"I Thought I'd Be Happy": Mental Health During Pregnancy and After Birth

When I found out I was pregnant, I was so happy. This was something I wanted. Finding out I was having a boy made everything feel even more real, and I loved planning for his arrival. When he was finally here—healthy and perfect—I was happy...but I wasn't ecstatic.

I wasn't overwhelmed with this immediate, magical feeling that everyone talks about. I loved him. I knew I would protect him with everything I had. I held him constantly, rarely let him cry, and did everything I could to care for him.

But if I'm being honest? I didn't feel instantly, deeply attached. That wasn't what I expected, and it certainly wasn't what movies, television, books, or even other moms had led me to believe motherhood would feel like.

Then something changed.

As he began smiling, interacting with me, developing his little personality, and eventually talking, I completely fell in love. Looking back, I realize that my attachment simply grew over time rather than happening all at once. Did I harm my baby because I wasn't instantly "obsessed" with him? Not at all. Do we have a wonderful, close relationship now? Absolutely. It just didn't happen the way I expected, and at first, that made me wonder if something was wrong with me.

Thankfully, by the time my second son was born, I knew myself better. I knew I would bond with him—it just might not happen immediately. And that's okay. Pregnancy and childbirth are hard. Really hard. Even with a healthy pregnancy, your body changes in ways you've never experienced before. Hormones fluctuate, sleep disappears, your identity begins shifting, and suddenly everyone has opinions about how you should feel.

For me, anxiety skyrocketed. The intrusive thoughts were relentless. Every worst-case scenario seemed possible. Because I'm a psychologist, I recognized these thoughts for what they were. Thoughts are just thoughts. They weren't causing me to act in harmful ways, and I knew that if they became too overwhelming, I could reach out to my own therapist.

What surprised me wasn't the anxiety.

It was how people responded when I tried to talk about it.

"Oh, you're just a first-time mom."

"He's such an easy baby."

"You'll be fine. Just relax."

Most people meant well. But reassurance isn't always what someone needs. Sometimes they need someone who will simply listen without minimizing what they're experiencing. Although I didn't experience depression during pregnancy or postpartum depression myself, many women do.

Depression can begin during pregnancy. It can begin after delivery. Some women experience overwhelming anxiety, panic, obsessive thoughts, or feelings of disconnection instead of sadness. Others feel guilty because they aren't experiencing the joy everyone told them they would. None of these experiences make someone a bad mother. And none of them mean they should suffer in silence.

If your experience of pregnancy or new motherhood doesn't match what you imagined, that doesn't mean you've failed. It doesn't mean you love your baby any less. And it certainly doesn't mean you have to "just get over it." Support matters. Sometimes that's a partner. Sometimes it's family. Sometimes it's another mom who's been there. And sometimes it's a therapist.

Talking through what you're experiencing doesn't make you weak—it gives you a place where you don't have to pretend everything is okay. Motherhood isn't one-size-fits-all.

Your story doesn't have to look like anyone else's to be a beautiful one.

Finding the Right Therapist Can Change Everything

I was at an event yesterday promoting mental health, and one thing I heard over and over was:

"I love my therapist."

Or...

"When you find the right therapist, it's amazing."

I couldn't agree more. Years ago, I had a therapist I absolutely loved. She helped me through some difficult times, and I genuinely looked forward to seeing her. Then I moved. Unfortunately, she wasn't licensed in the state I was moving to, so I had to stop seeing her. I was devastated—not because I thought I'd never find another therapist, but because I had found someone who truly understood me. We had built trust, and that relationship mattered.

That's why I believe finding the right therapist is so important.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard someone say, "I had a really bad experience with a therapist once, so I stopped going." That always makes me sad. Not because I think every therapist is the right therapist for every person, but because someone recognized they needed help and then gave up after one painful experience. Sometimes it's even after two or three. Does that automatically mean those therapists were "bad"? Not necessarily. Sometimes it simply wasn't the right fit.

Therapists have different personalities, communication styles, approaches, and areas of expertise. Just like we don't connect equally well with every teacher, doctor, or friend we meet, we won't connect equally well with every therapist. And that's okay.

