It was August 09, 2018, at 8:00 PM. A very pregnant me received the call that I was to be induced into labor with my son. I had my hospital bag and my diaper bag by the door all ready to go. I had taken two or three classes on birthing, lactation, and baby care. I had carried awesomely with little to no morning sickness and was relatively physically fit. All in all, I knew I was going to rock this birthing experience and the motherhood that followed. I had planned for all the things, except postpartum depression and other things that weren’t under my control… most of the things that ensued in the next 24 hours.
Here is the short list:
- Baby Boy didn’t want to leave my womb. I would be in labor for the next 27 hours.
- I had to receive an epidural despite having natural birth plans.
- I passed out shortly after receiving said epidural.
- Baby boy’s heart rate started to become dangerously elevated.
- I had to receive a C-section.
- I wasn’t able to instantly bond with Baby Boy, which affected lactation.
Fast forward four days later, and I was not sleeping even when my newborn and husband were sound asleep. I was having thoughts of my son growing up without a mother and my husband without a wife. I would lie awake at night ruminating on all the things that went wrong that day and how those occurrences were directly related to my incompetence. Normally, a joyful and optimistic presence in my family, on my job, and even in my church, I just didn’t have it in me. I had no smile to give, not even a fake one. I sought friends and family for prayer. They prayed with and over me. My husband posted scriptures in every place that I would lay my eyes on; scriptures of deliverance from fear and an identity in Christ.
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind.”
“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”
Despite the overwhelming support from my family and friends, I rendered myself discouraged and disconnected. After telling my grandmother that “ the knives weren’t sharp enough!” My postpartum imbalance and the unaddressed anxiety finally came to a head when I was hospitalized for suicidal ideations.
While in the hospital, of all places, it became evident that God was trying to get my attention. Unable to receive visitors and without a cell phone, I found myself praying, listening, and drawing on every scripture that I could remember. I had to rely on my own relationship with Christ. More importantly, he caused me to surrender my expectations, my self-efficacy, and my thoughts to him. Being discharged from the hospital this time, I had a different sense of gratitude. Gratitude for my husband’s strength and obedience to God in fighting for his wife. Gratitude to my heavenly father who saw me on the other side of this trying situation. It was as if the evil and contrary thoughts were now denied access to my mind. In a few months to follow, I would regain my ability to sleep as much as to be expected being a new mom. I felt the tangible peace of God by releasing my cares onto him!
Do I still have moments of doubt and fear in the unknown territory of raising a young man? Absolutely! Yet, I can draw on this experience as a promise of the keeping power of a loving father and a lesson in a surrendering and kneeling heart.
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