Good Moms Have Scary Thoughts

I keep having ruminating thoughts of me hurting my child in various ways. This happens with simple thoughts but mostly images. I know now this is common but I’m definitely going to seek therapy.

I was never a person that battled with anxiety, but ever since the birth of my daughter my anxiety has become dibilitating. I think about sexually abusing my child even though I am constantly fighting with my thoughts because that’s not the person I amz I would never do anything to harm my child. I am so tired of having this intrusion in my mind that I feel like I could kill myself just so I never have to think again. I was raped as a teenager which was extremely traumatic but I thought I had moved past my pain and emotions, then after the birth of my daughter which was incredibly traumatic and painful the pain seems to have come rushing back. I’m too scared to talk to someone and get help because I’m scared people will judge me or take my child away, I can’t tell my husband because I don’t think he will understand. The thoughts are so heart breaking to the point where I don’t even want to deal with my daughter anymore, her crying and me feeling overwhelmed seems to be a trigger for these thoughts.

These are small snapshots of what postpartum anxiety, and postpartum OCD can look like. What things look like from the outside can be deceiving. This is for all the other moms who have struggled, and continue to struggle, on top of the daily challenges of caring for an infant. I am with you.
What it looks like from the outside: A leisurely morning stroll down the street in the sunshine with baby. What it looks like from the inside: Imagining every car that drives by jumping the curb and killing us both instantly. Every insect that flies near us might sting the baby, and put her into anaphylaxis. Checking, and rechecking the baby’s sunglasses to make sure the sun isn’t in her eyes, and then checking again, and then again 30 seconds later, because the sunglasses may have slipped the moment before, and the sun is probably burning holes in her retinas. Crossing the street to avoid other people, in case they accidentally cough or sneeze in our direction. Worrying that the distant fumes of car exhaust or cigarette smoke are exposing the baby to carcinogens, and then convinced that she is going to end up with cancer— imagining her in the pediatric cancer ward, pale and thin, sick from chemo treatments… Maybe we shouldn’t have gone for a walk. This wasn’t a good idea. I can’t protect my baby out here. Everything feels unsafe. What it looks like from the outside: A short drive from point A to point B. What it looks like on the inside:The constant fear that a random projectile will break through the window and kill the baby. Continuously checking and rechecking the rear view mirror when coming to a stop to make sure the driver behind you isn’t going to rear end you. The paralyzing fear of getting t-boned driving through a 4-way intersection, and avoiding intersections that expose the baby’s side of the car to possible collision. Constantly checking in the rear view mirror to make sure the baby still looks alive. Tensing up whenever a car passes going in the opposite direction, imagining that they will suddenly swerve into my lane. Constantly questioning whether the car is making an unusual sound, and imagining that we are going to break down, or that the engine is going to explode. I have to keep thinking about the car, because if I stop worrying about it, something will surely go wrong. What it looks like from the outside: Baby sleeping peacefully in her crib. What it looks like from the inside: What if the baby stops breathing in her sleep? What if she starts choking in the night while I am sleeping, and I don’t hear her? What if she accidentally rolls onto her side and suffocates silently, and I find her dead in the crib? What if she somehow pulls something over her face, and suffocates? What if she gets her arm caught in the bars of the crib, and her arm breaks? Does her face look pale? Does it look blue? I should feel her face to make sure she isn’t cold. I should feel her chest to make sure it’s still rising and falling. Am I imagining that her chest is moving? Maybe I should try to wake her up a little, just to make sure I’m not imagining that she’s still alive… I should check that she’s breathing one more time before I try to sleep.(2 minutes later.)I should get up and just check one more time, because if she stopped breathing in the last 2 minutes, there’s still time to try to resuscitate her without too much oxygen deprivation, and if I don’t check this one time, it might be the one time she actually stopped breathing. What it looks like from the outside: Baby’s first trip to the airport. What it looks like from the inside: Literally every surface is covered in germs. I can practically see the layer of germs everywhere. Big germs. Deadly germs. Germs that live on surfaces for days, in a place where tens of thousands of people come and go daily. I can almost see the contaminated air hanging like a fog around us. Every single person that we pass is probably carrying some kind of horrific, asymptomatic disease. And we are all breathing this same, recycled air. I can’t breath. Every person is a danger to my baby— swarms of people. There is not enough hand sanitizer in the world for this place. I become hyper aware of every cough and every sneeze, convinced that my baby has just inhaled an airborne pathogen that will surely result in her becoming deathly ill. I’m shaking. I imagine her hooked up to a respirator in the PICU, lines and ports everywhere, monitors beeping. I feel hot rage whenever I sense someone come too close. I slather hand sanitizer on bags, purses, handles, and cell phones, trying to maintain control, clinging to the hope that it will provide a semblance of protection from the diseases. I put it on the baby’s hands. I’m sweating. I obsess over what parts of the luggage might have touched the ground, or the seat, and make mental notes constantly not to touch those parts with our hands, or items that we will then touch with our hands. I coat the bottle of hand sanitizer with hand sanitizer. And then I do it again, just in case. I’m exhausted, and we haven’t even gone through security yet. I fear that I am not effectively protecting my baby. What it looks like from the outside: A picture of mom holding her baby, smiling. What it looks like from the inside: Chaos. Fear. Paralysis. Obsession. Isolation. Worry. Panic. Exhaustion. Anger. Sadness. Catastrophe. Pain. Failure.

