Beyond Postpartum

I am. Because they were.

2012-01-27T11:05:00.001-05:00

Please know that as tempted as I have been, this post is not intended to be a way for me to use this blog as a platform to pontificate about the recent Penn State scandal or garner support for Joe Paterno. In fact, ironically, just before the scandal, I had already posted a video and analogy comparing Survivor Mamas and their support for one another with Penn State football.

This post is however, a bit of a tribute, I'll admit. Not only to Joe Paterno, but more importantly to my grandfather. He was my guardian, my ally, my number one teacher (in academics and life). He inspired me and encouraged me to be the best I could be, in the midst of the hellish way his own daughter was raising me. And, he was a Penn State Alum, and was a prouder Penn Stater than anyone I've ever known, and was Joe's biggest fan, as far as I can tell.

On July 4, 1904, Jesse James was born into this world in a farmhouse in western Pennsylvania. A "firecracker" upon arrival for obvious reasons, he became even more-so as his life played out. At 16 or 17, after walking miles to school daily, dealing with cold Pennsylvania winters on the farm, and helping to raise his younger brothers and sisters in a family of 11, right after high school graduation, he headed to The Pennsylvania State Teachers' College. Whatever or wherever that was, it later in the century became a part of Penn State, where my great-uncle Louis, Jesse's younger brother, was a prized boxer. Jesse spent several years earning his Education degree and then in his early twenties returned to western Pennsylvania to teach 33 and a half years of English to High School students. A beloved, but admittedly strict, teacher, he taught at the same school his entire career.

Things weren't easy for my grandfather. His father was tough on him and physical punishments were a reality of their lifestyle. Being the second oldest boy in the family meant the majority of farm-work rested on his shoulders. Work didn't start in your teens like it does now. He was put to work as soon as he could walk and talk. One day, when he was five, he and his older brother were chopping wood for the stove. His brother was using the ax and my grandfather was placing the logs, one after another, on the chopping block. After several hours of this repetitive and exhausting work, his brother's aim was off. Up and then down went the ax. It hit the wood, albeit at an awkward angle. But first, it's aim was instead directly at Jesse's hand. His middle, ring, and pinky fingers were cleanly removed in one fell swoop.

Grandpa never complained about that. Never mentioned the pain, except that of his brother and feeling sorry for the guilt that cutting off his own brother's fingers must have caused him. I was mesmerized by that hand. It was so strong and beautiful, though my friends wouldn't have described it that way. They were scared of it. I, was intrigued by it.

Grandpa and I used to take walks. Everyday, we'd walk up his hilly street, across an empty lot to the street above ours, down the busy road, in front of the large Catholic church were my grandparents went only to vote, and then back down the small hill to their house. I'd hold his hand, the "damaged" one for the whole walk, no matter whether I really needed to or not. He needed his "good" hand for his cane. Most days, that's the only time my grandpa spent outside the house, off of his favorite couch cushion. Not that he was a couch potato, no, no one would ever have called Jesse James that. Weighing 145 pounds at 6 feet & 2 inches, Jesse was far from lazy or gluttonous.

I guess I should pause to tell you two things about Grandpa that might explain a lot. First, he was in the Army as a young man and while doing a training exercise during boot camp he hit his head. He had a stroke during that episode and no one will ever know for sure whether the stroke caused him to make that mistake or the head injury caused the stroke. Either way, the doctors assured his family that death was imminent and that even if by some miracle my grandfather would live, that he would most certainly never walk or talk again. Secondly, Grandpa was 72 when I was born to my 22 year old mother. Yep, he had had her at 50! While my mother was probably not only too ill, but too young, to have a child, if she hadn't had me then, I might have never developed a relationship with the most important person of my lifetime.

So...back to those walks. During walks Grandpa would often tell me stories. Not just silly made up tales of princesses and fairies, but real, true stories. Of his students, his siblings, his childhood. On one afternoon I recall asking Grandpa about his hand. Oh, I'd heard the story of how his fingers had been cut off so many times I could recite it verbatim. I was five or so myself and was beginning to write letters and words. I knew I was clearly right-handed, but I had a couple off classmates who had to ask for the special, "left-handed" scissors when we worked on cutting. This day, I had realized that my grandfather, too, was a right-hander. With my own awareness of how difficult it was to work on your penmanship, even with all five fingers, I was astounded that Grandpa's handwriting was legible with only two and a half! "Grandpa, why do you write with your right hand? Wouldn't it be so much easier to use the hand that has all five fingers?", I asked. "No, honey, it wasn't for me", he said. He went on to tell me that his Kindergarten teacher had insisted for nearly an entire school year that he use his left hand, despite his proclamation that he had been right handed before the accident and that just because he didn't have many fingers on that hand anymore didn't mean that this brain had changed. She would taunt him and punish him each time she saw him with a pencil in his right hand, so he had had no choice but to learn to write with his left hand. It was uncomfortable, unnatural and difficult, but he did it anyway. At home, when alone, he continued practicing with his right hand, convinced that when he had a choice about things he would practice with his right hand. Each letter, over and over, until his writing was legible.

