As a new mother, the postpartum phase was infinitely different from what I had imagined. They told me I’d forget the pain once I held my child. I expected to feel a rush of relief and warmth the moment I held my baby. That certainly was true with my second and third, but not with my first.

Having refused an epidural (large needles near my spine are a firm no for me!), I understood why they call crowning the “ring of fire.” I felt my skin tearing in real time, with no pain medication. I’m sure the people walking by my room heard my incessant screams during those last few pushes. It was a chaotic scene to say the least. Then I held my son for what was probably less than a minute before passing him over to my husband.

Seeing my husband with our son blessed my soul. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the tears welling up in his eyes when I think back to that day. I, however, felt like I was in survival mode. My body was shaking almost uncontrollably from the surge of adrenaline.

Over the next several hours, I also lost a significant amount of blood. The doctor had failed to stitch me up properly. They eventually had to put me under anesthesia to complete the job because the pain was otherwise unbearable. When I finally got up to walk on my own, everything felt tender and sometimes even painful. I had to sit at an angle to avoid flaring the pain. If I shifted even slightly to reposition myself, I risked tearing my stitches.

A Side Note for Expectant Mothers

My experience was largely shaped by following the lead of a doctor who seemed wildly inconvenienced by my spontaneous delivery. Do your research to optimize your birthing experience. I fully believed my body was designed by God to deliver my child without complications (still do), but I wasn’t prepared to navigate a doctor with a dominating bedside manner. Remember, you’re paying for the service, so you have every right to voice your preferences. It’s also helpful to make sure your husband knows your preferences so he can speak on your behalf if you feel like you can’t during labor.

Back to the Story

After two days, we were finally discharged with a very jaundiced but otherwise healthy baby boy. I longed for home. I thought I’d feel immense relief once I stepped through the doors of my home. The opposite turned out to be true.

At the hospital, I had the help of seasoned, motherly nurses. At home, it was me and my husband—and the mess. My son was spontaneously born three weeks early, on Palm Sunday of all days. The baby shower gifts were still piled against the walls, and to make matters more challenging, I couldn’t climb into our tall bed without wincing in pain. My husband had to eventually put the mattress on the floor to make things more manageable for me. With the mattress now on the floor, I could finally get some much-needed rest, right?

I laugh looking back. I was completely unprepared for the level of sleep deprivation I experienced with my son. Even after having two more children, I have not experienced that same level of sleeplessness.

My son was severely jaundiced, which made him lethargic and unable to feed well. In turn, he woke more frequently. I nursed him on demand for what felt like every hour, or even less. I was also completely unprepared for the bleeding and pain that accompanied nursing. I thought the worst of the physical pain was behind me. It was, but the pain I experienced afterward was a close second.

The hospital staff warned me about the physical reality of the postpartum season, but I was completely unprepared for it mentally. Certainly, I felt the baby blues, another thing the hospital staff had warned me about. My body ached. My eyes were heavy. My husband and I were navigating a new relational dynamic.

Then the thoughts started trickling in:

Am I fit to be a mother?
What did I get myself into?
Was the pain really worth it?
I don’t know how long I can do this.
Eighteen years seems like a long time.
When will he sleep?
When will I sleep?
When will I feel normal again?
I miss my husband.

My husband, my mom, and my in-laws were supportive beyond anything I could’ve asked for. I was surrounded by people who were actively caring for me, yet I still felt isolated in my physical pain. The baby blues settled in, but soon thereafter, there came a tipping point, a moment of clarity when I could see the prowling lion looking for whom it may devour. The prowling lion seeks the vulnerable and weak, and the physical trauma my body had endured had certainly left me in that state.

The tipping point came when an intrusive thought entered my mind.

It was the stranger’s voice.

As I lay in a half-awake state, I heard a clear voice ask, “What do you do with an animal that is no longer of use?”

Because homesteading is a dream of mine, I immediately understood what that voice was insinuating. You cull an animal that is no longer of use to your family, and the voice was drawing a parallel between that animal and my son.

I’m not ashamed to confess that thought. It wasn’t mine. Yet, it is clear to me that not every mother understands that. So, for the sake of clarity, not every thought you have is your own. You must learn to discern the origin of those thoughts, and you alone are responsible for the thoughts you entertain.

At first, the subtle thoughts seemed like my own, but that unfathomable thought made me realize they weren’t. As soon as I discerned them, I repented for entertaining any of them, even for a second, and commanded them to go and not return in the name of Jesus.

I was still half-awake at this point, so it wasn’t a dramatic prayer. I could only muster a whisper in my tiredness. Nonetheless, whether whispered or shouted, the enemy has no choice but to respond to the name of Jesus. The name of Jesus is the name above all names regardless of volume, and He is faithful to guard His own.

The bombardment of thoughts and waves of sadness ceased after that whispered prayer. Since then, even after having two more healthy children, I have not experienced the baby blues. I’ve become keenly aware of the thoughts that enter my mind as new life comes forth from me.

It’d be silly to say that motherhood suddenly became easy after that prayer. Motherhood it never quite easy. I still wondered when my son would sleep through the night. I still cried when I felt overwhelmed. It took time to grow into my own skin as a mother, and I’m still growing in many, many ways. But I no longer felt weighed down. There’s a difference.

If I had the choice to do it all over again, would I still choose motherhood? Absolutely! I would do it all over again without hesitation, even if it meant enduring the same kind of pain.

By this point, friend, I hope you realize that depression and anxiety do not have to be your story. Jesus’ blood speaks a better word over you. He died for you. He took on everything so that your mind could be made whole. I come from a family with a history of depression and anxiety. I know what it looks like. But by the mercy and grace of Jesus, depression and anxiety have not been my story—and they don’t have to be yours either.

There’s a reason why the enemy targets mothers, especially new mothers. We are the gatekeepers. We shape the next generation. He is threatened by mothers who understand their position of authority and their capacity to shape the future. He fears the children you raise in the name of the Lord, for children are an inheritance and blessing from Him. They are heaven’s gift to this earth, the salt and light that preserves what is good, the arrows that go forth in the time of battle against all that is evil.

It starts in your mind. Your choices are powerful. Choose life, not death.

A mother—or anyone—who sheds the blood of the innocent, inside or outside the womb, and does not receive His mercy through repentance will one day have to reckon with the wrath of a holy and just God. Receive His mercy. He longs to show us mercy, though we don’t deserve it. He is love; yet, he is equally just.