For six glorious weeks before my son arrived, I enjoyed the delicious joy of complete freedom.
My wife Liv’s maternity leave has started. The living room speakers blasted the lovely soundtrack of her favorite deck-building video game, Ballatro.
I remember feeling the late winter cold squeeze my cheeks as I rode my bike home from a music shoot at dusk. I loved falling asleep next to Liv at 2am and waking up for lunch. I remember kissing her pregnant belly and a strong kick tickling my lips.
And suddenly it’s time to slow down. Our son’s due date crept up on us. Labor can begin at any time. My mind was clouded with vague, formless anxiety.
My world went dark in the hospital room.
We were as prepared as we could be. Liv and I read books, watched videos, and attended classes. Our little nursery corner was stocked and ready. We drove to the hospital as planned, but Manhattan was almost asleep by dawn.
And then, in the hospital room at 3 a.m., our careful birth plan seemed to fall apart. Pitocin, a synthetic hormone used to induce labor, was pumped through Liv’s bloodstream, denying her the sedative effects of natural oxytocin. Her epidural (anesthetic administered into the spinal canal through a plastic tube) partially failed. She was feeling everything and all I could do was hold her hand. My wife, the strongest human being I know, cried out in pain I will never understand when our son came into the world.
For the next few days, a hopeless, joyless shadow crawled through my soul. All of this effort, sacrifice, and pain was for a fleshy alien who bore little resemblance to me, who redirected all of my free time, physically harmed my wife, stole her attention away from me, and kept me asleep.
I quickly lost myself because I no longer had time for the hobbies that made me who I was.
And what is the reward? He couldn’t love me. When he started laughing, I couldn’t believe it was nothing more than an involuntary muscle contraction.
power of empathy
My doctor listened to my symptoms and named the illness “postpartum depression.”
The SSRI antidepressants helped get me out of the hole I was in, so my doctor prescribed Lexapro. The second half of my treatment plan included a commitment to share the true depth of my emotions with others. Without my doctors validating my words, I may not have recovered from PPD as quickly as I did.
I also had a wonderful, caring partner and mother-in-law. In addition to their own intense changes, they had an overwhelming capacity to support me.
When my son was five weeks old, I spent five quiet days alone in New York City, going to the movies and riding my bike across the George Washington Bridge. This healing taste of my past life gave me the momentum to become a better father and husband.
share my true story
At my doctor’s recommendation, I shared my story with fathers-to-be at weekly fatherhood classes. I spoke with vulnerability and honored my lived experience. Although we all have different parenting journeys, we share a surprising number of common thoughts, feelings, and questions that are worth talking about but aren’t.
Individual and couples therapy also provided valuable coping tools to help navigate the wild new transitions of parenthood. These were safe spaces to voice my deepest, scariest thoughts to a third party who was invested in our growth.
As my son has grown, we’ve reached incredible milestones and it’s become easier and easier to be honest with others about my trials as a parent. We found that most people were willing to talk about their challenges: sleep, parenting, self-esteem, burnout, tantrums, and more. These conversations form the core of healing.
Strength of each season
We recently celebrated our son’s 2nd birthday. In the past few weeks, he has experienced further growth spurts, both physical and mental, with significant behavioral changes.
For example, his afternoon nap is no longer guaranteed. As a stay-at-home dad, my workdays have extended from 10 to 12 hours, two of which are spent with an exhausted toddler pacing around the living room.
We don’t know what will happen next, but we do know that this exhausting season won’t last long. That’s the difference between my mindset two years ago and today. This time I have hope for the future. A future full of love, irreplaceable moments, and sudden changes that change the meaning of life.