This post discusses postnatal depression and could be triggering for some readers.
I survived year one of parenthood... just. At some points I wasn’t sure we would make it through, but thanks to an exceptional bunch of humans, a quick hospital stay and owning up to my mental health issues we are here – alive and well, two years on.
I dreamt of what becoming a mother was going to look like since I was a young girl. It was those things you hear about and hope for, the things that the movies romanticise, the advice that the well-intending pass on to you but for me these dreams were shattered rather quickly by a sharp dose of reality:
“That rush of overwhelming love when the baby arrives in your arms is magical.”
“Sleep when the baby sleeps, we will have wonderful naps together and people will take beautiful photos of us.”
“We will have coffee dates with our friends and it will be a relaxing and serene time on maternity leave.”
Watch: Be a good mum. Post continues below.
Turns out most of these are absolute BS and motherhood has been the hardest challenge of my life so far.
I had a successful career where I was regularly at the top of the rankings for performance. We planned this baby and I fell pregnant quickly, we saved money so I didn’t have to go back for 12-18 months, we have an interstate property portfolio, we had travelled the world and I had a very happy loving marriage.
On paper it was the next natural step for us to have a baby, so I should have been prepared for the challenges and never complain or ask for help, right?