My First Blog

  • From My Mom’s Belly to My Brain: The Emotional Inheritance No One Talks About

    “But a woman’s mental health is an integral part of her fetus’ environment,” explains Catherine Monk, a medical psychologist at Columbia University. “And a burgeoning body of evidence shows that a pregnant woman’s psychological health can influence that of her child’s.”
    Knowable Magazine

    If you haven’t read that article yet, I highly recommend it — it’s fascinating, validating, and might just explain a few things you’ve always wondered about yourself (as it did for me).

    For years, I’ve asked myself why I am the way I am. Why I overthink. Why intrusive thoughts feel like an unwanted playlist on loop. Why I feel mentally exhausted just thinking about folding laundry. The short answer? Part genetics. Part brain chemistry. Part… womb experience?

    My mom was born in Guatemala and migrated to Boston, Massachusetts in 1985, then moved to Philadelphia where she’s lived ever since. My dad is Puerto Rican, born and raised right here in Philly. When my mom got pregnant with me — her first child — it was during a really stressful period in her life.

    While I want to respect her privacy and not get into the specifics, I think it’s important to say that emotional stress during pregnancy isn’t just a “feeling” — it can have a physiological effect on the developing fetus. And when I look at my own struggles with anxiety, ADHD, and OCD, I can’t help but wonder how much of that began before I was even born.

    Turns out, there’s a real connection between a mother’s emotional state during pregnancy and how a child’s brain develops. Human studies show that maternal stress, anxiety, and trauma can influence the fetal nervous system. And it’s not just emotional — we’re talking biochemical changes that can shape how the brain responds to stress, attention, and even reward later in life. (Yes, science is wild.)

    This hit home when I was recently diagnosed with ADHD (attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder) and OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder). It was both a relief and a lightbulb moment. Finally, a reason why some “simple” tasks feel like climbing mental Mount Everests.

    Here’s the thing: people with ADHD often struggle with dopamine dysregulation. Dopamine is the brain’s “reward” chemical — it’s what makes normal things like checking a task off a list feel satisfying. But for me, wiping down the kitchen counters doesn’t exactly light up my brain. Instead, I get stuck in a weird in-between state of “I should do this” and “but my brain says… meh.”

    Add in executive dysfunction — aka, my brain’s trouble with planning, organizing, and time management — and you’ve got a recipe for overwhelm. I often have no idea how long something will take, I start tasks and forget what I was doing mid-way, and when stress kicks in, so does emotional chaos. 

    When it comes to the OCD — as small as it might sound on the surface — it can be incredibly overwhelming. Intrusive thoughts about awful, worst-case-scenario situations pop into my head constantly. And the more I try to ignore them, the louder they seem to get. The only thing that sometimes helps is thinking them through or talking them out. But let’s be real… I can’t have a running commentary with someone 24/7 about the weird stuff my brain decides to obsess over.

    I’ll get so anxious about things that haven’t even happened (and probably never will), but my body reacts like they already have. It’s exhausting. I’m still figuring out how to pull myself out of those thought spirals — how to ground myself, distract my mind, and remind myself that a thought isn’t a fact. It’s a work in progress.

    So much of who we are starts long before we take our first breath — in biology, in experience, in stress we didn’t even know we were swimming in. Learning about this connection between pregnancy and mental health hasn’t just helped me understand my brain better, it’s helped me forgive it. I’m still working through the noise, the spirals, and the mental rewiring — but I’m doing it with compassion now. Because maybe the most powerful inheritance isn’t just what’s passed down, but how we choose to face it.

  • “The Mental Toll of Remote Work: My Story”

    Welcome back, everyone! If you’ve made it this far, I want to take a moment to thank you for joining me again. It means a lot that you’re here to read more about my journey. Today, I want to share how working from home, something I once thought would be a dream, ended up taking a serious toll on my mental health.

    Three years ago, I started working for a major academic medical center. I was excited — it’s a well-known institution with a reputation for great benefits. The hiring process took about three months, which only added to my nerves as I waited to hear back. When I finally got the email that I’d been chosen to work in the cardiology department, I was thrilled. They required me to complete a four-week training program for their specialized systems, but since it was paid, I didn’t mind. The first week of training was in person, which was nerve-wracking because driving into the city is always stressful for me, especially with the added pressure of expensive parking. Still, I was ready to conquer that first week and absorb as much as I could.

    Once that in-person week was over, I was finally able to work from home. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot — no more stressful commutes or parking headaches. But, as I mentioned in a previous post, I had just started my antidepressant journey around this time. I struggled with insomnia, which made staying alert through long training sessions a real challenge. I kept hoping that each day would get easier as my body adjusted, but it didn’t always feel that way.

