In My Photography Project "Postpartum," Women Reveal The Dark Side Of Becoming A Mother (22 Pics)

The two hours that I spent daily inside the oxygen capsule helped me tremendously. I read a lot, I talked a lot to myself, I meditated, I made a plan of recovery and action.

I still have moments when I believe I’m not good enough when I get angry with myself when he cries and I don’t know what to do.

I work with myself each day. I’ve created mechanisms that help me calm down during hard times. I sing a lot. I dance. I clap my hands. I consciously touch myself. I wash myself with cold water. Every evening, I write what I did during the day. And I take a lot of photos. When he sleeps, I look at the pictures, I relive the moments, I reflect and meditate upon what I still have to work on. Then I breathe and live.

I’m starting to get back my sense of smell and notion of time.

Real-life is stranger than fiction because, unlike feature films, here, the unforeseeable strikes you. I hadn’t seen any scenario where I would play the role of a woman who, at 33-years-old, cuddles at her mother’s chest in fear. But that’s what I did! Postpartum depression is an ample, hormonal process that, in some cases, can lead to complete derailment. For me, it meant the beginning of a period of insomnia, anxieties, panic attacks and hallucinations! I wouldn’t dare to talk not even to the ones close to me that I was NOT ok, it seemed as if I was spoiled. Shame. That’s what I felt. I wasn’t myself anymore, and that graveled me terribly for a while. Those days, like two naughty ghosts, two thoughts would haunt me: either that I would go crazy, or that I would die… The worst was when, all of the sudden, I felt tingles from head to toe, as if the cells were preparing to escape from a body that was already recovering after the C-section. With outer help, later, I understood that the reactions were considered to be normal when the anxiety and the panic attacks “embrace” you. Within all the chaos, I adored my baby and not even for a second did I turn the storm I had inside towards him. What was his fault, a baby human with tiny hands, lifted towards me? But who was I and what was I learning those days? The best decision of my life was to get help from a psychologist. Two weeks after giving birth I began therapy. I can’t tell if it was early or late, but it was my release!