You would think that as someone who has experienced depression before that I would know the signs, and yet, it crept up on me. Depression has been a part of my life on and off since I was 15 years old. Usually, I could point to a life situation that was the culprit of my sadness, seek therapy, and go from there. I’m typically so adverse to medication because therapy has been so successful for me in the past. This time things are different.

When you’re pregnant and chasing three kids under the age of five you tend to chalk up all your emotions and physical exhaustion to well, being pregnant and chasing three kids under the age of five. Thus, my depression this time around has been building for months undetected.

These past few months I’ve spent so much time listening to my internal monologue tell me that, “I can’t do this,” and ask things like, “How will I get through this day?” or “When will I catch a break?” On the surface, I looked how I always look… Like I have it all together. (I’m really good at doing this, so if you feel like you missed the signs, don’t worry I missed them too.)

I’ve had a lot of practice over the years making myself look like superwoman, and on the surface I’m sure I’ve done a decent job. Pretending to be superwoman is a tall order, especially when your kryptonite is yourself.

I’ve gone through the past few months feeling alone, distancing myself from my friends, sleeping, picking fights with my husband, crying, and sleeping some more. And yet, I still tried to blow past the negative self-talk I had each morning as I peeled myself out of bed (late again). Each time I pulled myself out of bed I wondered why it was so hard to get out of bed when I had gotten close to ten hours of sleep. Then I proceeded to yell at everyone to get dressed and out of the house on time. I was beyond stressed by the time I got them to daycare, and it was only 7:40 a.m.

Depression.

It’s not all been bad. There were happy days for sure. I had some amazing successes at work. My kids are learning new things every day. My husband and I are just months from paying off all our debts, except for the house. Wahoo! All these things are fantastic things that should make me so happy and yet, I’ve been so sad.

Depression has been stealing my joy and I tried to ignore it.

At every pregnancy appointment my doctor kept telling me to go home and rest. I would snicker at her. Who has the time to deal with self-care? I have three live humans that need food, baths, and bedtime stories.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks, seemingly out of nowhere. I was reading a bedtime story to my oldest (rather he was reading it to me) and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t imagine what was going on, and I brushed it off. (Superwoman shows no weakness after all). In the middle of the night I awoke with the same feeling, unable to catch my breath.

The next morning was more peeling myself out of bed, yelling at everyone as I rushed them out the door, and finally making my way to work, but something was wrong. After talking with my husband he reminded me, “Don’t be a hero.” You mean like the superwoman I’m trying to be? Would I really do that? Oh wait, yes I would. I made it until noon before I called my doctor and after describing my symptoms I went in.

My diagnosis was a panic attack with a side of depression.

But how? Why? And how did I not see the signs?

I’m doing a lot, I know this. But this is what I do. This is what I’ve ALWAYS done. I embody superwoman because what choice do I have? My body finally told me, enough was enough. It was burned out. It has taken until now to realize that depression is stealing my joy and has been for months.

I ignored the signs when I cried at work last month (something I never do). I brought that stress home with me and cried about it again. I accepted the fact that me yelling at everyone in the morning was just a part of our routine. And all those incredibly early bedtimes I chose to take? Just a part of being a working mom, am I right? Wrong, another sign of depression.

I should have known when my husband said to me, “I get the impression that you don’t like me and haven’t for some time now.” Queue the crying, not because he was mean, but because he was right. I was angry and sad all the time. Still, I couldn’t face it. I wanted to feel better, but I didn’t want to admit I needed help.

This time, I couldn’t point to a stressful life situation and say, “That’s the culprit.” This time, it was all the things… and maybe pregnancy hormones had a slight hand in it too, as my doctor pointed out. I left the doctor’s office that day with a prescription and dose of reality. I’m not superwoman, and I need to stop pretending to be.

The antidepressants have started to kick in and it’s like the fog is starting to lift. I’m not sleeping as much as I was. The negative self-talk has started to subside, and I haven’t screamed at my kids this week for being slow to get out the door. Who knows? I might even start liking my husband again!

I’m amazed at the change I feel. I realized that this might be a lifelong battle for me. I’m trying not to see it as my kryptonite, but as an asset. I want to use it to show my kids that they don’t have to be ashamed to ask for help and seek answers. Sadness is sometimes a part of life, but prolonged sadness doesn’t need to be. I went months, maybe even longer, thinking that this was my life. I tried to accept that I was always going to be tired and feel sad. The only thing I could do was put a smile on my face every day and keep going. I didn’t realize that depression was getting the best of me, but I’m now walking with eyes wide open into the healing process. I think that’s my true superpower.