As it turns out, Grandpa got his favorite teacher the following year and she not only allowed him to use his right hand, but encouraged him and helped him to learn to do so more easily. She embraced who he was and how he was. She didn't try to change him; she just loved him and accepted him. Another lesson learned.

Late in his life, Jesse's daily living was challenging and his world very small. He was no longer allowed to drive a car. His youngest daughter was mentally ill and all but expected him to raise her daughter and was stealing money from him. His son's life was a mess. His wife was was beginning to develop Alzheimer's symptoms at a rapid rate and his oldest and only stable daughter was living states away. He rarely saw 7 of his 8 grandchildren, and he often didn't leave his tiny house for weeks. Yet, my grandfather hadn't changed a bit. He got dressed everyday (always in a Penn State sweatshirt, no matter the season, mind you). He sat on his couch cushion and looked out the window, marveling at God's creation. He watched "church" on Sunday morning TV. Read the newspaper cover to cover. Waited anxiously for the mailman to deliver his monthly Sports Illustrated. Allowed me to do front handsprings over his love-seat. Grinned like he'd won the lottery every single time I entered the room.

I am who I am thanks to my grandfather. My story is what it is because Grandpa encouraged me to go to Penn State. By the time I got there in 1995, Joe Paterno had impacted the university so much that I was a direct recipient of the school spirit, quality education and strategy of focusing on the "we" in everything that was a part of his grand experiment, thereby making me a tiny piece of it. When faced with adversity in the early days of motherhood, Grandpa had been long gone, having died in 1996. I couldn't turn to him for support or help, the way my mom had when I, as a colicky infant, was held and rocked all day long by her father. It did happen to be football season that fall of 2007 when L1 was born, though, and each time I watched a PSU game and saw Joe run onto the field I would see in him my grandfather. Those rolled khakis would make me smile as much as I could while being wracked with PPD, and that pumping raised fist (even when playing the toughest opponents) would remind me that I was going to win my battle with PPD, no matter how hard it was.

I'll leave you with what I learned from these two amazing men in my life.

Never give up. Challenges are opportunities to persevere.
You learn much more from losing than you do by winning.
Stay positive and humble.
There is no "I" in TEAM.
Education is the most important thing in life.
Be loyal to your family, friends, school, and self.
Vote Republican. ~Okay that was a joke, but probably isn't too far off base. ;-)

Who are you? Who helped you become this special, unique person that you ARE?

Case Western offers an opportunity for you to participate in their research

2012-01-23T13:06:00.001-05:00

Nursing and Psychology researchers from Case Western Reserve University are conducting a study about postpartum depression and internet use in women who experienced a high risk pregnancy. If you are a mother who is at least 18 years old, was on bed rest during your most recent pregnancy and have a baby between 2 weeks and 6 months of age, we invite you to take part in this study. For more information and to participate, clink on this link.

Someday you'll be...

2012-01-18T13:22:00.000-05:00

Dear new or suffering Mama,

I am so sorry that you are struggling right now. I know almost exactly how you feel. The overwhelming sense of loss and being lost. The constant questioning and pleading with God or yourself to turn back time. The exhaustion paired with insomnia. The anxiety. The deep, deep depression. The self-hatred. The discomfort in your own skin. All of that and more. It's awful and my heart bleeds for you.

I want to make you a promise, though. One of these days you'll be "just" a regular mom. It might not happen for a while. (For me it didn't.) But, it will happen.

The other day I was driving down the highway. I had just participated in the Martin Luther King Day of Service at my church. My husband had been there, too, for part of the day. He left during lunch, to get some rest after spending a week out of town working and then hosting L2's Baptism the previous day. L1 and I had enjoyed the concert at church that followed lunch and L2 was in and out of the church Nursery, dividing his time between dancing with me and playing with other wee ones.

