Dear Struggling Mama-To-Be,

I always thought pregnancy was going to be a beautiful experience.

I had heard of emotional roller coasters, swollen ankles and morning sickness but I didn’t think much of them - just little speed bumps on an otherwise smooth road to a glowy, happy, mother-to-be bliss. In fact, I remember being excited the first time I got nauseous... it made everything feel more official and real.

The day after we found out I was pregnant, my husband left for deployment. I went about with my daily life, working and looking forward to the months ahead. Deployments are always tough, and this one was no exception. I missed my husband and was lonely and bummed, so I packed a bag, loaded up my 3 dogs and headed to NC for a long weekend with family. Little did I know that the long weekend I had planned would turn into the longest few months of my life.

This is a hard story for me to tell, which is why it’s taken me over a year to try to find the right words. People talk about postpartum depression and it’s severity, but no one talks about the things you can experience WHILE pregnant. I’ve been almost ashamed to admit it, but most of my first trimester I felt like I wanted to die. I wanted to just disappear... anything to have the relief of not existing anymore. I knew I had life inside of me that was my duty to protect, but that didn’t make things any easier... I felt alone.

My first mistake was getting off of my antidepressant. I was advised by a medical professional to do this (side note this was NOT my OB... I loved her!) because apparently the one I was on wasn’t the safest during pregnancy. I wasn’t switched to something else (another FYI, Mamas... there ARE safe antidepressants that you can take during pregnancy) and I was told to wean off completely.

So, I started by taking them every other day before attempting to stop all the way.

Around the same time I started having dizziness spells, accompanied with a strong tingling sensation in my face. The room would start to spin, and I couldn’t stand up straight. I brushed it off, thinking it was a weird pregnancy symptom and something that would pass with time. It didn’t take long before I started having spells of panic, depression, and hysteria. It could hit any time, but it was mostly at night.

Now don’t get me wrong, I was THRILLED when we found out we were going to be parents. We were shocked and nervous, but deep down I felt like I was always meant to be a mother, and everything would be perfect. Yet, in these dark moments of terrified panic, I wanted to be anywhere but trapped inside of my own body. I wanted to detach from myself, which left me confused and terrified. I remember sitting in my childhood bed, wailing and shaking while my poor mother (thanks, Mom) held me and promised that everything would be ok.

It didn’t take long for the nausea to kick in.

Think about every pregnant women that you’ve ever seen on TV. She usually is going about her day at the office or out with friends when suddenly she gasps, covers her mouth with an “excuse me!” as she rushes off to the bathroom for a quick little vom sesh before giggling it off and going about her day in her cute little maternity getup.

Yeah, for me, this wasn’t the case.

I never understood why it was called “morning sickness.” For me it was 24/7 hell. To breathe was to be nauseous. I woke up in the morning just wishing that I could skip to the night again so that I could sleep and not feel. I spit out my own saliva because swallowing it made me throw up. My diet consisted of ice chips, chicken broth, popsicles, carrots, rice cakes and the occasional apple slice. I spent all day laying on a beanbag on the floor of my parents living room staring at the ceiling, too sick to even look at my phone. I could read books, which was a good distraction. My poor little lap dogs were depressed and confused because I couldn’t hold them or even pet them any more. Just their smell, the same smell I had known and loved for over 5+ years, made me go running to the toilet. Dog food was the worst. I couldn’t feed them, much less feed myself.

My parents grew increasingly worried as they watched me waste away when I was supposed to be getting plump and rosey.

My best friend was the toilet bowl. I spent hours counting the ripples of the toilet water. Sleep didn’t come easily either - I was too sick. I remember laying in bed thinking of raindrops pattering on frozen snow... strange, but it was the only thing that could ease the queeziness enough to help me drift off.

I remember one day my dad walked over to my usual spot on the floor, concern written on his face.

“You have to get up, you need to go for a walk,” he said. I told him that I couldn’t walk out the door without getting sick.

He continued to tell me that if I didn’t try to walk more, my muscles were going to get so weak that I wouldn’t be able to even stand.

I got migraines, muscle cramps and stomachaches.

I didn’t see or talk to anyone, because I was too weak.

I couldn’t join my family for meals because I couldn’t handle the smells.

I felt alone.

Christmas passed, and then New Years.

I couldn’t drive, so I couldn’t go back to my home in GA.

I had to quit my job, which I loved.

Even taking a shower was a huge task that required too much energy.

My face and eyes were bruised from the pressure of throwing up.

I couldn’t even take care of myself.

My mom drove me back and forth from Georgia for my OB appointments, while I sat in the passenger seat with my head over a bag. Nothing that was prescribed helped. My least favorite part of the day was when it was time to force my meds and prenatals down. I was miserable. Zac felt hopeless because he was across the world and couldn’t be with me.

It wasn’t until later that I learned about Hyperemesis Gravidarum, a condition that is rare yet common enough to have a name. The term was never even suggested to me, and I can’t help but think that if I had known that other people went through the same thing I was going through and survived, it would have eased some of the pain. It was all connected, the hyperemises, the depression, the weakness and even the loss of the will to live.

I lost THIRTY pounds in just a few weeks.

Here’s the thing- I got through it. I survived. After I was well into the second trimester, things started to normalize... which I realize isn’t the case for a lot of women who go through something like this. I even consider myself lucky because I had a Mom taking care of me constantly and a Dad who’s a doctor and helped keep me out of the hospital.

I’m sharing this all with you not because I want a pity party or a pat on the back, but because I’m hoping to raise awareness for pregnancy depression and hyperemises. I’m hoping that if someone out there feels like they’re barely surviving then maybe they’ll see this letter and learn that they aren’t alone, and that there IS a light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s like wearing a pair of sunglasses 24/7. Everything’s dark, black and grey. Eventually, your eyes aren’t even accustomed to normal sunlight anymore.

But here’s my promise to you...when you feel your baby snuggled against your chest, see their smile or hear their precious giggles for the first time...everything will start make make sense.

You’ll discover that you’re stronger than you ever thought possible, and you’ll start to see in color again.

Better days are coming, you’ve just got to hold on a little longer.

You’ve got this, Mama.