Recently, singer Halle Bailey shared her struggle with postpartum depression after a public dispute with her child’s father, DDG. Seeing her vulnerability and the intense online reaction, I felt a deep connection. As a woman, particularly, a Black woman, who has also navigated the challenges of a breakup during the early stages of motherhood, I understand the weight of perceived scrutiny, especially when you’re already feeling fragile. Her experience highlighted the importance of empathy and support, even for those in the spotlight.
As a high-functioning professional woman, when I found out I was pregnant in the summer of 2019 I carefully prepared for motherhood. I sought advice from seasoned mothers and dived deep into the intricacies of postpartum depression because I heard so many stories from women on what they wished they knew and how to better prepare, if that is even possible. Honestly, there’s no rule or guidebook when it comes to “perfect parenting,” but I wanted to do everything right. I hired a doula to guide me through the birthing process, worked with an estate planning attorney to secure my son’s legacy, and even increased my health savings account. But the shadow of Black maternal mortality, especially during the pandemic, hung heavy over me.
I crafted a comprehensive playbook to navigate every worst-case scenario, ensuring my son’s future should the unthinkable happen. I was not merely prepared; I was unrelenting. Or so I thought. The unfortunate aspect of entering the blessing of my pregnancy is that while I was moving along in my journey, I was also experiencing the biggest heartbreak I had ever encountered in dealing with the ultimate betrayal of infidelity in my marriage that rocked me to my core. I knew once our baby arrived, things would shift and need adjustments; however, it was deeper than that. I needed to come to terms with the end of my five-year marriage while preparing for one of the most beautiful joys in my life that I looked forward to more than anything: motherhood. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, around 22% of first marriages end within the first five years, and now, I was a part of this club I never imagined or wanted to be included in.
The isolation of COVID-19 robbed me of the support I craved during childbirth. My mother and doula were unable to be by my side, and the strained relationship with my ex-husband offered more discomfort rather than any peace. The anxiety and fear I felt were overwhelming. I felt so alone, scared, and distraught. Despite a long labor and initial progress, a surge of emotions and disappointment led to an emergency C-section due to fetal distress. However, the moment I held my son and saw his face, a sense of happiness washed over me and was a huge contrast to the chaos I had endured. To this day, I wish I could have held on to that beautiful moment much longer because of what I faced as soon as I left that hospital. No preparation in the world could have eased what came over me because the joy of his arrival was very short-lived.
While I was moving along in my pregnancy journey, I was also experiencing the biggest heartbreak I had ever encountered in dealing with the ultimate betrayal of infidelity in my marriage.
As I navigated the challenges of single motherhood amidst a pandemic, a deep, dark cloud took hold that I just couldn’t shake. My therapist suggested that some of the symptoms I was experiencing were signs of postpartum depression. She pointed out my depressed mood, feelings of worthlessness, impaired concentration, and controlling thoughts. She noticed I was masking my pain and frustration with my milk supply, which encouraged her to dig deeper into what she suspected was the underlying issue. I was officially diagnosed in August 2020.
It was scary, lonely and overwhelming. The mood swings, nonstop bawling, uneasiness, and self-doubt were now a part of my daily life. According to the National Library of Medicine, “in the United States, 29–44% of Black women experience postpartum depressive symptoms (PDS), yet few are properly identified and/or connected to mental care services.”
The weight of responsibility and the absence of the support system I had envisioned was gut-wrenching. Every day was a battle against obsessive thoughts, crippling anxiety, and immense sadness. I longed for a world of isolation shared only with my child, a desperate escape from the pain and uncertainty. I was torn between the desire to be the best mother and the reality of my own struggles. The fear of failing my son fueled my every action and consumed me. I was still living in my marital home at the time, still searching for a new place for my son and I, while navigating the challenges of motherhood in a world upended by COVID-19. The pandemic limited the support I could rely on, and my doula was initially my only lifeline. The constant worry about my milk supply and the pressure to be the perfect mother was overwhelming. I often retreated into a solitary world, seeking solace in the bond with my child, staying inside my mommy bubble.