After the concert, I packed up our stuff and my two kids and loaded us all into the mini-van. Then, L1 realized he had left Buster in the church. I certainly couldn't leave my kids in the car unattended, so we all piled out and walked back into the church to retrieve our "pet". Once back in the van for the second time, we actually buckled in and took off. L1 chattered in the backseat and L2 chilled out in his carseat, probably sucking his toes or something. I was wearing a smile, feeling fulfilled as a servant of Christ and like we had honored MLK Jr. properly that day. I was also so proud of my friends who had planned the event.

About halfway home, I looked into my rear-view mirror and saw my boys in a way I hadn't before. I saw them as just my kids. Not my PPD babies, not as little beings who had rocked my world, not as whiny creatures. Just as children. My loves. And me? Their mama. Not their PPD Mama. Just their mom. Driving a minivan. Getting her child baptized. Going home to clean and cook and work. And to love and raise my kids.

And that's when I realized...I'm just a regular mom. And someday you'll be one, too.

500 and 8

2012-01-12T09:40:00.000-05:00

The post is a sort of milestone. It's my 500th at Beyond Postpartum.

This blog began as a tool aimed at healing. I knew that writing about my experience would help me vent about, organize my thoughts around, and even mark my recovery progress through postpartum depression and anxiety. I purposely named it "Atlanta PPD Mom" initially, hoping not only to describe myself, but to be easily found in a web search in case other women in the area needed what I had felt was lacking when I was struggling...a friendly face, open ear and shoulder to lean or cry on.

Early on in my posts, I advertised the things I was getting involved in. These included new moms' small groups, an in-person support group that is still meeting, and the non-profit organizations related to mental health that I have volunteered with over the four years.

When people from areas other than Atlanta began to reach out to me and I began getting a good response to writing about my own experience and sharing links to good articles, I expanded the blog a bit. I began my unintentional journey into being a "writer" something I certainly enjoy and that kind of defines me in a way now.

Over the years I've grown in so many ways. I'm a more confident and content mother. I'm more grounded by my faith and committed to sharing my experiences with it and being in fellowship with others who are open-minded (if not like-minded) about it. I ~~hope~~ believe my writing has improved. I pray God will continue to use me as a vehicle to reach others and offer hope or inspiration.

Most of all, I would like to thank you, the readers. Each time I felt more overwhelmed by writing than encouraged by it you gave me permission to take a break or encouraged me to write it out. You've been dedicated to walking my journey with me, whether we know one another in real-life or not. You've supported one another through PPDChat, Facebook, comments and in other ways. You've let me and others know we aren't alone by sharing your very personal and moving stories. You are simply amazing.

Today is a special day for another reason. L2 is 8 months old. 2/3 of a year. That? Is incredibly joyous and terrifying in the same moment. I have so much to celebrate and also find myself grieving a bit. This time I was present and well as he reached each developmental milestone and turned from a newborn to an infant to a baby and now practically a toddler. He is a healthy baby and if you knew him you might even say one of the happiest babies ever. What a wonderful "problem" to have to mourn my baby growing up instead of wishing he would grow up as fast as possible. What a joy to find myself in constant awe of this experience of motherhood through a different lens. What a blessing is the healing that has come to my relationship with my first boy from falling in love with my second boy. God is good.

500 and 8. Yep, they are perfect. Just perfect.

Not perfect.

2012-01-09T06:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I got a New Year's card and letter from some family friends. In the beautiful photo, they are posed in front of their Christmas tree; their three children, two daughters-in-law, and three grandchildren (one of whom must have only been about 3 weeks old) with what appear to be genuine smiles filled with the joy of a special family holiday. It was exciting to see how these little boys I had grown up with had become men and how their lives appear to be blossoming. My heart was warmed for them.

Then, I opened the letter. I read the standard updates on who was living where and working at what kind of jobs. I took in that one of their children had had two babies in less than 16 months. Then, I did the math. Holy crow! I looked at the beautiful newborn being held by the lovely woman married to the middle son and realized she must barely be healed, yet looked nicely made-up and fairly well-rested.

I read on about their youngest who is doing everything that makes a great resume. Embarking on adventures and engaging in healthy hobbies. Volunteering for incredible non-profit organizations. Still working with the company he started with years ago.

And then, I broke my own rule. I made up all sorts of unfair comparisons in my head. I ruminated about how the trajectory of my own life and those around me could have been different if only we'd had those genes or that environment in which to grow up. I even apologized to my own son, who has begun to show evidence of a bit of his own anxiety for passing on the genetic predisposition to mental health issues. It's not his fault that his grandmother, mother and others in his family have issues and I felt overwhelmed with sadness and guilt about it.

