I’m a family therapist. And here I was—drowning and struggling in life, in marriage, in motherhood, in mental health—and couldn’t find a way to dig myself out.
But I didn’t want to hurt myself or my baby. So, it couldn’t be postpartum depression.
Before I had children, being tired meant staying up late to finish a paper in school, or feeling run down from a mild illness.
Despite all the fatigue and discomfort and the lack of sleep and neglect of one’s personal hygiene, there is this baby that is the most perfect human being.
Bárcsak egy másik anya, aki szülés utáni depresszióval küzd, tanulhatna az én kívánságaimból.
We met every week to share stories, offer support and provide reassurance to each other.
The words we found ourselves uttering time and again were, “No one told me it would be like this.”
Just two days before the baptism, I had gone to my obstetrician and begged for help. I was frightened.
Like Jekyll coming face to face with Hyde, I realized this nighttime hellcat was me – the me that existed at 3 A.M.
I watch you struggling to hold the pieces in a puzzle that is being not only turned upside but physically shaken by life and what it has offered you.