Ten years ago, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression.
After giving birth to my daughter, I struggled to regain my energy and strength. Taking care of my growing daughter was overwhelming—I could barely manage diaper changes and breastfeeding.
My thoughts were so scattered that even following a recipe to cook would leave me confused and unable to continue. I couldn’t properly prepare baby food for my daughter as she grew.
Once a week, my husband would take me grocery shopping, but I couldn’t even estimate what we needed, so I relied heavily on breastfeeding.
At my daughter’s one-year checkup, I learned that this was affecting her development. I consulted the public health center about both her needs and my own struggles.
They referred me to a psychiatrist, where I was diagnosed with postpartum depression and started medication treatment.
While undergoing depression treatment, caring for my daughter alone during the day was too difficult, so she was placed in daycare. After seeing my husband and daughter off, I’d spend most of the day sleeping.
My husband was a devoted father and helped with childcare and housework, but it was hard for him to understand my condition, which was painful for me.
After I asked him to research depression online, he finally understood that I wasn’t in a state to handle parenting alone.
Still, he believed that staying in bed all the time would weaken my body and insisted on taking me out every Sunday. While he had a point, it felt like a burden to me.
One medication caused my periods to stop, so I was switched to another, but my depression symptoms didn’t improve, so we went back to the original one.
After about two years of treatment, I started feeling more mentally stable. Around that time, I came across a local newsletter advertising a singing club looking for new members.
I’d always loved singing, so I decided to join as a form of rehabilitation.
Singing, going out, and talking with other adults my age was a powerful change for someone who had been so withdrawn.
I’d often feel exhausted and end up bedridden after club meetings, but gradually, I could stay active for longer periods and even manage household tasks again.
Two years later, I was taking on leadership roles in the club and volunteering as a parent representative at my daughter’s daycare—things I couldn’t have imagined doing when my depression was at its worst. I had become remarkably active.
My tendency to take on too much sometimes worsened my depression again, but now, ten years later, my medication has been reduced, and I only need monthly checkups.
I’m amazed that I can now cook creatively with whatever’s in the fridge, and I’m deeply moved by my daughter’s growth as she eagerly helps out around the house.
※本記事は個人のうつ病体験談です。体験内容はあくまで個人の体験であり、医療アドバイスではありません。専門的なアドバイスを希望する場合は医師へ相談を。
※This article is a personal depression story. The content is solely based on personal experience and is not medical advice. Consult a doctor for professional advice.