After the kids were in bed, M and I got into a terrible argument. I was infuriated and frustrated and overwhelmed with my own stuff and was taking it out on him. He was pissed (rightfully so) that I had "apologized" to a four year old who couldn't have possibly gotten any good out of my confession. No amount of small talk that followed could undo the damage of what could have been a night of cuddling and watching movies on the couch. We went to bed without saying goodnight.

This morning, the tension was less, but still palpable. The clarity that morning and a good cup of coffee bring allowed me to be more positive and less apprehensive about the future.

Just a few days ago I was marveling in conversation with a friend about how even the most put-together and strong, sensible people seem to have a lot of baggage once I actually get to know them. Women I have become close to recently have so much more life experience and "stuff" than I ever would have dreamed. Why hadn't I applied this insight to my own life??? The lesson learned is not that everyone is messed up, but rather that I'm not the only one who has overcome trauma and grief in order to become an upstanding citizen.

The bigger lesson is that God gives us exactly the right gifts and strength to deal with the life that we create and that circumstance shapes. My faith is bigger and greater than comparing my family to others' or catastrophizing the challenges my son may face.

This is the photo and quote that sit in front of me as I type. Speaks volumes, no?

Life isn't perfect,

but love doesn't care.

~author unknown

Without looking behind.

2012-01-05T20:19:00.000-05:00

Too many people enter the new year by listing the things that they've done in the past and putting a big red slash through them. Resolute to "stop the madness" and lose weight, exercise more, read the Bible in a year, stop swearing, etc. While resolving to make positive changes seems like a great thing, I contend that resolutions are a bit of an irony because of the negativity involved in the reflection that is necessary to think about what you want to do differently.

Instead, this year I am going to resolve to (or rather, ahem, attempt to) focus my eyes ahead. Instead of mourning the infant that is behind me, to embrace the toddler that is just ahead of me, with the joys and challenges that accompany a mobile second child. Instead of considering how often I might have been tired and irritable in 2011, to strive to be calm and positive when I speak to my husband and sons in 2012. To nourish and strengthen my relationships and embrace those that are just sprouting in 2012, rather than ruminate over those that were not what I expected them to be.

Sure, a new year is just a formality in most ways. It's only turning the page of a calendar, but yet it does give us the opportunity to intentionally begin again.

Cheers to looking ahead,

~ For those of you who enjoy the Bible, here's the inspirational verse for this post:

But Jesus said to him, "No one, after putting his hand to the plow and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." Luke 9:62

What would you tell yourself?

2012-01-04T13:38:00.005-05:00

I saw this video on Facebook this afternoon and I just couldn't resist. The video is touching, but more than the video, I love the question. And I really love thinking about the answers...

So, if you could go back and hug yourself in the days or weeks before you had your first baby and whisper just one thing into your own ear, what would it be?

p.s. Ironically (or maybe not) the video screenshot is of the message that I would tell my very own self, "Forgive yourself."

The Emory Women's Mental Health Program rings in the New Year with a new website

2011-12-30T14:21:00.003-05:00

The Emory Women's Mental Health Clinic is a gem for Atlanta and a benefit for those in the Southeast United States and well beyond. For years the program and its doctors and researchers have provided exceptional care to women in the metro area. Recently, Dr. Zachary Stowe, who had begun the program in 1991 and led it for twenty years, accepted a position at the University of Arkansas. Now led by its new Director, Dr. D. Jeffrey Newport, the program is rapidly changing and expanding.

The Clinic is a wonderful center of care for all women with mood issues, but particularly for women in the period of pregnancy and postpartum. The Emory WMHP is an incredible resource where treatment specific to the needs of women at this stage and based upon decades of research and experience can be guaranteed. If you or a family member or friend live in the Atlanta area and are pregnant, postpartum or considering becoming pregnant and are aware of risk factors you may have that could contribute to or exacerbate a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder, please visit the new website.

Here are some quick links for you:
Contact information
Their blog- a new feature!
For new patients

I personally am so grateful for this resource, as I recommend nearly all the Atlanta women who contact me for referrals, to them. I am also incredibly thankful to know Dr. Newport, Bettina and Jill personally, as they are the lifeblood (with the research assistants) of the program and are not only incredibly gifted, but truly wonderful people all around.

Happy New Year!

My holiday gift to you

2011-12-23T08:29:00.000-05:00

ThisChristmas, I intend to share with you the best, the most important, gift thatone can give a PPD Mama. A gift of hope. Not only of hope, but ofconfidence.

