The Morning I Drove Away: A Postpartum Confession

This is a true story.

My baby was about two months old, and I was drowning in exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that no amount of coffee could fix, the kind that settled deep into my bones and made every moment feel heavier than the last. I had read about postpartum depression and the rollercoaster of emotions that came with new motherhood, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

That morning, the hormones and the weight of it all got the best of me. My baby had been crying on and off throughout the night, and I felt like I was unraveling. My husband was asleep, unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I stormed out of the house, grabbed my car keys, and drove away.

It wasn’t that I hated my baby. I didn’t. I loved him with every fiber of my being. But in that moment, I felt trapped - trapped in this new, overwhelming role of motherhood that I didn’t fully understand yet. The crying, the sleepless nights, the constant demands, the loss of my old self, it all closed in on me. I needed air. I needed space. I needed to feel like a person again, not just a sleep-deprived machine designed to feed, change, and soothe a tiny human.

So I drove. The streets were eerily quiet in the early morning hours, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind. I had nowhere to go, but that wasn’t the point. I just needed to be away, if only for a few minutes.

And then, the guilt hit.

Hard.

What kind of mother just leaves? Even if it was just for a few minutes? Even if she was exhausted and overwhelmed? What if something happened while I was gone? What if my baby woke up and needed me? What if I had made a terrible mistake?

I turned the car around and drove back home, my heart pounding. I walked in quietly, and everything was just as I had left it. My baby was still asleep. My husband still snored softly in the other room. The world hadn’t fallen apart in my absence. But inside, I felt like I had failed.

Looking back, I know now that I hadn’t failed at all. I was just a mother in the thick of postpartum, trying to navigate an identity shift so massive that it felt like I had lost myself.

And that’s the thing about postpartum depression and anxiety - it tricks you into believing you’re alone in your feelings when, in reality, so many mothers have felt this exact same way. It whispers that you’re not good enough, that you’re a bad mom, that you should have everything under control. But the truth is, none of us do.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like driving away, even if it was just for a minute - please know you’re not alone. It doesn’t make you a bad mother. It makes you human.

And, more importantly, you will find yourself again. Even if it takes time. Even if the journey feels messy. Even if some mornings start with tears. You will find your way.

You are not alone. And you are enough.