Her smile is the brightest I’ve ever seen. And it feels like she keeps it just for me. This little special smile that is only for Mummy. It’s frightening to think that 9 months ago I didn’t want to hold her. 

From the start my husband and I knew pregnancy would be tough. I had suffered from endometriosis since the day I got my period. After many surgeries, professionals told me that 'if you want a child you must have one soon”. We were lucky to fall pregnant so quickly, we were unlucky with the fact that I suffered 98% of the pregnancy from either pain or nausea.

I knew from my past mental health history that postpartum would be difficult, especially after suffering from such a high risk, stress inducing pregnancy. I reached out to my health team, from my GP to my obstetrician and my current psychologist. I told them my OCD was starting to really ‘flare up’ again. But there was nothing to be done, not until my hormones were under control and no longer pregnant. 

It rained on the 30th of April. I had wanted it to. Not a hard task for my town in autumn to fulfill. I have always felt calm during rainstorms and knew I wanted my little girl’s first day to be bathed in the cozy warmth of a rainy day. I took off my favourite t-shirt and pulled on the hottest hospital gown in history. I cracked jokes with every nurse that passed me by. My husband held my hand the entire time, smiling at me like he had fallen in love all over again.

We planned for a caesarean-section, thinking it would be a safer option for me. The ‘easy way out’ some had joked. But there was nothing easy about it. I suffered a panic attack on the table. I couldn’t feel anything but I promise you I have a great imagination. As panic set in I knew this was all wrong. My husband pulled me through it enough that I knew I wasn’t dying, but something was happening to me.

I was shaking so much I didn’t want to hold my baby, the nurses said I’d regret it if I didn’t. They placed her gently on my breast, a magical moment I try to remember through the haze. Eventually I was warmed, I was calmed enough to hold my girl. I still felt wrong. I was promised love, intense love. But as I held her, I’m ashamed to say it, I felt intense fear. What was I doing? Who was this kid? And why was my husband smiling so much? Everything hurts, I can’t get up from this bed, I felt out of control.

Within three weeks of each other Australia saw two violent acts against women. And I saw every new snippet of news on the tiny hospital room tv. I knew I should have avoided it, but I wanted to make sure I knew everything about anything so I could keep my angel safe. The world crept into my mind and my OCD flared more violently than it had before. Worse than what the experts or I expected.

Unwanted intrusive thoughts invaded what little peace I had left.  All the monstrous things I knew about the world twisted inside my mind, my brain convincing me that I wanted to commit these acts. Because that is what OCD is. Its intrusive thoughts that make us feel like we are evil. I knew then that I needed to speak up. I knew what I was feeling couldn’t be right. And it wasn’t.

The midwives, nurses, my obstetrician and my family all knew it wasn’t right. The psychologist on call knew it wasn’t right. Knew this wasn’t me. They could see the pain I was in, how confused I was. I was afraid they would lock me up, I told them to. But they didn’t, because I wasn’t dangerous, I never have been.

After three days in hospital, my angel went home with my husband and his family, without me. My own mother stayed with me in the maternity ward the extra three days. Somewhere I felt I no longer belonged. I wasn’t in control of my time in hospital. I had to wait for the green light to go back home. Since then, I have been terrified of hospitals.

My healing journey was a long one. Our little family was separated for three months whilst I stayed with family. My husband driving 7 hours whenever he could to see me and our daughter. It wasn’t until meeting another mother who suffered the way I had that I truly began to move forward. She showed me the future I was going to have. Full of love and acceptance. My medication was changed, my ADHD & OCD re-diagnosed, I was feeling closer to myself again.

Nine months later, at home with my husband and my gorgeous girl, not fully myself but stronger, wiser. I still grieve the time I lost; I still feel guilty about not being the mother I wanted to be straight away. I’m still not. But I am the mother I need to be, I am the mother my daughter loves. And I would do it all again, every painful moment, just to see her beautiful smile.