Today, Iwelcome someone who is not your typical guest blogger on a PPD site. She's not a Survivor, though she is a mom. And, she is theperson who walked through pregnancy and postpartum with me not just once, buttwice. She's seen it both ways, friends. Seen me at my worst. She's bathed and fed my baby for me when I couldn't get off the couch andcouldn't be in the same room with him without panicking. She's alsocarried my placenta through a hospital to a nurse who encapsulated it, in aneffort to help to prevent or lessen the effects of PPD the next time.

She, more eventhan I, knows who I am well and who I am very, very unwell. What mysymptoms and triggers are. How family, friend and work dynamics, as well as everyday happenings impact me positively and negatively. What my spiritual gifts are and are not. Where I find strength and what drains me. We've shared incredible moments of joy, grief, sadness, chaos and serenity over our seven year friendship.

I welcome my dear friend and "sister", J:

As I think backon the beginning of the postpartum time with L1, it frightens me still. I remember seeing the blank stare on the faceof my once-engaging and dynamic friend. I recall spending day and night together for a period of time while sheattempted to rest away from the baby, because his cries were anxiety-inducingtriggers for her. I remember coming overthinking I was there to help with baby so she could rest, and finding that itwasn’t rest she needed at that point, but something much more. It was scary; I won’t lie. I saw obsession over certain things with L1and his care turn into ruminating conversations and I saw much sadness. But as we (her family and close friends)rallied around her in the beginning and supported the plan of action in place,we began to see the light of her personality return.

Over time, wesaw her return to normal. But a newnormal that was improved in some important ways. She became one who was again in charge of herlife. Carrying the torch of PPD andbecoming and active advocate for so many other Moms who struggle afterbabies. She was the solid rock again;the one we knew and loved. So much so,that I wasn’t completely surprised when I reached for my phone to read a textfrom her and saw a photo of a positive pregnancy test. I had walked the journey of PPD with herduring the first postpartum period and was thrilled to support her and the planshe thoughtfully laid out for L2’s arrival. I was proud. Proud of how she hadmatured in so many ways. This plan wasthought through, but not over-thought. She gave space for change of mind and heart and allowed others to help.

When I arrivedat the hospital on the day of L2’s birth, I was delighted to hear of thesuccess of the natural c-section birth. It was exactly what she dreamed of. However, I also began to see similar thought patterns very soon after. Once again, her family and close friendsgathered ‘round her bed (both literally and figuratively) to share our love andcare with Amber. There was apost-delivery plan in place for care if things seemed to go awry again and allwere on board and ready to support. Iquickly began to see the light return to her eyes and a bond and love with L2develop that was beautiful to see.

I now enjoywatching how Amber has evolved as a woman and a mother. She has become this thoughtful, relaxed andjoyful Mom. One who doesn’t fret if L2will miss a nap for a fun event, who gives herself permission to spend a daysitting on the sofa watching movies and holding her baby joyfully. She is again, new and improved.

My message todayis one of hope and confidence in what the future holds. To steal a quote from my beloved pastor, “Godwill see, and God will provide.” Ibelieve this and have seen it in action a few short blocks from my house. God saw the pain, anxiety and suffering andGod provided. While the bond Amber shares with each of her babies is beautiful,she reached this place in two very different and wonderful ways. Have confidence, friends. Confidence and hope in the possibility ofhealing into a new and improved you. Ihave seen a transformation in my dear friend and believe that it ispossible. The proof is right here in frontof us, faithfully writing about her experience regularly. Sharing her life so that the rest of us mayhave hope.

A special thanks to J for taking time our of her busy schedule at the holidays to reflect upon and write about the last four years. I truly couldn't have done it without her.

Merry Christmas,

The Best of 2011

2011-12-22T09:19:00.002-05:00

It's been an amazing year in PPD Support and Advocacy! Dozens (and maybe even hundreds) of mamas began blogging about their experiences with perinatal mood and anxiety disorders on new or existing blogs. Hundreds of mamas were support through social media like the fantastic Lauren Hale's #PPDChat. And lots of us offered stories of honesty and hope, sharing about finally recovering from or overcoming PPD. I even got to share my story about having a relatively PPD-free postpartum experience with my now 7 month old second child.

