I thought a lot about how I could truly share my story of becoming a NICU mommy. How do I put into words the pain, confusion, and depression I experienced after giving birth? The random waves of sadness and anxiety that washed over me for 88 days while I watched my baby in the Intensive Care Nursery. Visiting her every day, speaking life and happiness into her, while I drowned inside. Trying to stay strong when I felt the most weak and helpless but I wasn’t hopeless. I had courage, and I had her.

I thought a lot about how I am a storyteller; how I share my experiences not only to guide and relate to others, but also for my own healing. I write so I don’t overthink, so I don’t sit in it, so I’m not consumed by it. But this experience, the first 88 days of motherhood; broke me. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t even overthink.

At first, I felt like I was on autopilot, like I was going to wake up and still be pregnant. Like I didn’t have to go into the hospital, make rushed and difficult decisions, and take in so much information I could barely retain. All I knew was that I wanted baby to be safe and unharmed, in my arms, with me, with us. I was willing to go through anything; tests, being pricked and prodded, constantly monitored. All for her. All to have baby. And that’s what I did…

Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll ever give a detailed story about why I went into the hospital or what happened in those first 24 hours before I gave birth. I don’t mind being asked what happened verbally, but writing it is different. I can’t do it without breaking down.

But I will share something’s I journalled while my baby was in the NICU. A lot of it is random, incomplete thoughts I wrote during those days:

• Having a baby but not being able to have my baby, to take her home, hurts really deeply.

 • I know I’m going to need help for how depressed I am. But I don’t need someone validating my feelings.I know they’re valid. I don’t want to be told to rest and eat either. How am I supposed to rest, cook, clean, pump every three hours so I don’t get swollen and in pain, and still go see my baby in the midst of that?

 • I should be resting, but instead I’m doing.

 • The way you looked at our daughter during your first time doing skin-to-skin with her reminds me of how you look at me,with so much love and admiration.

 • Feeling my breasts swell with milk every time I hold you reminds me just how connected we are, how you are a piece of me.

 • I just noticed I’m more emotional postpartum than when I was pregnant. Everything makes me sob.

 • Being a mom now means I can’t just shut down, even though I really want to. It also means I can’t drink to feel numb. I am faced with my feelings and left to navigate them.

 • I am drained. Pumping, spending time with my baby girl, and just everyday life is exhausting me. I am sad, my head hurts, I feel ugly.

 • Feeling like your baby is so close to coming home, then having that feeling snatched away soon after, is devastating. Getting your hopes up, then boom,she has an infection, her white blood count is low. They suspect one thing, then it turns out to be something else. I thank God she is in good care, with nurses and doctors working in her favor. She’s doing great but this uphill battle, with all its twists and turns, is painful and emotional. Seeing your child lethargic, with IVs in her… one minute eating, the next minute feeds are stopped.

 • This roller coaster.

I am still processing this experience. But processing looks different these days because I am a mother now. I don’t always have the space to sit, ponder, overthink, and analyze every piece of what happened. I am learning to move forward, actively heal, and allow myself to experience happiness again.

Right now, I’m choosing to sit in gratitude and in the truth that I made it through.

If you’ve ever had to show up while quietly falling apart inside, I see you boo.

And I want to leave you with this:

What part of your story are you still learning how to carry because it feels too heavy to say out loud?

If you feel safe, share it. Or simply sit with it. Journal about it. Either way, know that you’re not alone in it.