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Mental Health Awareness Part 1

Thirty-six.

I was thirty-six when I had my son.

Thirty-six years of freedom.
Thirty-six years of going and coming as I pleased.
Thirty-six years of uninterrupted sleep.
Thirty-six years of only being responsible for me.

So to say motherhood rocked me to my core would be an understatement.

I was exhausted.
Sleep deprived.
Happy.
Angry.
Grateful.
Overwhelmed.
Weepy.

A complete ball of confusion.

And then came the dark thoughts.

The thoughts I was too ashamed to say out loud.

I didn’t know what to do.
And honestly… I was embarrassed.

One day I went to a doctor’s appointment. She asked how things were going, and I was fully prepared to give the polished answer:

“Things are great. I may need to supplement with formula because I’m not producing enough milk, but everything’s fine.”

That was the plan.

But before the words could leave my mouth, tears interrupted me.

I began crying uncontrollably.

My doctor looked at me and said:

“Neccole… why haven’t you said anything?”

The truth is… I hadn’t said anything.

But somehow my tears translated everything I didn’t have the courage to say aloud.

That was the day I first heard the words postpartum depression explained to me in a way that felt personal.

No one had prepared me for it.

No one warned me that after carrying life, I could suddenly feel like I was losing pieces of myself.

And honestly?
Part of me felt weak.

I remember thinking:
“Is this what happens to weak women?”

Depression.

That word again.

It wasn’t the first time a doctor had used it to describe what I was experiencing. Years earlier, during therapy for childhood adversity, I had been told I was depressed then too.

But I hated that word.

Because in my mind, depression was never a word God used to define me.

So I fought it hard.

And maybe that’s part of the problem.

I thought acknowledging depression meant agreeing with it.
Becoming it.
Accepting it as my identity.

But depression was a struggle I experienced.
Not the sum total of who I was.

Still, sitting there in that office, I felt like I had failed spiritually.

Like maybe God must be disappointed in me because I had already gone to therapy once before… and somehow found myself struggling again.

My doctor continued talking, but honestly, most of her words faded into the background.

What I do remember is the referral she handed me for a mommy support group.

When I got home, I immediately gathered every pregnancy book I owned.

Six books.

Only two mentioned postpartum depression.

And both barely gave it a paragraph.

A paragraph.

That moment stayed with me.

Because I realized how many women were probably suffering quietly… believing they were alone… believing they were failing… believing they were bad mothers for struggling mentally after giving birth.

I promised myself then that I would never stay silent about what I experienced.

I would talk about it openly so another woman would not have to suffer silently the way I did.

And maybe that’s why I’m writing this now.

Because some of you are smiling publicly while unraveling privately.

Some of you love God deeply and are still struggling mentally.

Some of you are exhausted from pretending you’re okay.

And some of you are one honest conversation away from finally breathing again.

So let me say this clearly:

You are not weak because you are struggling. You are human.

And the good new is…you are never alone.

Jesus promised He would be with us always. (Matthew 28:20)

Seek Jesus and whatever healthy support you may need to overcome your struggles.

If you need prayer, encouragement, or assistance finding support, feel free to reach out at bethesaltbethelight5@gmail.com.

Share this with someone who may be suffering in silence.