We were in the hospital after Jonathan, our second son, was born. Our nurse was getting ready to discharge us to go home and introduce big brother Harrison to this littlest Lane. She was walking me through things to look for after I went home that would require medical attention.

“If you experience sadness lasting longer than two weeks, you’ll want to see your doctor.”

I felt a lump in my throat. “And what would that mean?” I asked.

“That’s a symptom of postpartum depression.”

I felt Nathan’s hand on my back in support, and my eyes welling up slightly. The realization two years after Harrison was born that confirmed my suspicions. That after Harrison was born, I suffered from postpartum depression.

It all came flooding back. The memories of that time period after Harrison when I would cry just looking at my newborn baby. The veil of sadness that clouded my mind for months on end after having Harrison. I remembered crying to Nathan after Harrison that we had potentially made the biggest mistake of our lives by having Harrison. And I was afraid that it may be true.

And yet, I had never been treated for a mental illness, and I was sure that this was just how everyone felt after having a baby. I was a new mom. I had no idea what was normal and not.

I type this now having had two babies, and two different postpartum experiences. I’m not sure how much of my experience postpartum was related to what was likely postpartum depression, and how much was related to the sheer shock to every last thing in your life that having a baby impacts. But I can share how I felt after having Harrison, and that maybe it resonates and you remember this story after having your own baby. Maybe you don’t have to suffer through months of sadness and numbness the way I did.

We arrived home with Harrison, and like every set of new parents, were in a whirlwind of trying to figure out our new life as a family of three. What was the magic secret to getting him to eat well? What sacred rain dance could we perform to ensure that he slept for four hour stretches at night? But I knew in my gut that there was something off in my body, but again, being a new mom and sleep deprived and trying to adjust to this totally new thing, I assumed every new mom felt the way that I did.

I pushed through weeks of wondering when I was going to really enjoy my baby. Instagram posts and other moms unintentionally made me feel like there was something missing in my own experience that I didn’t feel very connected to my Harrison, but also felt extremely possessive of him. I cringed when other people wanted to hold him, afraid that they felt more bonded to my son than I did. Grandparents would come over to help around the house and to hold the baby, and I had to leave the room and go cry, that I was so upset that others seemed to love my baby more than me.

I resented Nathan, my husband, that he seemingly moved into the role as Dad without much disturbance to his life at all.

It should be said that it never crossed my mind to hurt myself or Harrison. He was at no risk, aside from just having to see his mom in tears on a regular basis.

I didn’t understand how I could do this for the next eighteen years. Why I wasn’t as good of a mom as everyone else seemed to be so naturally. And I lived in this veil of numbness and sadness for months.

I went to my 6 week postpartum check up with my OB, and put a smile on my face. He asked me, “Are you having trouble doing your everyday tasks?” That was the question he asked to screen me for postpartum depression. And the truth to that answer was “no.” I wasn’t having trouble performing my tasks. My Type A personality that rigidly always functioned even when I didn’t feel up to it didn’t allow me to have “trouble performing everyday tasks.” I had never allowed my feelings to interfere with the must-do’s of a day, and so my answer to that question he asked was ‘no.’ But I could feel it, as soon as I answered. The tears welling up behind my eyes. And I looked down, afraid that he would see that I was struggling.

But what I realize now is that I was suffering from postpartum depression. And I never said ‘yes’ to help. I just muddled through until the veil of sadness finally lifted. That my hormones finally regulated and I felt like a real human being again who could experience joy.

Why do I share this? I lived through it, and I could not imagine a greater love than what I have for my children. I share it because I know there are others like me out there. People who don’t allow their feelings and the shroud of dullness to overtake their obligations in life, but that truly would benefit from medical mental health assistance. And I’m saying that I wish I hadn’t lived for months on end just getting by. I wish my OB had asked that one postpartum depression question differently. I wish I would have said in that appointment that I felt like something was off about me. I wish I would have said, “yes, I want help.” And gotten around to feeling the joy of that sweet baby much earlier.