One thing I especially love is working with people who have never been to therapy before. I know I have the opportunity to provide a safe, healthy space where they can begin sharing their story. We may discover that another therapist would ultimately be a better fit, and that's okay too. What's important to me is that their first experience doesn't make them afraid to seek help again.

Relationships matter. In fact, I believe the relationship between therapist and client is one of the most important parts of therapy. Research consistently shows that the quality of the therapeutic relationship is one of the strongest predictors of positive outcomes. If you don't feel comfortable, understood, or safe, it's much harder to open up about the things that brought you there in the first place.

The connection doesn't have to be perfect, but it does need to feel genuine. So, if you've had a bad experience in therapy, please don't assume therapy isn't for you. Sometimes finding the right therapist is a lot like finding the right pair of shoes. The first pair you try on might not fit. That doesn't mean shoes aren't for you, it just means you haven't found the right pair yet.

Keep looking.

Everyone deserves a place where they feel heard, understood, and accepted. When you find the right therapist, therapy can become one of the most meaningful investments you make in yourself.

Don't settle for believing therapy doesn't work. Sometimes, you just haven't met the right therapist yet.

The Psychology of Excuses: What They're Really Trying to Tell You

A Psychologist’s Perspective:

When I worked in a forensic program helping individuals become clean and sober, I found myself repeating one phrase over and over again:

"That's an excuse."

It usually caught people off guard. Sometimes it even upset them.

"Why would you say that?" they'd ask. Because I wasn't criticizing the excuse—I wanted to understand it.

Over time, I've realized I use that same phrase with many of my clients today. Not because I'm trying to be harsh, but because excuses often tell us something important about ourselves. I only use it after we've explored the issue together and nothing seems to change. At that point, the excuse itself becomes worth examining. Somewhere along the way, we've decided that calling something an "excuse" is automatically negative. We think excuses mean we're lazy, irresponsible, or unwilling to take accountability. But the truth is, we all make excuses. Every single day.

We make excuses for why we didn't exercise. Why we forgot to call someone. Why we procrastinated on an important project. Why we stayed in a relationship longer than we should have. We use explanations to make sense of our behavior, and there's nothing inherently wrong with that. The important question isn't whether you have an excuse. It's whether you're willing to examine it.

Imagine you haven't texted a close friend in several weeks. What does that mean? Maybe work has been overwhelming. Maybe you've simply been distracted. Maybe the friendship isn't as much of a priority as it once was. Those are all explanations. They may even all be true. The problem isn't the excuse. The problem is that sometimes we work so hard to avoid what the excuse might be telling us that we never stop to ask ourselves whether it's accurate.

If the friendship isn't a priority anymore, does that make you a bad person? No.

If you're too exhausted to exercise after working, raising children, and caring for everyone else, does that mean you're lazy? No.

It may simply mean your priorities, energy, and circumstances don't currently align with the person you want to be. That's uncomfortable. And because it's uncomfortable, we often stay stuck trying to prove our excuse isn't true instead of accepting what it may be revealing. Acceptance is one of the hardest parts of change. We often think acceptance means approval or giving up. It doesn't.

Acceptance simply means acknowledging reality without arguing with it. Once you accept reality, you finally have something concrete to work with. You can decide whether you want to change your priorities, your habits, your relationships, or your expectations. This is also where boundaries come into play. Many of us make excuses for other people's behavior just as often as we make excuses for our own.

"They're just stressed."

"They had a difficult childhood."

"That's just how they are."

"They didn't mean it."

Those explanations may all be true.

Understanding why someone behaves a certain way is compassionate. But understanding someone's behavior doesn't require you to continue accepting behavior that hurts you. Empathy and boundaries can exist at the same time. You can understand someone's pain without making it your responsibility to carry it. The goal isn't to eliminate excuses. The goal is to become curious about them. Instead of immediately defending them, ask yourself:

"What is this excuse trying to tell me?"