Sure, there have been, and continue to be, lots of challenges. We hear from so many of you who don't have the insurance, disposable income or access to resources specific to PPD, which we all know are so key to a full and fast recovery. There are still women who are isolated, abused, neglected or ignored by their partners or family. There are still way too many women falling through the cracks because of lack of education or effort on the part of the medical community. These are all things we can strive to address in 2012. In the meantime, there are SO MANY things to celebrate. Here are just a few:

A lot of money was raised for the new non-profit, Postpartum Progress, Inc., thanks to the generosity of many of you!
Project Healthy Moms, here in GA, continues to grow and thrive.
Many lives were saved or made better by each of you as you supported on another on Twitter, Facebook and through your individual communications with one another.

Earlier in the week, Katherine Stone of Postpartum Progress announced her picks for top PPD posts of 2011. I was honored to be included in that list, especially considering the other amazing writers with whom I was listed.

As I close, I would like to share my favorite posts of the year. These are posts that I most enjoyed writing or that I'd like to share again in case you might be a newer reader who missed them.

It's Okay; I love you.

Breaking the Cycle

Why do some moms care SO much how other people raise their kids?

Preparing for a positive postpartum experience: PART ONE AND PART TWO

BEST. DECISION. EVER.

(If I've left off one of your favorite Beyond Postpartum posts, please let me know and I will add it!)

Blessings for a wonderful holiday season. I look forward to our journey in the New Year!

Insomnia and the Phantom Cries

2011-12-10T14:23:00.000-05:00

In the early days after L1, I ~~nearly drove myself crazy~~, errr...DID drive myself crazy obsessively refusing help from others with him at night and getting up at every single movement or peep. We didn't have a baby monitor; we didn't need one. Our room was right across the hall from his room. And we have all hardwood floors. And paper-thin doors and walls.

At first, I didn't even realize how often newborns wake at night. Somehow my nannying never included overnight jobs and I had forgotten anything any other mom friends had mentioned about sleep deprivation. I had been so focused on natural childbirth that I had failed to do any preparation for the 18+ years of parenthood that would follow a day or two of labor and birth. Trust me, this was a huge mistake. After a couple of weeks of little more than laying in bed awake waiting for the next waking, I started slipping into incredible anxiety which promptly was chased down and eventually inhabited by her evil, fraternal twin, depression. As the story goes, I eventually became so ill that I reached out for help at nearly six weeks postpartum.

Part of the recovery plan, once we had a diagnosis (which took less than 10 minutes thanks to the severity and prominence of my symptoms), was to get as much sleep as possible. Eventually this plan included me sleeping in the guest bedroom, door closed, earplugs in. ALL NIGHT. My brain wasn't yet retrained by the CBT, in fact I was barely capable of therapy at that point because I was so sleep deprived. Also, I wasn't yet on the right medications to quell the racing thoughts and panic that peaked when it got dark and especially once the wee hours came around. At 2, 3 or 4 am I would begin catastrophizing about the day that lie ahead and how slowly it might pass.

It was during these dark and very early morning hours that I would lay awake certain that I could hear my son crying. That he was up again. That my husband was certainly not doing things "the right way". That since he wasn't a good night sleeper he wouldn't be a good napper. That he would cry so much and so long that my husband would give him a bottle or pacifier and all my hard work to wean him from night feedings and the binky would be thrown down the drain.

Most mornings, which usually didn't come until 7:30am or so back then, my husband would bring my sleepy-eyed, grinning baby boy into the room with a heated bottle. He'd snuggle him next to me so that I could hold him and feed him, even if I hadn't yet opened my eyes. He wanted my son and I to be physically close to one another to breathe in each other's scent and know that peaceful time. Even if I was was so ill that I didn't hold him again all day until I rocked him to sleep that night, I would know that we opened and closed our days together. It was an incredibly thoughtful and intuitive gift that my husband, not usually adept at emotional subtleties, somehow instinctively knew we needed.

As far as I can remember, only on two days of those ten or so weeks in the guest room did my husband affirm my fears, that indeed my son had had a rough night. That yes, he had been crying at 2:30am and was hard to console. That indeed, he had opted to give him a small bottle to quiet him.

So what about all those other nights? What about all the dread and worry? What about those cries that I heard? What about the wails that I was certain permeated the walls and doors and earplugs? I guess those were (figuratively) the "demons" that PPA employs to rob us of the peace and sleep that we need to get better. Those phantom cries must have been the real me screaming that she wanted to come back home. That she wanted to console her son. That she wanted to be able to sleep in the bed with her husband. That she wanted to be well.

The Freedom of a Quiet Mind

2011-12-09T08:24:00.001-05:00

A quiet mind cureth all. ~Robert Burton

This post is dedicated to my friend who is learning the gift of a quiet mind through her efforts in battling depression and anxiety.

