My start to motherhood was not an easy one. When I started thinking about having a baby, I wanted to plan it down to a T. The timing had to be perfect so I could use my maternity leave at the end of the school year as well as take a leave of absence the following year from work. My career as a teacher was extremely important to me. I learned later this is part of my OCD.

When I found out I was pregnant at the end of July 2021, I could not have been happier. It worked out perfectly with my work plan. I was going to be due at the beginning of April, which was perfect for me to take the rest of the year off. I had the easiest pregnancy I could imagine. I got to eat all of the food I wanted, and everyone was nice to me. Sadly, the hard part was the actual motherhood.

Fast forward to March of 2022, I went into labor 3 weeks early. My daughter, Caia, was born on St. Patrick’s Day. What a perfect birthday for a new baby. I was so happy. My labor and delivery went very smoothly; I was lucky in that regard. Unfortunately, the after care is not the same. I wish someone would have warned me about what recovery from birth was like. I had no idea it would be as hard as it was. Wearing my own adult diapers, bleeding for weeks, and on top of that, taking care of a newborn. I hated it.

When I got pregnant, I knew for sure that I was going to breastfeed. “Breast is best” or whatever people say. I attempted breastfeeding Caia in the hospital, and the nurses all thought I was doing great. Because of that, I kept doing it. When I got home, I kept attempting to breastfeed thinking I was a pro. Unfortunately, at Caia’s first baby appointment three days later, I found out she was not eating at all and had lost almost two pounds. Caia almost had to be hospitalized. I felt like the worst mother on the planet. How could I not know she wasn’t eating? We were placed on a strict feeding diet, where Caia had to drink formula, as well as what breastmilk I could pump, every two hours. That sounded easy enough right? Well I was unaware of the part where you have to wake up in the middle of the night every two hours. I couldn’t even do that. My husband, Dalton, had to step up to help me. I was drowning.

I was lucky enough that my husband’s work allowed him to have a month of paid paternity leave. I would not have survived that month without him. I tried to pump for Caia every 3 hours. That took a huge toll on my mental health. I would barely get any milk and could not understand why. I sadly had to stop pumping when Caia was five weeks old in order to protect myself. Again, I felt like a huge failure. All I heard from family and friends was, “you know breastfeeding is cheaper right?” Of course I knew that, I desperately wanted to breastfeed my daughter. No one really knew the struggle I went through with that except my husband and mom.

I started showing signs of postpartum issues a couple weeks after Caia was born. My mom left after staying at my house for a week. As soon as she left, I felt the weight of the responsibility of being a parent. I cried for weeks straight. I felt trapped in my own house. Around 3 weeks postpartum, I started having what I now know are intrusive thoughts. I would think things, like what if I left my daughter out accidentally in the cold? Or what if she died from SIDS in her sleep and I didn’t know? Then I would get scared because why would I think something like that? Luckily those went away when she started sleeping better when she was a couple of months old.

My doctor’s office allowed me to have my first postpartum appointment 1 week after Caia was born. That should have been a red flag to me, but I had no idea something was wrong. Typically, your first postpartum appointment is six weeks after delivery. I went to my appointment and was screened for postpartum depression. I didn’t feel like I had that, so I answered all the questions so that they would think that I was fine. I knew in my heart that I was not. I remember being asked if I thought about harming my baby. I was so confused, why would they ask me that? After the appointment I started obsessively thinking about why they would ask me that to the point of making my stomach hurt. Again, this was another sign of postpartum OCD that I didn’t know I had.

After my husband’s month of paternity leave, I was basically on my own. Dalton works as an electrician for a large company that requires 12 hour shifts on a swing shift 2-2-3 schedule. This means he works for two days, is off for two days, then works for three. He works two weeks on day shift and two weeks on nights. On the days he worked, I was completely on my own. I did everything for Caia without taking any breaks day or night. I had to prove I was the perfect mother. I didn’t sleep for months. She woke up about every 3 hours to eat, which is not terrible, but it is very difficult on a person to wake up like that in the middle of the night. That is when the obsessive checking started. I had to make sure I looked at Caia a certain number of times before I could go to sleep even though she was right in my room. I absolutely could not sleep if I didn’t. I also dreaded the nighttime because what was the point of me sleeping if Caia was just going to wake up in an hour? I knew that was not healthy, but I didn’t know anything was wrong at the time.