You may discover that your excuse isn't something to be ashamed of. It may simply be pointing you toward a truth you've been avoiding. And once you're willing to accept that truth, you finally have the freedom to decide what happens next. Because acceptance isn't the end of change.

It's where change begins.

What excuse have you been holding onto lately? If you looked at it with curiosity instead of judgment, what might it be trying to tell you?

Do You Minimize Yourself So Other People Feel Comfortable?

A Psychologist’s Perspective

During my own therapy recently, I had a realization that caught me off guard. I often minimize my successes. I soften my opinions. I downplay things I'm proud of. Not because I'm insecure, but because somewhere along the way, I learned that if I appeared "too much," people might think I was arrogant, full of myself, or trying to outshine them.

As I sat with this realization, I started wondering how many other women quietly do the exact same thing. How many of us apologize before sharing good news? Downplay compliments? Pretend something "wasn't a big deal" after working incredibly hard for it? Stay quiet in meetings even when we have something valuable to contribute?

Maybe your version isn't minimizing your accomplishments. Maybe it's saying, "It was nothing," when someone compliments you. Maybe it's laughing off something you're proud of, apologizing before sharing good news, or holding back an opinion because you don't want anyone to think you're "too much." These habits often become so automatic that we don't even notice we're doing them.

I know exactly what I've accomplished. The hard part isn't believing it—it's allowing myself to acknowledge it out loud without worrying how it will be received by others.

Why? Why do I do this? Where did I pick this up? Was I programmed to be seen and not heard? Was I praised for being "perfect" and quietly criticized when I wasn't? Why do I feel uncomfortable simply being me... all of me?

I don't mind if people know my faults. In fact, I'm usually pretty open about them. It's much harder for me to accept my accomplishments or confidently share my opinions without wondering how they'll be perceived.

None of us wake up one day deciding to make ourselves smaller. We learn it. Sometimes it's from the things people say. Sometimes it's from the things they never say at all. One comment, one comparison, one look, one moment of embarrassment. Sometimes that's all it takes for a child to quietly decide, "I'm never going to do that again."

As children, we're constantly learning who we are and who we should be. Those lessons don't just come from our families. They come from teachers, friends, coaches, strangers, and society. We absorb messages long before we're old enough to question whether they're even true.

Over time, many of us begin carrying invisible expectations. We feel guilty when we don't meet someone else's expectations. We feel uncomfortable acknowledging our own success when people we care about are struggling. We hesitate to speak confidently because we don't want to appear "too much." We become experts at making ourselves just a little bit smaller so everyone else feels comfortable.

The difficult part is that, logically, we often know none of this is necessary. Emotionally, though, it's a very different story.

So how does it stop?

Can you change years of thinking this way overnight? Probably not. It's hard. I still struggle with it.

I have a difficult time telling people how I really feel unless they're very close to me. Even then, if someone hurts or upsets me, there's a good chance I won't say much because I don't want conflict. Why? I'm still figuring that out in my own therapy.

Maybe that's part of the point.

Growth doesn't happen because we suddenly become fearless. It happens because we're willing to become a little more honest with ourselves.

You start small. You express an opinion. You accept a compliment without immediately dismissing it. You allow yourself to celebrate something you've worked incredibly hard for. You remind yourself that confidence isn't arrogance, taking up space isn't selfish, and sharing your accomplishments isn't bragging.

Your therapy session is one of the few places where you get to bring all of yourself into the room. Not just the agreeable version. Not just the humble version. Not just the version that keeps everyone else comfortable.

All of you.

Maybe that's where healing begins—not by becoming someone different, but by finally giving yourself permission to stop becoming smaller.

When You're the First Generation, Sometimes It Feels Like You're Living Two Different Lives

A psychologist’s perspective

Growing up, I often heard that my clothing would be considered "shameful" if it showed a little too much skin, or that my behavior was always being watched and that I needed to be perfect.

Many of my cousins—and others who grew up in our culture—heard the same things. Today, we laugh about it. We joke about the things our parents said and the rules we grew up with. It's funny how many of us swap these stories at family gatherings, laughing about the strict expectations we grew up with.