My mind has never been quiet. As a five year old child, I remember laying in bed late at night pondering the meaning of life, being perplexed by being human in the first place and even overwhelmed and almost obsessed with Christ's crucifixion. Later in life, I would brainstorm all sorts of scenarios, including some very unhealthy but understandable daydreams about ways that I could escape my abusive situation.

As an adult, having freedom and control of my situation encouraged healthier ways of being until something went awry like a car accident, a break-up with a boyfriend or a family situation. When those things would happen, I would have difficulty focusing on anything but them and studying, engaging with friends and even watching TV with any attention was a struggle. Since life has ups and downs, hoping for everything to go my way didn't pan out to be a very effective mind-quieting strategy.

After having a baby, experiencing disappointing childbirth and breastfeeding experiences and then almost immediately being struck with severe postpartum depression and anxiety, my mind had had it. It became clear that I had to do something and that my own perfectionism and perceived self-control was not even going to begin to cut it. It took rock bottom for me to accept that I needed to allow medication and therapy be the vehicle by which I got well. I still had to put in the time and effort, but I also had to believe that the treatment would work...to accept it and then be sure not to fight it.

This second pregnancy and postpartum period have been a blessing for so many reasons. I was able to employ so many of the tools I had learned three years prior to help prevent exacerbating any PMAD I might encounter. I was able to learn how to set appropriate boundaries and determine who and what my triggers were so that I could use the techniques I had learned to cope. I practiced yoga and used self-talk regularly. I buoyed myself with the knowledge that I had survived a devastating postpartum experience once and that I could do it again if I had to. Thankfully, I didn't. I was able to cut PPD off at the pass this time, suffering from symptoms of severity for less than three weeks. It was proof that through learning how to quiet my mind I had changed my life and the ways I lived life with those around me.

Growing up in chaos, creating chaos as a form of self-medicating an "adrenaline addiction", being plagued by obsessive or racing thoughts or simply having a worrisome personality can result in a feeling that one has lost control of one's own mind. That the brain is somehow separate from the rest of the body and that while the soul longs for the peace, the mind simply can't comply.

This sense of a noisy mind can be troublesome at least and debilitating at worst. Lack of focus and concentration can impact daily life and our work, both inside and out of the home. It prevents us from living fully in the moment and negatively impacts our relationships with others. We harm ourselves by our lack of presence in our current state and time and others by constantly being distracted or unable to engage in conversation or activities fully with our loved ones.

I am sure there are lots of reasons for this and professionals could easily rattle off a list that includes trauma, genetic predisposition to anxiety and/or OCD, overwhelming stress, physical pain, major life change like a move, job loss, marriage or divorce or birth or adoption of a child. The cause is less important, in my opinion, than the solution.

Coping skills are important tools that each and every one of us, whether diagnosed or "diagnosable" with a mood disorder or not, could benefit from. With those whose lives have been overwhelmed by a noisy mind for decades, more significant treatment may be needed to re-wire or re-train our brains to operate in a different way. Since the mind often goes off on a tangent without much input from us, unless we make a conscious decision to change our thought patterns, it makes perfect sense that effort to transform the M.O. of everyday thinking would be time-consuming and take dedication.

Treatment for mood disorders like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy employs thought-stopping and replacing strategies that may even include physical gestures partnered with specific techniques focused on living in the "here and now". While CBT is not a quick fix, in a comparatively short period of time (often just a few months), relief from obsessive and negative thoughts can be achieved. Certified therapists offer this type of treatment, but other strategies that can be achieved on your own are available, too. A regular meditative or yoga practice, using workbooks focused on changed behaviors and obsessive thoughts, reading books about mindfulness, engaging in your faith community and reinforcing your own spiritual beliefs and talking with friends who can support your in your decision to change your way of thinking and being can be helpful.

Quieting one's mind, being in the moment to enjoy and be engaged in everyday life and the benefits to our physical health by literally and figuratively unwinding are reason enough to make today the first day of brain boot-camp. Let the little people that love you, look up to you and want and need your complete presence be the tipping point, the cherry on top of the sundae or the last straw to being imprisoned by irrational, negative or obsessive thoughts. A healthy mind, and as a result a healthy body, are wonderful gifts that you can give yourself this holiday season.

How do you quiet your mind?

Namaste,

I wish...