I never had a problem of sleeping alone in my house when Dalton was on nightshift until Caia was born. I had my golden retriever, Hugs, to protect me. For some reason, when Caia was born I could not sleep in my house alone. I would sleep at my parents on those nights with Caia. It was so hard for me to go back and forth, but I had to do it. One night in July, when Caia was 3 months old, I was woken up unexpectedly by Caia. She usually would sleep until 3 or 4 at that point, but she got up at 11 that night. I was angry and half asleep when making the bottle. I shook the bottle too hard while holding Caia. Nothing happened to her, but I snapped out of it instantly. How could I allow myself to get so angry while holding my daughter? I didn’t sleep after that again. I stayed up the whole rest of the night obsessively googling about being an angry mom. That didn’t help me at all. I broke down the next day in front of my family hysterically crying about what happened. I could not let it go.

That is when the reassurances started. I would ask anyone I talked to, “do you think I am a good mom?” I wanted desperately to be reassured that I was doing a good job. That is a sign of OCD that I had no idea I had. Looking back, it makes so much sense, but at the time, I just had to keep asking that to everyone. Unfortunately, that is not even the worst part of my OCD.

In late September, my family’s 12 year old yellow lab, Raleigh, passed away. I was devastated. I couldn’t handle the stress or loss. Around this time is when my OCD hit its peak. I started obsessively worrying that something would happen to my daughter. What if I fell while holding her? What if she choked on something and I couldn’t save her? Then the worst thought that sent me in my spiral: what if I hurt her on purpose? That caused me to have panic attacks. I could no longer trust myself alone with my daughter. Surely, I could not hurt her if I had someone to watch me, right? I could not even be alone for a second. Sadly, I even had to stop watching Dateline and 20/20, and I loved those shows. I avoided anything that could potentially trigger my panic attacks. I didn’t tell one person how I was feeling. I could not admit I needed help because I was still desperate to prove I was the perfect mom.

I spent two months shuttling myself, Caia, and Hugs back and forth between my house and my parents’. It was so hard. I wish so badly I could go back in time and talk to myself about how I needed help. In early October, I thought I would try an antidepressant to help with my anxiety. I went to see my OBGYN, and I was prescribed with a low dose of Zoloft. I tried to explain I thought I was having intrusive thoughts, and she just kind of blew me off.

I went home trying the medicine. The awful feeling of panic I experienced caused me so much stress in less than a week, that I stopped the Zoloft. I went to my primary care doctor, who then prescribed me with Prozac, because she thought it would help. Wrong. It made it even worse. While on Prozac, I called my husband in a panic in the middle of the night hysterically crying while he was at work. I told him I could not do this. I felt so sad for myself in that moment. I knew I needed some serious help. The next day, I made an appointment on talkspace. I had been doing a lot of research, and thought I might have some kind of postpartum OCD because I was experiencing the intrusive thoughts. At my appointment on talkspace, the man had no idea what I was trying to tell him. He just asked me if I was hallucinating at all. I knew that I wasn’t, but I started worrying, what if I was? This appointment did nothing but cause me more panic and distress. That was the only therapy appointment I had with him.

Finally, after months of pure torture for me, it all came to a head. Toward the end of October, my husband was trying everything he could to make me happy. He took Caia and me to IHOP and even let me play Christmas music in the car even though it wasn’t time for that yet. Nothing helped. After we returned from IHOP, my sister came over to see me. I broke down and was suicidal. I was thinking I would have rather died than hurt anyone else. I left my daughter with my husband and went to stay at my parents’ house. My family realized something was seriously wrong with me and I needed help.

Thinking that I just had a postpartum issue, my mom found a virtual therapist that specialized in postpartum. At my first appointment, I was diagnosed with postpartum OCD and switched from Prozac to Lexapro. This was the best decision I could have ever made. It was nice to finally have a diagnosis and understand why I was experiencing the torture I did for all of these months. I have been in therapy ever since, and slowly but surely am getting my life back. I am lucky my mom found the help I needed at that time, because who knows where I would be now. It took me a long time to not be ashamed of my diagnosis. I am not anymore. If you have this diagnosis or any kind of postpartum issue, you should not be either. It is not your fault. No one chooses to have this kind of diagnosis. Just know if this is something you are dealing with, you are not alone. There is help and it gets better! What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.