    My job was to take calls and schedule patients all day long. On average, I handled about 65 calls per day, but that number often crept higher because my department was constantly understaffed. Fun fact: cardiovascular diseases are the leading cause of death worldwide, and for the organization I worked for, this translated into a huge volume of patients needing care. My responsibilities included scheduling everything from routine doctor visits to EKGs and various types of echocardiograms. It was a lot to manage, and when you add the pressure of constant patient interaction, it becomes exhausting. If I ever had a question, I had to rely on a Teams chat for support, which often meant waiting for a response or sometimes not getting one at all. It was frustrating, to say the least.

    After a few months, the cracks really started to show. I made some mistakes, which led my supervisors to require me to come back into the office for “retraining.” The logic was that being physically present would help me avoid errors, and to some extent, it did. I could just turn around and ask a question instead of waiting for someone to respond online. But this came at a cost — not just financially, with $15 daily parking fees, but also mentally.

    To complicate things further, I have IBS-D, a gastrointestinal disorder that I had fully disclosed to my employer. Despite this, my bathroom breaks were closely monitored. I had to put myself into a specific “aux” mode to stop calls from coming in, which meant every minute I spent in the restroom or on a break that was needed for my mental health was tracked. Even though my condition was documented and covered under FMLA, the pressure to minimize these breaks added a whole new layer of stress.

    I want to take a moment to talk about the emotional toll of this work. Most of my calls came from older adults, many of whom also had cancer or other severe health conditions. These patients often used the call as an outlet for their fears and frustrations, and while I tried my best to listen and offer empathy, the emotional weight of those conversations began to stack up.

    I remember one call in particular that still lingers in my mind. An elderly woman broke down as she explained how hard it was for her to find reliable transportation to and from the hospital for her appointments. She was clearly overwhelmed, and as her voice cracked with emotion, I found myself paralyzed, unsure of what to say. I just… froze. After that call, I was pulled into a meeting with my supervisor and was actually reprimanded for not showing enough empathy. From their perspective, I had failed to connect, but in that moment, I felt like I simply couldn’t breathe — like I was completely disconnected from myself.

    Eventually, I did end up leaving that job. But for a long time, I felt like I just had to endure it. I had bills to pay, responsibilities I wasn’t truly ready for, and this pressure to prove to myself and others that I could handle it. It felt like I had no choice but to keep pushing, even when I felt completely drained. I convinced myself that struggling in silence was just part of being an adult, even though deep down, I knew something had to change.

    Acting empathetic on demand is incredibly draining, especially when your own mental health is already fragile. I realized that I was pouring from an empty cup, and something had to give.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re just going through the motions, barely hanging on, just know you’re not alone. It’s okay to struggle, and it’s okay to step back when you need to. Take care of yourselves, and thanks for letting me share this part of my story.

  • More Than a Pill: My Mental Health and Medication Story

    Hello Friend,

    I’d like to talk about the different effects antidepressants have had on my physical and mental health. Let me start by listing my physical profile—maybe this can help someone out there who feels the same way. My name is Nadya, I’m a 25-year-old female, currently 170 lbs, and 5’0″ tall.

    This article will contain some facts regarding the medication, but mostly, it is about my personal experience taking it. Four years ago, I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder. Of course, at the young age of 21, I quickly accepted all the diagnoses and tried the first medication prescribed to me—Lexapro, 10mg. The most common side effects listed for Lexapro are:

    • Gastrointestinal issues
    • Sleep disturbances
    • Sexual side effects (decreased libido, difficulty reaching orgasm, erectile dysfunction)
    • Mood and energy changes
    • Appetite/weight changes

    When speaking to my psychiatrist at the time, she was very nonchalant about these side effects, leading me to believe that there was a very small chance I would experience any of them.

    Six months after being on this medication, I noticed my mood was not improving. Not only was my appetite significantly increased, but I also began experiencing suicidal thoughts—something I had never dealt with before. As a teenager, I was pretty anxious but never to the point of thinking this way. I consulted with my psychiatrist, and I was then switched to Zoloft. The side effects for this medication are as follows:

    • Gastrointestinal issues
    • Neurological effects
    • Sexual side effects
    • Mood and energy changes
    • Appetite/weight changes

    Zoloft can also present withdrawal effects if stopped abruptly. Even knowing all of this, the pain of depression and anxiety was far worse than the potential side effects—or so I thought at the time. While on Zoloft, I noticed my appetite hadn’t changed; I still wanted to eat everything and had intense cravings. Additionally, I noticed my hair was falling out.