I love my baby but resent her at the same time. I miss my old life and sometimes feel like my life was better before she was born. I feel so guilty and ashamed for feeling like this.
Breastfeeding has also caused me a huge amount of anxiety. I constantly worry that I’m not producing enough milk and that I’m starving her, but I feel too ashamed to give her formula. If I give her formula then my in-laws will want to feed her too and I’ll have to hand my baby over to them and our mother-daughter bond won’t be as strong if other people feed her.

I keep having ruminating thoughts of me hurting my child in various ways. This happens with simple thoughts but mostly images. I know now this is common but I’m definitely going to seek therapy.

I was afraid of leaving my baby alone with anyone, that someone would sexually abuse her. Sometimes even questioning my parents and husband. It was crazy- they would never but I was so scared.
I became hyper aware of germs, afraid of anyone touching her. blood draining from my body and heart palpitations anytime someone sneezed next to her or touched her hands or face. She had spent some days in the nicu for a rare bellybutton infection so I thought that might be why, but with my second child now it’s happening again. I hated it when people would hold my baby and then walk away from me to rock her. I only felt she was safe when she was in my arms. I was ALWAYS on edge. Everything was out to harm my baby, car exhaust while walking her outside, smokers outside when we were at a restaurant- every. Single. Thing. Could have hurt her. I didn’t ever want to leave the house

When my first daughter was born, I was afraid everyone but me would hurt her. I wouldn’t let anyone hold her for months. I had visions of them dropping her down the stairs. I had extreme post partum anxiety. We tried for a second, and I had a miscarriage. After that, I had a desperate need to find a gun because I wanted to shoot myself in the head. I don’t know where that came from – I’ve never been suicidal.

I started having intrusive thoughts about jumping off balconies after my first miscarriage. After two more miscarriages the thoughts about jumping became worse. Now I am an overjoyed new mum with a five month old baby. But my joy is now being interrupted by intrusive thoughts about us both jumping off the balcony, or worse, me dropping her off the edge while we’re on a balcony. It’s so scary because it’s taken us five years to have our first child, why in the world would my brain think about hurting her?

My third baby was not a planned pregnancy and we were shocked and not exactly thrilled. Third baby turned out to be very fussy, very needy and high strung. I had a wild two year old and a very emotional 6 year old. I also suffered with the worst post partum anxiety of my three babies. I actually said to my husband through tears one night, during a bout of colic “I kind of hate her.” The longer I experienced life with this baby the more I kept thinking “I know why mothers kill their babies and children. I know how it happens.” Before this I always thought “I just don’t know how a mother could kill her kids.” Having those thoughts was probably the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.

I was out for a run with both my little guys in the double jogging stroller. As I followed the path down a slight incline toward a pond my mind immediately jumped to the thought of me losing control of the stroller and it rolling right into the water. Working out was a major stress outlet for me yet here I was again being overwhelmed with thoughts of tragic ends for my babies.

I thought my parents would come and take my baby away from me. I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid she’d die. I was nervous every time I held or carried her because I was afraid I’d drop her. I felt like I as living in a nightmare.

I only recently gave birth to my son and now that we are home I’m afraid of already failing him as a mother. I worry about not being abke to give him the right care and that he will die especially of SIDS. It’s a terrible thought to wake up one morning to him dead in his crib. I only just got him and I’m already scared I will loose him.