Apparently, 10 to 15% of women experience a condition called postpartum anxiety after giving birth… Thanks to hormonal changes that throw our emotions into disarray and, for a short or long time, alter our perception of danger… I wish I’d known about this condition, because then I could have understood the irrationality of my feelings without feeling ashamed—and, above all, without having to go through it alone…
For many women, postpartum anxiety is a very strong feeling of impending disaster, a sense that an ordinary situation is about to turn into a nightmare, and constant worry about their children—for no reason at all…
When I was pregnant with my first baby, I went through a rather unsettling experience… I met a man who changed the course of my life without even realizing it. This man seemed strange to me—at once intense and yet so empty… He came to see me, touched my belly, and told me that life is so precious… I felt uncomfortable; I tried to distance myself, but his presence bothered me—even more so when I realized the source of my unease… A friend of his told me his story: this man had accidentally backed his car into his own child… That evening at home, I cried thinking about him, and for quite a while, I didn’t think about it anymore.
Over time, I’d forgotten about it, not realizing that I’d actually tucked it away in a corner of my mind—just far enough in the shadows to stop thinking about it, but still present enough for it to leave its mark insidiously…
My baby is growing up slowly; one day I’ll have to leave him with a babysitter. For some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want to—no, I’m afraid… I’m not enjoying this moment of peace; I’m too worried. At first, I rationalize this feeling by telling myself it’s normal, that we’re apart so rarely, that I’m a mom. Then time passes, and I start deliberately forgetting to leave the car seat behind to prevent the sitters from hitting the road; I come back to pick him up early or even cancel at the last minute. I don’t understand my own behavior, but I do it again and again—the knot of fear in my stomach doesn’t ease with time…
Years go by, and I have a second child. It’s worse… I don’t talk about it because I’m ashamed. My son has become a little rascal who moves faster than his shadow. On the news, a woman backed up her car and killed her child… The latent anxiety comes flooding back… I can no longer get in the car without checking a thousand times to make sure I haven’t run over my child; sometimes I have to stop along the way to make sure everything’s okay, as if it were possible to run over a child without realizing it. Wake up, Mom—something’s not right…
The years go by and it eases up, then it comes back when I’m backing up and a piece of ice breaks off my tire, when I haven’t slept enough, or when I’m under stress. Then, after a while, it goes away completely… Then boom! On the news, yet again, a parent backs up their car into their child. Nothing’s right anymore…
In the summer, I make my kids stay on the porch until I’ve left the house, even when I’m driving forward. My oldest is 10…
I start calling home once I’m at work to make sure everything’s okay… My boyfriend is getting suspicious. I don’t feel well, and after 10 years, I finally end up talking to a friend about it… She lets me get it off my chest and tells me I should maybe see a therapist. Me? See a therapist??? Then it clicked—I remembered that day 10 years ago when I’d felt that unease while pregnant with my first child. That evening when I’d realized for the first time just how huge a responsibility my children would be. It was right at that moment that a crack opened in my mind—a crack that postpartum anxiety had skillfully widened.
My “psychologists” were my wonderful colleagues and friends. But if I’d known 10 years ago, I could have spared myself all that stress, all that anxiety…
I’m always afraid for my children—I’m a protective mom, what can I say?—but today, I know full well that what I was feeling wasn’t normal; it was irrational. And every time I back out of a parking spot, I’m reminded of just how ironic life can be: now that I’m doing well, I finally have a backup camera!
P.S.: Nothing was visible all those years. I seemed perfectly normal… So if you’re part of that 15%, don’t be afraid—you’re not alone!