    I have suffered from gastrointestinal issues my entire life and have been in and out of hospitals because of them. However, the stomach pain was something I had learned to live with. Every doctor I saw for my stomach issues never considered that my medication might be making my symptoms worse. So, I believed them and took whatever medication I was prescribed.

    After six months of taking Zoloft, I noticed a significant difference, particularly in terms of hair loss—my hair was so thin. The suicidal thoughts were also returning, though I’m not sure they ever truly went away. I should mention that I was in consistent therapy throughout all of this. Everyone tells you that it takes time to find the right medication, and while I agree—whether it’s taking medication or not—it is an extremely frustrating, time-consuming process. One thing I wish I had done before starting medication was a full blood workup. One psychiatrist recommended it, but by that point, I had already been on medication. Looking back, I now realize I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to advocate for myself. Doctors are very quick to prescribe medication, and I saw that firsthand during this journey.

    I’d also like to add that I got married at the age of 20 to my wonderful husband, Marcus. I know that is a SUPER young age, and I am aware that I am still very young. However, I am proud to say that we recently celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary. I wanted to mention this because the struggles of marriage definitely played a role in my mental health, and I feel like they worsened the side effects of my medication at the time.

    To return to the purpose of this article, I eventually started seeing another psychiatrist. When I mentioned that Zoloft was no longer working, they put me on Venlafaxine, a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI) used to treat depression, anxiety disorders, and panic disorder. Common side effects include:

    • Nausea, dizziness, drowsiness
    • Insomnia or fatigue
    • Dry mouth
    • Increased sweating
    • Loss of appetite or weight changes
    • Elevated blood pressure (especially at higher doses)

    Stopping Venlafaxine abruptly can cause withdrawal symptoms, including those listed above and something called brain “zaps.”

    When I started this medication, I was at 25mg, and it seemed to help for a few months. However, exactly three months later, I started experiencing severe side effects. My dose was increased to 50mg, but I tried to convince myself that it was helping my mood and that my body was just adjusting—or maybe I was changing as I got older.

    It started with occasional nausea and excessive sweating. I would get hot flashes throughout the day, and even during the winter, I wouldn’t feel cold. Then came the horrible migraines that landed me in the hospital multiple times. Every month, I was either seeing my doctor or in the hospital because of how bad they were. It turned out I was severely dehydrated due to the medication. I was also diagnosed with IBS-D (Irritable Bowel Syndrome with diarrhea) by a GI specialist. Despite seeing multiple doctors for various symptoms, not one mentioned that Venlafaxine could be causing or worsening them.

    I brought my concerns to my psychiatrist—stomach pain, migraines, sweating, hair loss, appetite issues, and mood swings. After about eight months on Venlafaxine, I felt like I was experiencing my emotions through a glass wall. I knew why I should be feeling a certain way, but I couldn’t truly feel it. I would cry intensely, yet still feel numb inside. It was a confusing and frustrating state of mind. Additionally, I experienced occasional bursts of anger. At the time, my marriage was struggling, and I felt the medication was only making things worse. My psychiatrist’s solution? Increase my dose to 150mg daily.

    About three months later, I was fed up. One of the worst side effects was insomnia. I would wake up abruptly at the same time every night—3 a.m.—and then struggle to fall back asleep. Sometimes I would eat a snack, other times I would lay on the couch with my animals until I was tired again. This, of course, impacted my work. At the time, I was in customer service, working from home—a job that took a serious toll on my mental health. (I’ll discuss that in another blog.)

    Then, an issue with my insurance caused me to go without my medication for a week. It was one of the worst weeks of my life—physically and mentally. I picked fights with my husband, cried over everything, and felt an overwhelming urge to end my life.

    After four months on 150mg of Venlafaxine, I decided I couldn’t handle the side effects anymore. The fear of not being able to obtain my medication due to insurance issues also scared me. I consulted with my psychiatrist, and they created a six-week plan to wean me off. They warned me that withdrawal could be worse than my original symptoms.

    The withdrawal effects were horrendous. I experienced intense brain zaps—every time I blinked, I felt a wave of dizziness and heard a “zap” in my ears. These lasted for months after stopping the medication.

    Now, six months off Venlafaxine, I am finally feeling better. This was only possible with support from family and friends, lifestyle changes (diet and exercise), and continued therapy.

    Although I know others have had similar experiences, this is just my story with antidepressants. Thank you for reading.