Dear Little Adventurers,
I owe you an apology. It feels strange to say, but I’m sorry I’m not the mom I envisioned for you. This isn’t the joyful journey I expected; instead, I find myself wrestling with sadness, frustration, and a cloud of gray that seems to hang over me day in and day out. I want to be the one who sings silly songs while we create masterpieces with paints. I dream of chasing you through sunlit parks, catching crayfish, and enjoying ice cream for lunch like it’s a gourmet meal. I want to make squiggly playdough snakes, sparkle up Pinterest projects, and celebrate Dress Like a Pirate Day with a tricorn hat and a wild corset.
Yet, there are days when getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. I fumble through breakfast, resort to the TV as a babysitter, and can’t even muster a cheerful tune. Sometimes my body aches too much to keep up with your boundless energy, and on the days it doesn’t, my heart feels heavy. The afternoons drag on in a haze, and I lack the motivation for Pinterest-worthy activities. Everything seems so dull, as if I’m trapped in a box, suffocating under its weight. This isn’t the life I wanted for us, and it’s certainly not what I envisioned for you.
They label it postpartum depression—a cruel joke played by hormones and chemistry, a heart-wrenching disconnect from joy. I’ve lost sight of how it feels to be genuinely happy; it’s like trying to grasp a dream just as you wake up. Some days, happiness feels tantalizingly close, but it always slips away.
I want you to know that my sadness isn’t a reflection of you; it exists alongside you. That’s what makes it so painful. I feel this deep sadness even in the midst of the miracle that is you. I find myself snapping when I should be laughing, and turning away when I should be reaching out. I have to remind myself to hug you, my sweet boys, because my sadness sometimes makes me forget. And that forgetting only deepens my sorrow.
I’m unhappy, but I want to reassure you that my unhappiness isn’t about you. Even during our toughest moments, when I lose my cool and yell out of frustration, I still cherish every moment with you. I love you when you’ve turned the kitchen into a floury disaster or when you’ve decided that painting the dog is a great idea. I love you in those quiet, dark moments when I wake up to find you beside me, again and again. My love for you remains steadfast, even amidst my struggles.
Some days, love feels like an empty space, but I continue to move through the motions. I remind myself that love is an action, not merely a feeling. I hope my efforts are enough for you.
There’s no rhyme or reason to this depression; it’s a baffling twist of chemistry. I didn’t choose this emptiness, and it feels suffocating. Everyone tells me to savor every moment with you, but how can I enjoy what feels so far away? They speak of how fleeting these baby days are, but they don’t see the shadows looming around me. I know they mean well, but depression has a way of disguising itself. A woman who appears to be paddling in sunlight might actually be drowning, and if she calls for help, she risks being misunderstood. People might think it’s her fault or that she just needs to tough it out. My greatest fear is that the world will interpret my struggle as rejection—that if I truly loved you, I would be bursting with joy.
I don’t need anyone to say these things; I hear them loud and clear in depression’s twisted voice every single day. This illness has taken so much from us—stolen precious time, emotions, and those picture-perfect moments that other moms seem to have. Still, the cruelest trick of postpartum depression is its greatest flaw: it may take a lot from me, but it can never take you away.
No matter how dim things seem, I have you to care for. Even when I feel empty inside, I make sure you experience love. My arms may feel heavy, but I wrap them around you. I am exhausted, yet I lift you up. I kiss you, pain and all. You are my strength, my dear ones, and I want the best for you. The best is having a mother who cares, regardless of her struggles. And that mother is me.
I have you. I keep moving forward. In the end, that has to be enough for both of us.
With all my love,
Mom
Summary
This heartfelt letter reflects a mother’s struggle with postpartum depression while expressing her unwavering love for her sons. Despite battling sadness and feeling trapped, she strives to show affection and care, reminding herself that love is an action, and her presence is what truly matters.