I spent three years of my existence in a fog.
After battling major depressive disorder for nearly a decade, my mind, heart, and body reached a breaking point. At just 23 years old, I felt utterly exhausted — worn out from the facade I had been maintaining. Emotionally drained, completely adrift, and entirely numb, I could no longer pretend to function as a “normal” person. Everyday tasks turned into monumental challenges. Even brushing my teeth felt like a daunting expedition. I often found myself unable to stay awake, and honestly, I didn’t want to. The very act of being awake was so exhausting that I quit my job just to sleep full-time.
And so, I slept through three years of my life.
During this dark chapter, I was living in California, away from my loved ones back in New York. This distance offered me an easy way to conceal my struggles. I meticulously curated my social media presence to look fine, occasionally responding to friendly texts when I could muster the energy. But on the inside, I was crumbling.
My husband, however, witnessed my downward spiral. He had been by my side throughout my battle with depression, but this phase was a different monster. I became a shadow of who I used to be, living with a ghost of my former self. In an attempt to help, he moved us back to New York to be closer to family, hoping it would encourage me to socialize. But I couldn’t summon the strength. He did all he could, yet my unwillingness to fight for my own well-being meant I was sinking deeper into despair. I lay on the floor of my depression, barely conscious.
I slept on the couch, waking only to eat. Basic self-care fell by the wayside; I neglected my hygiene and suffered frequent UTIs because I couldn’t summon the energy to use the bathroom. I rarely showered and gained 70 pounds.
By April 2016, my relationship was hanging by a thread. I wasn’t the partner I promised to be, and my husband was exhausted from my unwillingness to combat my depression. We drifted apart while I remained in a state of slumber.
Then Everything Changed
On April 4, 2016, I woke up feeling awful. I jokingly told my husband that I might be pregnant, and we shared a laugh. But after throwing up five times that day and taking five pregnancy tests, it turned out I was indeed pregnant — and we were nowhere near ready, either financially or emotionally.
We argued. We both recognized that I wasn’t fit to be a mother in my current state. I could barely care for myself, let alone nurture a child. The thought of staying awake long enough to raise a baby filled me with dread. But we decided to move forward.
Throughout my pregnancy, I fell seriously ill, and mounting medical bills forced us back into our parents’ homes. It was less than ideal. I worked hard to stay positive about my health and excited about the baby, while my husband focused on saving money for our future. It was exhausting for both of us, especially leading up to my 16-week appointment.
I had decided early on that I wanted to be surprised by the sex of our baby. I thought this would provide me with something to look forward to. But during my illness, I felt a deep disconnect with the baby and didn’t feel like a mother at all. It felt like I was trapped in a nightmare.
After weeks in the hospital, a doctor wheeled me down to the office for a full anatomy scan.
“Would you like to know the sex of the baby?” she asked.
I looked at my husband, longing for some hope. I needed to know that there was a real child inside me, that I wasn’t just sick. He nodded.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at my husband. “It’s Mia,” I whispered. “It’s our Mia.” At that moment, I became a mother — a mother struggling with depression, but a mother nonetheless.
Suddenly, the emotional crutch I had relied on was gone.
In the past, I had fantasized about suicide as an escape from my relentless depression and self-hatred. It had always been an option for me. But now, I had someone who needed me more than I ever needed myself. The weight of that responsibility was both terrifying and necessary.
In the weeks leading up to labor, I knew I had to make a drastic change — I had no choice. I forced myself to live, and it was incredibly uncomfortable. Being awake for hours felt jarring, and I often entertained thoughts of returning to bed. Nonetheless, I started to eat, brush my teeth, shower, and stay awake throughout the day to prepare for motherhood. I stumbled at times — missing meals and losing weight — but I tried, which was more than I could say for the three years that had passed.
Mia entered the world in a whirlwind. She didn’t cry but gazed at me as if we were old friends. In that moment, I would have given anything to protect her. She was healthy, and for the first time in years, I felt genuinely happy. I experienced a sense of pride in myself that I had never felt before. I had never appreciated my body more.
Before Mia arrived, I thought motherhood meant forcing myself to stay awake. The reality? I wake up every day because I want to. Motherhood pulled me from my hibernation, allowing me to witness all the beautiful moments I had missed.
I still face challenges, grappling with severe postpartum anxiety and PTSD from my pregnancy. I worry about Mia constantly, but at least I’m awake to do so.
Resources for Expecting Mothers
For anyone considering motherhood while navigating their own mental health, there are resources available. Check out this helpful guide on treating infertility or explore fertility supplements for at-home insemination kits. If you want to read more about similar experiences, this blog post might resonate with you.
Summary
Motherhood transformed my life by forcing me to confront my longstanding battle with depression. Despite my struggles, I found a sense of purpose and joy in becoming a mother. The journey is ongoing, but I am grateful to be awake and present for my daughter.