[409] The moment that never came

I’ve always loved writing but never felt good enough to pursue it as anything more than a private hobby. Recently I’ve really felt the need to start sharing my work and try to get feedback so I can put a number of works together in a book to try and spread awareness for postpartum depression. This is just a first draft that I want to pad out but any feedback on this would be greatly appreciated.

Critics: https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1keuuvx/comment/mqn6v6m/

You were placed in my arms, and I waited for the moment. The moment. The one everyone talks about with the rush of pure elation, the instant knowing of true love, the heart-bursting joy of holding your newborn baby girl. It was supposed to feel like lightning. Sudden, electric, overwhelming. But all I felt was thunder. Heavy, loud, and dark. There was no magical moment, just weight in my arms and a new identity I wasn’t ready to claim. The terrifying realisation hit me. I had to care for this stranger and make her feel loved, even when I felt nothing. She cried, and instead of pulling her close, something inside me recoiled. Her scream pierced my chest like an alarm. My skin burned. I wanted to run, to hide. But I couldn’t. Whether I was ready or not, you needed me. And I was trapped. Every time I looked at her, my body went cold and rigid. Panic attacks came like clockwork. I didn’t know if I would survive but I had to, for her. It was about more than just me. I fed her, changed her, rocked her. Not out of love, but out of duty. She was my responsibility, and I was determined to do my part. I had to at least try. They said I was doing great. That I was a natural.But they didn’t see the way I avoided her eyes, afraid they’d pull me deeper into the darkness.They didn’t see how my smile was forced every time someone told me she was “beautiful” and “perfect”. I didn’t see it. She was still a stranger. I kept waiting for the bond to form, for the cold to thaw.I begged for it.I wondered if I was broken and incapable of being the mother she deserved.Everyone else seemed to feel something. I felt nothing but exhaustion. Mentally and physically drained from keeping up appearances, from being present when I felt like I wasn’t even there. I resented her.She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she’d taken the person I used to be.In her place was someone I didn’t recognise. Fragile, tearful, gasping for air.Still, I kept trying. My hands shook. My chest felt like it might collapse.But I held her when she cried and whispered I love you, hoping one day it would be true. Even now, the bond hasn’t formed.But despite its absence, I keep trying.