Jenny: "Bizarre, I really didn't want to know anything about our baby at all"

It was always my greatest wish: to become a mother. Ever since I was a girl, I fantasized about the future, about what my life would look like with a child. I had no idea what it would be like, but I knew it was something I wanted. And then the moment came when it finally happened. I was pregnant. All the expectations I had, the dreams I had built up, were now becoming reality. I was over the moon.

I felt empty, not like myself anymore

But when Noor was finally born, everything changed. I remember her tiny face, her little hands waving in the air when she was born. It was the most beautiful moment of my life, or so I thought at the time. But something happened in the days that followed. I felt empty. It was as if I was no longer myself. I just wanted to stay in bed all day. I looked at Noor, but it seemed as if I couldn't really see her, couldn't really feel her. It felt like there was a wall between us.

Every day felt like a struggle

Instead of enjoying those first moments as a mother, I was irritated and sad. Every day felt like a struggle. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but it felt like I had lost control over my own life. And that felt so wrong, because shouldn't this be the happiest time of my life? Everyone around me seemed so happy with their baby, why wasn't I?

I didn't want to admit that something was wrong

The midwife came for the first home visit and quickly noticed that something was off. “How are you feeling?” she asked, and I didn't know what to say. I vaguely replied that I was doing okay, but deep down I was feeling worse and worse. She looked at me, with a look I couldn't quite place, and asked if I felt like I was getting enough support. Was I really capable of taking care of Noor? It seemed like she saw right through me, but I didn't want to admit that something was wrong. I wanted to be a good mother, the mother I had always wanted to be.

I seemed to live in a different world

The maternity nurse also noticed that something was off. She kept asking me how I was feeling and whether I was truly enjoying being with Noor. “You seem so tired,” she said at one point. And I was tired, but not just physically, also mentally. I felt empty, as if there was no room for love. I wanted to take care of Noor, but it seemed as if I was no longer able to provide that care. Noor cried, and I didn't have the energy to comfort her. It felt like an overwhelming task. Instead of holding my daughter in my arms, I stayed in bed, without really making contact. I felt guilty, but at the same time, it was as if I was living in a different world. I couldn't understand myself.

This was not the mother I wanted to be

The maternity nurse was the one who ultimately raised the alarm. She had spoken to my husband and said that she thought I might have postnatal depression. I was shocked by her words, but I also felt a sense of relief. Because finally, someone named it. This was not normal. This was not the mother I wanted to be. This was not the mother I had dreamed of becoming. But it was what was happening.

I was trapped inside my own head

The weeks went by and my situation did not improve. The therapies began, but at first, I was not at all convinced that it would help. Each session felt like an obligation, something I had to do because others had told me to. My body felt heavy, my thoughts were messy and chaotic, and I just couldn't see through the fog that filled my head. I was so far away from Noor, so far away from everything. I was trapped in my own mind.

It was as if I had given up on myself

The therapists asked me questions about my childhood, about my relationship with my parents, my own feelings about the pregnancy, but I felt like it all wasn't helping. Sometimes I just felt empty. And in that emptiness, I simultaneously felt guilty because I wasn't enjoying Noor, the little one who was so dependent on me, who needed my love and care. But I had nothing to give. It was as if I had given up on myself.

I wanted to be the mother she needed, but I just couldn't

Noor grew up, but I wasn't with her. I was there physically, but mentally? Not really. I remember catching myself at one point watching her as she played, and realizing that I didn't even really see her. She was my daughter, but I felt so far away from her. It was so frustrating and confusing. I wanted to be the mother she needed, but I just couldn't. And that fragile feeling grew heavier with each passing day.

I still felt so lost

There were also moments of doubt. When would this be over? Could I ever be the mother that Noor deserved again? Or was I forever trapped in this dark cloud hanging over my head? The therapists offered support, but I still felt so lost.

I began to experience small moments of joy again

When Noor was about a year old, I slowly started to notice that there were small changes. It was as if a small opening appeared in the fog. I didn't feel happy every day, but I also didn't feel as empty anymore. Noor became increasingly curious, started to communicate more, and I began to really see her again. I still often felt tired, but I started to experience small moments of joy again, moments when I truly enjoyed her presence. It felt like the beginning of something, but I didn't know if I was there yet. It was a slow process, but it was happening.

Slowly I felt the bond between us grow

Therapy was still necessary, but I began to understand that it was a long journey. No quick fix, but just step by step, little by little, I was getting closer. And Noor? Noor remained my daughter, whom I so desperately needed to find myself again. She was there, always. And gradually, with all the help I received, I felt our bond growing. It wasn't fast, it wasn't easy, but it was real.

I can finally enjoy time with my daughter

Now Noor is two years old. I can finally truly enjoy her. I can hold her in my arms and embrace her with all my love. I can see her and understand, really understand who she is, what she needs. And me? I finally feel like myself again. Not the old Jenny, not the Jenny who thought she had to do everything perfectly, but the Jenny who slowly learned to accept that it's okay to ask for help, that it's okay not to know everything, that it's okay not to always be perfect.

The dark cloud is gone

And now, with Nora two, I feel stronger. The dark cloud is gone. And although I'm still learning every day, I now know that I can handle it. That I am capable of giving my daughter everything she needs. Not perfect, but in my own way. And that feels good.

Do you recognize yourself in my story? Know that things can get better again, with the right help. No matter how hard it is to accept it.

JENNY