Beautiful Coincidences

Jul 23, 2015 by

When you really stop to think about life, it is filled with so many coincidences, chance meetings, unexpected connections. Or, if you’re like me, you may feel like they aren’t coincidences at all. Maybe, instead, it’s actually fate and that they actually happen for a reason. Perhaps they have a greater purpose than we realize at the time.

It’s been almost five years since my time spent at the Institute of Living where I was treated for postpartum depression and anxiety. Despite having this beautiful new baby girl to love and care for, it was tainted by a darkness I felt I had no control over. I felt alone, sad, scared, discouraged, helpless, and anxious and I just wasn’t able to understand why. Logically, I knew I didn’t really have reasons to justify why I was feeling and acting the way I was. It’s scary feeling like you have no control over the overwhelming emotions you feel when dealing with what I discovered, about 6 months after my baby was born, was postpartum depression and anxiety. And trying to explain it to people who had never experienced it themselves sometimes felt even more challenging at times.

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My Postpartum Depression Story – Emerging on the Other Side

Jan 28, 2015 by

It’s been almost four years since that June morning and I am no longer depressed.  I have a second son now and didn’t have postpartum depression with him.  I have since bonded with and love both of my boys more than anything in my life.  My bond is strong and secure with my sons. 

I am happy.

My sons are happy.

So when did my PPD go away?  I’m not exactly sure.  I suppose it gradually got better with time and antidepressants.  By my son’s first birthday I guess I felt “better” or at least better adjusted.  By this, I mean I looked forward to spending time with him, I felt a connection with him, and that “mother/son” bond had been formed.  I was able to sleep again, and I wasn’t constantly obsessed with thoughts and worries.  I (somewhat) came to terms with the fact that I will never again feel the kind of “normal” I did pre-children and this was my new normal.

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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.

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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?

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The Worst Thanksgiving

Dec 1, 2014 by

This Thanksgiving was a whirlwind of low-level drama.  It started with the terrible weather on Wednesday and a slow, slick drive up to my parents’ place.  Thursday my daughter woke up in super-crank mode.  She was crying at nothing and everything, alternately refusing and demanding food, and wanting constantly to be held – but only by one of the two cooks, her Mama and Grammy.  There were lots of tears, followed by vomit at the dinner table, followed by a fever…  Don’t get me wrong, it was still a joyful (and delicious!) Thanksgiving, but it was also an event that screamed, “HI YOU’RE A PARENT NOW,” as though I’d forgotten.

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