My Postpartum Depression Story – The Biggest Mistake of My Life

Jan 20, 2015 by

(My story …continued)


Like all forms of depression, there are varying degrees of postpartum depression. It can fluctuate from of a mild case of the “baby blues” to a crippling case of serious depression, or a million situations in between.  To be honest, I don’t know where my case fell on that spectrum as it’s difficult to objectively diagnose one’s self.   I can tell you this: I never wanted to physically hurt my baby or myself.  But I did regret having a baby.  I felt no connection to him.  Only regret.  And hopelessness. I made the biggest mistake of my life and there was no way out.  I wanted someone to take my baby away and take care of him.

When I got home from the hospital, I was still physically a mess.  But that was nothing compared to the paralyzing fear I had of this tiny little person.

A Lesson in Being Brave: My Defining Parenthood Moment

Jan 19, 2015 by

My defining moment as a mom doesn’t have much to do with my daughter.  Of course, she is peripherally involved in the story, but actually, if someone had taken a picture of this moment, it would be of me with big fat tears rolling down my face and a giant bag of M&Ms.

Let’s back up.

I am a school psychologist.  It’s not exactly one of those careers that anyone starts to dream of as a small child.  I didn’t decide to follow this path until well after college, and by the time I finished the long, tumultuous process of grad school and internship, I was 29 – on the older side for a first-year educator.  I couldn’t believe my luck when, with zero years of experience, a wonderful school district decided to take a chance on me.

My Postpartum Depression Story – It Wasn’t Supposed To Be Like This

Jan 14, 2015 by


It was mid-June, a little before 6:00am.  I didn’t know the exact time because I stopped looking at the clock by then, but I knew the approximate time by the amount of sunlight coming through the window.  It must have been a Tuesday because it was Garbage Day.  I watched the garbage truck thump up the street and screech to a stop in front of my house.  A frowning, middle-aged man hunkered out of the truck and carelessly tossed my garbage in the back of his truck.  I looked longingly at him and thought to myself: I bet he doesn’t have a newborn.  I bet he is free of the shackles associated with a needy little person that never allows him to rest, never allows him to close his eyes, never allows him to exhale.  God, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with him.  I looked reluctantly down to my baby and thought for the hundredth time that day (day? night?), what have I done?

The truth about flying with a baby

Jan 12, 2015 by

Like many other families out there, we traveled to visit relatives this holiday season.  We love seeing the other side of the family on the other side of the country, especially since we only get to visit with them about twice a year.  Baby Girl has now been on four flights, which means that I am officially an experienced enough baby-airplane-traveler to give out advice.  I had a revelation this time, which is the following: no bones about it, air travel with a baby just isn’t fun.  Look, I don’t mean to scare anyone if you are reading this and thinking about your first trip with your little one.  And I’m certainly not saying that you shouldn’t travel with baby.  I just think it’s only fair to prepare you for for what’s ahead.

Post-flight coma.  Rifling through the seat back pocket and being retrained from grabbing our neighbor's scarf for 2.5 hours was super exhausting!

Post-flight coma this past summer. Exploring the seat back pocket and being restrained from grabbing our neighbor’s scarf for 2.5 hours was apparently super exhausting!

What I Learned About Myself When I Stopped Eating Sugar

Nov 17, 2014 by



First confession: I went back to eating sugar (you’ll see why at the end of this post). Second confession: I have a legitimate sugar addiction.

Food is a notoriously tough topic for me to talk about openly. I feel a lot of shame around my overeating. A lot. I had a moment recently that’s stuck with me for weeks. I found a diary of mine from 1996 (I was in middle school) and in between the poems about my undying love for various boys (hey, I was a teenager!) was something even more startling. Pages upon pages about feeling out of control with food, wishing I could just not eat so much and hating my stomach (I even drew a picture of what I felt was the perfect looking stomach).

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