The contrast between the idealized image of motherhood and the harsh reality of postpartum depression was sharp. The Cleveland Clinic defines postpartum depression as “a type of depression that happens after having a baby. It affects up to 15% of people. People with postpartum depression experience emotional highs and lows, frequent crying, fatigue, guilt, anxiety, and may have trouble caring for their baby.” I was determined to be strong for my son but also desperate for someone to be strong for me. I had to prove to these imaginary naysayers that I was a strong mother, and I got this. The trauma of those early days, particularly the lack of support and the emotional turmoil, has left an enduring mark as if it were my favorite rhythmic song etched in my mind.
Trying to co-parent while battling postpartum depression was another tired, relentless struggle. The pressure to be fair and rational felt impossible even as my emotions spiraled. It was as if the world expected me to compartmentalize my pain of the countless betrayals from my soon-to-be ex-husband and to separate my personal turmoil from my role as a mother. I was forced to navigate difficult conversations with someone I no longer trusted whose cheating and wrongdoings during our marriage made me extremely skeptical in more ways than one. While he was my son’s father, it was hard to shake the fear that his past actions could somehow harm our child. Some of my concerns, though irrational, were rooted in deep-seated anxieties. However, I can say today that some of my concerns were valid.
Lost in the fog of postpartum depression, I didn’t recognize the severity of my condition. When my therapist suggested medication, I dismissed the idea, fearing it would affect my breastfeeding. Instead, I turned to EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapy, a powerful tool for healing trauma. Initially, I was skeptical, but it worked wonders! Those around me didn’t understand how to support me, and I didn’t know how to articulate exactly what I needed, but my therapist got me together.
My therapist was my lifeline, my confidante, my savior. She guided me through the darkest days of my postpartum depression and helped me uncover hidden wounds that needed special attention.
A turning point came when I moved into my new home. With my son napping and my mom nearby, I stepped outside and let out an unhinged scream. It was as if I was releasing years of pent-up emotion. I felt emotionally safe, no longer guarded, and that soul-shattering scream allowed me to release a fragment of the weight I was carrying. The cathartic moment and the serene new environment also seemed to soothe my son. His fussiness and colic subsided, and I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t experienced in months or even years.
During that time, I was able to identify with women like actress Danielle Brooks, who previously opened up about how therapy helped her navigate symptoms of postpartum depression following the birth of her daughter in 2019. The same year, I was also pregnant. My therapist was my lifeline, my confidante, my savior. She guided me through the darkest days of my postpartum depression, helped me uncover hidden wounds that needed special attention, and ignited a spark of hope within me that had begun to fizzle. When she suddenly passed away in January 2021, it felt as though my entire world came crashing down yet again.
My son was only 6 months old at the time. The void she left was immense. But her teachings, her wisdom, and the strength she instilled in me became my guiding light. She had been my therapist for five years, and she helped me uncover so many parts of my healing that needed extra attention. I learned to navigate the tumultuous waters of co-parenting one day at a time. Once I truly opened up, the love and support of my incredible network of women—my mother, friends, sorority sisters, and fellow mamas—was a lifeline. They held me down, they listened, and they loved me unconditionally. The strength my circle of Black women instilled in me built the courage to share and speak of my story out loud with pride and conviction and without shame.
Postpartum depression was a silent storm that raged for 18 months. I emerged from its grip, a changed woman. The journey was difficult, but the strength I gained was immeasurable. To any mama battling postpartum depression or currently experiencing this while co-parenting, breathe and allow yourself to feel every piece of emotion: the pain, emotional anguish, resentment, anger, and sadness, while knowing that all the above need a place to land. Once the place has found its home, use every single tool and resource to open the door for joy, hope, and the bright future ahead because there is another side to this thing that will get better.
My co-parenting journey may not be perfect and has yet to fix itself into the hopeful cohesion of teamwork one would expect after four years, but it has forged me into a stronger, more compassionate person. Motherhood has a way of reshaping us, breaking and rebuilding us in ways we never anticipated. So, the next time a celebrity or public figure like Halle Bailey has a brief outcry on social media, let’s not be so quick to pass judgment. Life is challenging. Some days are better than others. Being a first-time mother is hard, especially when it involves breaking up with the person you chose to build a family and future with. My journey through postpartum depression, infidelity, and the isolating shadows of the pandemic taught me how to navigate the cracks of a broken road and press forward with the inner knowing that I’ll be alright.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Why I Became A Sorority Mom After My Divorce
What Lockdown Taught Me About Motherhood
