts. Above all, I remember the extreme guilt I felt when I was in no state to be there for my son in the first few months of his life.
As the saying goes, every dark cloud has a silver lining.
For me, the experience of postpartum depression, though agonizing, has been life changing. I’m more aware of my inner struggles, I accept this part of me, and I no longer feel ashamed about it.
I’ve also realized that it’s important to talk about mental health. I’m much better now, and I’m very lucky to have the help and support that I need. My doctor tells me that, considering my history, there is a possibility of relapse. Yet if it comes, I believe I’ll be in a better position to fight again.
Agatha has spent over a decade working in the tech industry. She has travelled extensively throughout Southeast Asia, and enjoys meeting people from different cultures. She loves to read and take leisurely walks. More recently, she is learning to navigate parenthood with her spouse and two young kids.
Resources:
Postpartum Support International: Perinatal Mental Health Disorders: https://www.postpartum.net/learn-more/
Health Hub: Understanding Postnatal Depression: https://www.healthhub.sg/live-healthy/understanding-postnatal-depression
Samaritans of Singapore: https://www.sos.org.sg/our-services/
Association of Women for Action and Research [AWARE] helpline: 1800-777 5555
Read more of our Tapestry Stories here.
Illustration by Ethan.