about three weeks after asa was born, my physician prescribed medication for postpartum depression and anxiety. it was the second time i'd broken down in her office. the first time, i was in to have the staples from my c-section incision removed and a nurse noticed a bit of redness indicative of infection. she wanted the doctor to take a look, and in the few minutes that i waited alone in the exam room, i started crying and couldn't stop. the last time i'd been in that office, i was just about 40 weeks pregnant and so.fucking.elated. i was about to have a baby! and i wouldn't be pregnant anymore! now i felt broken, and empty, and like a total failure. not only could my body not birth a baby, it couldn't feed one, either. breastfeeding was a disaster, i was in constant pain, and i missed feeling my little girl squirming around in her home. wherever we were, it wasn't home.
the doctor comforted me and talked to me about postpartum depression, but i convinced her that i would be okay, that it was just the baby blues. she then determined that my incision was infected, so i was sent home with prescriptions for pain medication and antibiotics, as well as instructions to return in a week. thank goodness for that infection. when i returned a week later, i thought i was doing okay emotionally, but my incision was still looking rough. they wanted to see me again the next week, and when i went back, i felt like everything was falling apart. i broke down. i told her about my breastfeeding issues. about how some days i cried for hours on end. about feeling utterly lost. about how i couldn't enjoy being this beautiful soul's mama.
i talked and talked, and she just listened. she didn't make me feel ashamed for asking for help. she made me feel strong. like a good mother who wanted to be a better mother. she didn't make me feel like a monster for feeding my baby formula. she reminded me that everyone needs help sometimes. she made me feel okay.
..........
when i wrote the story of asa's birth, i almost omitted my ongoing struggle with postpartum depression. i am surrounded by amazingly strong mamas who seem to be able to do it all, none of whom need to be medicated to take care of their babies. for a moment, i was ashamed. then i realized that i have no fucking idea what these mamas carry on their shoulders, because we never ever talk about it. if we're not perfect the second that slippery baby emerges, we damn well better pretend to be because good women are good mothers and they don't need help. what a terrible, terrible line we're fed.
..........
today, i'm doing okay. sometimes it's hard. some days are worse than others. but it's okay. i'm not a perfect mama, but i am the perfect mama for asa, even if i need a little help.
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