No one warned me that postpartum felt like a life sentence

It’s been six months since my baby was born, and I finally dare to write this because the secret is devouring me inside. If I say it out loud in my circle, they will look at me with pity, they will judge me or they will say that “I didn’t love my son enough.” But I need to take it out. During pregnancy, everyone sells you the pink version of motherhood. They tell you about the smell of a new baby, the tender clothes, the magic of breastfeeding. No one, absolutely no one, prepares you for the real hell that postpartum can be. In my case, it wasn’t just lack of sleep or physical fatigue. It was such a dark depressing well that there came a point when I looked at my son - whom I love, let’s be clear, I would give my life for him - and instead of feeling that instant connection of the movies, I felt a deep resentment. I felt that a stranger had entered my house to destroy my identity, my body, my relationship and my mental health. The first three months were a blurred nightmare. I had a painful breastfeeding that made me cry in every shot; every time the baby cried, my stomach turned with unbearable anxiety. I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. My body was shattered, my mind was blank, and I lived with the constant guilt of thinking: “Why did I do this? Why did I ruin my life?” The worst thing was loneliness. My partner tried to help as much as he could, but he went to work and I was left alone between four walls, listening to cries, smelling of sour milk and sweat, without showering for days, feeling that my brain was slowly melting. There were dark days when I just sat on the bathroom floor crying silently while the baby cried in the crib, wishing that time would stop so I wouldn’t have to face the next hour. Only now, after six months, things are starting to change a little. I went to therapy (secretly from some relatives who believe that going to the psychologist is “of loose bile”) and I began to understand that what I experienced is called severe postpartum depression. I’m not writing this to receive applause, nor to be told that “everything is getting better.” I am writing this because if there is any woman pregnant or going through the same thing reading this right now, I want her to know that she is not alone. If you feel that you don’t love your baby the first few days, if you regret being a mother, if you feel that this is a mistake... you are not a monster. You are sick, you are exhausted and the system fails us by not talking about this without anesthesia and without moral judgments. Thank you for reading me. I had to say it somewhere.