Photo by Volkan Olmez on Unsplash.

I wasn’t officially diagnosed with prenatal depression. I’m just going to get that out of the way upfront.
But let me ask you this, does it really matter? Because what I was feeling was real.

I have other blog posts I “should” be writing, but instead of focusing on them, I feel like writing and sharing just a really real, raw, intimate post with you today. I just need to type, to write, to process, and get it all out.

If you’ve followed me throughout my pregnancy with Jonah, whether here or on Instagram, you know that I had a hard time. I was physically sick so much longer than I was with Abe and Eliza — I was nauseous all day, every day up until about 20 weeks. I threw up about once a day (which I know that some people throw up way more, but even just feeling physically ill all day, every day, for 3 months is no walk in the park, especially when you’re trying to parent a 1 year old and a 3 year old). Once I hit about 20 weeks, I started having pockets of time when I felt better, and felt hopeful that I’d have a pregnancy I could enjoy for the last half, but even up until I gave birth I had hard days, when I threw up and was sick, at least once a week.

But even when that physical illness went away (for the most part), I was left exhausted, unmotivated, and apathetic. I still sat around most days, I still felt unable to do basic tasks like take care of my house and provide meaningful experiences and interactions to my kids. I didn’t read my scriptures, I didn’t pray, I didn’t care to. And as my stomach grew, I felt chained down to something I almost wasn’t sure I wanted anymore. It didn’t help that it was winter, either, that it was cold and snowy and we were cooped up in the house all day.

It wasn’t until the middle to end of March, when I was around 30 weeks pregnant, that it dawned on me that this was not just morning sickness and pregnancy exhaustion, that this felt like I was living in one of those “do you have depression?” questionnaires. I worked at a mental health clinic, my husband is a counselor, I know the signs and symptoms of depression, yet it took me 10 weeks to realize what I was feeling. I was not feeling like myself anymore. I wasn’t just physically tired and sick. My whole being felt that way. My mind and my spirit did not and could not and did not want to compute.

To be fair, it never got  “really bad”. I did have good days. I did get out of my house. I still could smile. I wasn’t “depressed”.

But I was.

I’m usually a very organized and extroverted person. Lazy, often, yes, but organized and motivated to do things, organize things, plan play dates, see people, and get out of the house. But none of those things excited me any more. Being pregnant didn’t excite me. Being a mother didn’t make that list, either. The only thing it seemed I could do, and wanted to do, was sit and scroll through my phone, or sleep. I couldn’t focus on a conversation. I had a million things racing through my head at all times, but it was all underlined with a “so what”. My mind was confused, my body was sore, and my spirit felt broken.

Once I realized that what I was feeling could very well be, and probably was, depression, I started talking to a few friends about it. And just uttering those words, “I think I have prenatal depression”, lifted a small weight off of me. This was real, but people knew now. I never told my OB, because even though I was miserable, it felt manageable. Because I did still see my friends, and go places. It just not as often as usual, and I wasn’t very happy while I was there. I was more subdued, and couldn’t focus on the conversations happening right in front of me. I could smile, but often it felt fake. But again, still, it felt manageable. I was never not able to get out of bed, I never had suicidal thoughts.

But I was apathetic and overwhelmed.

All this to say, it was rough. I was miserable for almost 8 whole months. I did nothing, and so I felt like a nothing. I felt like a terrible mother and wife, but could not do anything about it. The energy, the motivation, was gone. I was stuck. I could not climb out of the hole. I felt thick and sluggish and just so tired, so sad. I took care of the basic needs for me and my kids, but that was it. I couldn’t do anything more. Some days I felt like I was drowning, but others I felt ok. And I was worried about it turning into full-blown postpartum depression after the baby came. That deep, dark kind of depression. The kind where you can’t even meet basic needs. The kind when you think that your family will be better off without you. The kind that I still hadn’t and haven’t experienced. And that scared me. I knew that if that happened I would 100% jump on board with getting a therapist and going on medication, if necessary. I did not want to feel this way, or worse, while caring for a newborn and my two sweet other children.

And so I waited. I waited to see what labor and delivery would bring.

Thankfully, luckily, labor and delivery did not bring with it even more depressive feelings, it brought with it sunshine and a lightness I forgot I could feel. I told Kyle as we were in the hospital that it was literally like a switch had flipped. I got to the hospital and felt so excited to meet my baby. I’ve always enjoyed my labor and deliveries, and this was no different. And then I held him and just felt joy. I got home and I felt motivated to clean all the things and organize all the things. I felt like myself again.

My story has a happy ending. The depression I felt during pregnancy came and went, and I’m back to my normal self. It was only a few months long. It hasn’t had any lingering effects. But I know that there are others who have it much worse than I did. Who fall into that deep, dark hole and can’t claw their way up and out. And now, having experienced even just the portion that I did, has left me with such a deep empathy for those who struggle with depression. It was not fun, it was not enjoyable (not that I ever thought it was) and it overwhelming.

I wanted to share my thoughts and experience with you about this, so you know that if you are experiencing anything like this — you are not alone. Let me say it again: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. It’s not just you. You are not crazy. What you are feeling is real. And should not be brushed aside.

You are important and beautiful and worthy.

You are loved.