The depression felt like quicksand I’d never escape from. I kept sinking deeper and deeper
As told to Miriam Bloch by Gitty F.
was never, ever the type to take help. I was always the giver, a classic people-pleaser, the one organizing meals for others, checking in to make sure everyone had what they needed. The idea of someone else having to check in on me? Unthinkable.
And honestly, I had never needed it. I managed fine on my own, balancing my home and my four-year-old son without issue. Even when I found out I was expecting twins, I told myself I would figure it out. Yes, it would be a challenge. But I wasn’t the type to ask for help, and I wouldn’t start now.
My story starts four years ago with the twins, a boy and a girl, born via C-section at 34 weeks. Magically, my overwhelming emotion post-birth wasn’t the anxiety or stress I’d expected to feel; it was relief. Carrying them had been physically exhausting, and now, that was over. They were here, healthy and safe. I felt amazing.
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