But underneath the humor is the recognition that those messages shaped who we became and how we moved through the world in ways we didn't fully understand until much later. Sometimes those lessons served us well. Sometimes they left us carrying guilt, anxiety, or impossible expectations.

Was it just my culture?

No.

It's often what happens when two cultures collide. You grow up trying to honor one set of values at home while learning to navigate a very different set of expectations outside of it. Some people find a way to blend those worlds together. Others spend years trying to figure out where they truly belong. Neither path is easy.

For many first-, second-, and even third-generation individuals, there can be an ongoing struggle to understand where they fit. You want to remain loyal to your family. You want to make them proud. You want to honor the sacrifices they made. At the same time, you may find yourself questioning whether some of those expectations still fit the life you're living today.

Sometimes those conversations never happen because your family simply doesn't understand your perspective. Other times, the thought of questioning those expectations feels unimaginable. That tension can be exhausting. You may love your family deeply while also feeling like you're carrying responsibilities that others around you don't fully understand.

Both things can be true.

One of the greatest gifts of therapy is having a space where you don't have to choose between your culture and yourself. You don't have to defend your family. You don't have to criticize them, either. You simply have a place to explore who you are, what matters to you, and how to build a life that feels authentic while still honoring the people you love.

No judgment.

No shame.

Just two people working together to help you create a life that feels meaningful, satisfying, and peaceful. Sometimes healing isn't about choosing between two cultures. It's about discovering that there's room for both your heritage and your own voice.

Ready to Find Your Own Voice?

Navigating two cultures can be both beautiful and incredibly challenging.

You don't have to choose between honoring your family and honoring yourself.

Therapy can provide a space to explore your identity, work through guilt, set healthy boundaries, and build a life that feels authentic to you.

If you're ready to begin that journey, I'd be honored to walk alongside you.

Why Setting Boundaries Can Feel So Guilty

A psychologist’s perspective

"Wait...you don't tell your parents everything?"

"Your parents call before they come over?"

"You don't tell your aunts and uncles everything?"

For some people, those questions sound ridiculous.

For others, they sound completely normal.

Why Boundaries Feel So Hard

If this resonates with you, you may have grown up in a family where boundaries were never modeled—or where setting them felt selfish, disrespectful, or even disloyal.

Sometimes this develops because of cultural expectations. Other times, it's simply the way a particular family functions. Whatever the reason, growing up in an enmeshed family can make healthy boundaries feel uncomfortable, even when you know they're necessary.

Many adults I work with feel caught between two competing beliefs:

• "I love my family."

• "I can't keep living this way."

The truth is that those two things can exist at the same time.

Loving your family doesn't mean you have to sacrifice your own emotional well-being.

Respect and boundaries are not opposites.

What Healthy Boundaries Can Look Like

Healthy boundaries might look like:

• Asking your parents to call before coming over.

• Choosing not to have family members move into your home if it would negatively affect your marriage or family.

• Saying no to financially supporting relatives when doing so would jeopardize your own stability.

• Teaching your children that they have autonomy over their own bodies—even if that means they choose not to hug or kiss relatives.

The Hardest Part About Boundaries

Will everyone like your boundaries?

Probably not.

In fact, one of the hardest truths about boundaries is this:

The people who have benefited the most from you not having boundaries are often the people who struggle with them the most.

That doesn't mean your boundaries are wrong.

It simply means the relationship is changing.

At first, setting boundaries can leave you feeling guilty, anxious, or even like an outsider in your own family.

Those feelings don't necessarily mean you're doing something wrong.

Often, they mean you're doing something different.

Over time, healthy boundaries create healthier relationships—with your family, your partner, your children, and yourself.

Because protecting your mental health isn't selfish.

Sometimes, it's exactly what allows you to show up as the healthiest version of yourself.

Ready to Prioritize Your Mental Health?

Setting boundaries is rarely about learning to say "no."

It's about learning that your needs matter too.

If you're ready to explore healthier relationships, reduce guilt, and create a life that feels more authentic, I'd love to help.