I wasn’t prepared for so much of what motherhood would throw at me. Sure, I expected the sleepless nights and endless laundry. But I didn’t expect the mental toll—how motherhood would quietly, and then loudly, rattle my mental health.
Before kids, I rarely thought about my mental health. It was just…fine. But I’ll never forget standing in an airport, six months pregnant with my first, about to board a flight to visit my best friend. Out of nowhere, I had a full-blown panic attack and couldn’t get on the plane. I had never felt anything like that before—and it was only the beginning.
After my baby was born, I was on high alert for postpartum depression. But what crept in wasn’t sadness—it was anxiety. I was constantly worried. Afraid to go out alone with the baby. Scared when he slept. Terrified to leave him with anyone else. And I didn’t realize that wasn’t normal because I wasn’t “sad.”
As time went on and I had two more kids, I used exercise as my outlet. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. Anxiety started showing up as rage. I could go from calm to yelling in seconds, and I didn’t understand why. My breaking point came on Christmas 2020—I lost it over a present being opened early. That was my wake-up call.
I had a prescription for Lexapro sitting in my drawer, but I was scared to take it. The next day, I finally did. And honestly, it helped. A low dose was enough to take the edge off and bring me back to myself.
I stayed on it for four years, then weaned off last March. These days, I manage things with movement, reading, and rest. But I can feel the shifts again—hello, perimenopause—and I’m seeing the signs. That anxiety, that rage… it’s creeping back. And if I need medication again? I won’t hesitate.
