How to end a life
What no one tells you about having a baby
Ending my life began when I decided to start a new life.
The thoughts had always been there.
In a relationship with a man where love seemed to be as toxic as it was intoxicating, the thought of ending my life was always at the edge of the love haze.
From a mere shadow, it became something that took more solid form, a land that seemed much greener, an idea that seemed much richer, a life that promised lesser; less pain, less confusion, less anger, less resentment.
It might sound incredible but having a baby ended my life.
It’s ironic how something life-altering and beautiful came with so much change.
The society always tells you about what to do: get married, have a baby, raise a baby, have more babies, raise those babies…
But they never tell you how to do it.
They don’t tell you that when you plan to have a baby and the baby decides how to show up, it messes with your mind to a depth you probably didn’t even know you had.
They don’t tell you that everything you know about yourself becomes the end of the book that was your life before your baby comes, that the minute you have your child, a new chapter in a new book is being written, that you are born again.
They don’t tell you that your body will need to recover, to rediscover itself and in the process, discover its relationship with the tiny being that is sent with you from the hospital with a far-off medical appointment in six weeks.
They don’t tell you that you will hate having people over who do nothing but talk all day, come with empty hands and ignore the bags under your eyes, that you will want to be alone for the most of those initial months, staring at the perfect being that you brought into the world.
They don’t tell you that you will hate the touch of your husband. That the gulf that was always between the two of you will widen, not because you had this baby, but because having this baby makes you realize how important talking about your feelings are and you both never learned to talk honestly with each other.
They don’t tell you about the bouts of depression, the days when you feel like you are failing at everything and anything.
They don’t tell you about inverted nipples, about the days when your baby will find it hard to latch because of them, about how helpless you will feel about not being able to breastfeed your baby.
They won’t tell you about the endless and unsolicited advice total strangers will give you, from old mothers to pregnant mothers who have swallowed google in their bellies. They won’t tell you how these sages of wisdom will deliver parting shots or welcoming shots at the times when your fragile world is crumbling, and you are barely holding up.
They tell you nothing. Except, have a baby.
I had a baby. He was the best thing that happened to me then and he is the best thing in my life now. If I had to do it all over again, I would.
But this time, I would handle things differently.
Because postpartum depression is real and I nearly didn’t make it.
So, this is for first-time mothers and all mothers going fighting to keep their head above the waters of depression:
Let go of what is crumbling already and hold on to the seedlings of hope in your life; it is honestly the only way to end the life you knew before.
