My memories of early motherhood are not nice. I had post natal depression and anxiety and that first year was the worst thing I have ever been through.
None of these things is my son’s fault. I was suffering from mental illness. I refused all outside help, not wanting to appear weak, and as a result made things harder for myself. By the time things got really bad I had given everyone the impression I was fine. I wasn’t. I hated motherhood. But because I have woven these events and my feelings together as one event, my idea of caring for an infant is inevitably tainted.
Right now I am also well-practised at recognising the good things in my life, the things to be grateful for. And it makes me want to capitalise on the good. Which begs the question: should I reconsider my one-and-done stance?
But the thought that absolutely terrifies me is this: I don’t want to become that person again. Read more at Daily Life.