Six words. Six words that let me know I was not alone. In 2019, my husband and I welcomed our first child.
For many years, I was so eager for this very moment. It was beautiful, amazing, overwhelming, and nothing like I had planned. When the big day arrived, my husband and I got up early and headed to the hospital for an induction.
The "plan" was to hopefully be holding our son by the end of the day. My body and my son had other plans. After laboring for three days, my heart rate dropped and so did my son's.
It was decided shortly after that our situation required a cesarean. Within minutes, I was whisked away to an operating room where my son was born. He was gorgeous—and absolutely pissed.
I joke now that with both of my children I was too good of a host because they didn't want to leave. I struggled to breastfeed in the hospital. He wouldn't latch and I was recovering from a major surgery.
Multiple specialists came in and coached me. Eventually, we were sent home with what looked like a science project to use every time I fed him. It was so complicated that I decided to exclusively pump and supplement with formula.
Nothing could have prepared me for the months to follow. You don't sleep in those first few months. When you do, it's never enough.
And then there is the anxiety. I went from someone who had occasional anxiety to being flooded with intrusive thoughts. They added to my feeling like an absolute failure as a mom.
When I interacted with other individuals, I would .