2011-11-28T16:26:00.001-05:00

For so many years I wished I was something that I'm not. I would say things to friends like, "Oh, I so admire you for homeschooling your children. I really wanted to want to be a stay at home mom, but it didn't work out that way." I'd daydream about loving to and being able to nurse my babies (all 9 of them) for years and having the patience of a saint. I'd marvel at my best friend who has four children and never seemed more than a little shaken up (at least outwardly) when she had to manage them while her husband traveled internationally on a very regular basis. I wanted to be that mom in the TV commercial who was perfectly groomed and smiling while cooking dinner (no wine glass in hand needed for her peaceful gaze at her children playing nicely on the kitchen floor).

The reality is that I'm a better mom because I send L1 to school. All day. No, not daycare all-day, but a regular school day where I drop him off in the morning and pick him up mid-afternoon. Where he is in an environment that I believe will nurture him in the ways he needs it most- socially and emotionally. Academically he doesn't seem to have many challenges thus far, but his extremely social and extroverted personality paired with a particularly impulsive, high-energy temperament and hereditary fast metabolism makes traditional school environments a bit stifling. The school we've chosen seems to be molding him and focusing him on life skills and practical knowledge, which I believe is exactly what he needs at four years old.

Over Thanksgiving our family was home from Wednesday to Sunday. Other than church, we left the home very little and spent a lot of "quality time" together. Except, sometimes, well-intentioned quality time becomes less quality than intended because the quantity is frankly a little too much! By Sunday evening, my husband was hiding behind his iPad and I was complaining at all three of my boys about how ready I was to get back to our routine.

Partly because I like a schedule and predictable day and week and partly because I don't do well with too much idle time (for myself or my kids), I was fed up by the time Sunday came. Instead of fretting about it today, and beating myself up for being short-tempered with my kids and downright unkind to my husband (criticism warranted or not), I did some reflection.

After spending today reflecting on my son's poor behavior in Sunday School yesterday and then difficult drop-off at school this morning, I've come to realize that he's a bit like me. He needs that structure and daily routine as much as I do. Children thrive with boundaries and patterns because they like to know what to expect. Both what is coming next and what adults require of them.

In lieu of wishing I could be something I'm just not in the future, I plan to give myself some room to make mistakes and to pat myself on the back for being the kind of mom who wants their children to thrive, regardless of whether that is at home with me, at school, or later in life as an adult. I hope this will provide a good example to my sons, as well. I want them to be able to make mistakes and know how to apologize and then work to do better next time.

I'm tired of wanting to want to be a way that is different than the way God made me. I don't think it is very appreciative or respectful of me to beat myself up about it, either. I'm honored to have been given the opportunity to raise my boys and to be loved by them and love them incredibly deeply. In response, I want to be thankful and celebrate the gifts that I do have...self-awareness, a strong work effort, creativity, a respect for tradition, a desire to help others feel special, a deep faith, and a willingness to serve others as a volunteer...these are the things for which I hope I will be remembered.

How about you? What gifts do you possess and where can you thrive with and celebrate them?

Thankful

2011-11-22T07:17:00.001-05:00

This week, I am particularly thankful for the following:

An awesome church.
Fantastic, supportive friends who respect my lifestyle and boundaries.
An amazing husband with whom I can share my faith.
Two healthy children.
The opportunity to work in my church. The ability to mesh faith, family and work is an incredible gift.
Siblings. It is such a special bond and no matter what your age difference or personalities, sharing a childhood together creates inexplicable understanding. Plus, the burden of ailing or ill parents, family issues, and other things that creep up on us in middle age is so much less when shared with a brother or sister.
God giving me the faith and trust to have another child after surviving horrible PPD/PPA. Without it, L1 wouldn't have a sibling and would have to face those many things alone as he ages. I am so grateful that now he and L2 can share the journey.
History. It shapes who we are, connects us to others and can be an incredible gift as long as we choose to live in the present and look forward to a hopeful future.
The incredible women that I have worked with over these last four years. Becoming an advocate for women and families focusing on perinatal mood and anxiety disorders has allowed me cross paths with hundreds, if not thousands, of amazing people. Locally and all over the globe, I am now connected to other Survivors and Advocates who have forever impacted me and so many others.
Social Media, for without it, I wouldn't have connected with most of those special people!
The 80 or so women that have attended the Atlanta Support Group over the past three years. Each one had a unique story and brought something special to the meeting. I've learned so much from all of you and am humbled by your strength, courage and resilience!
Faith, for when we have nothing else, when all seems to have disappeared or been taken from us, it is the one thing that in the midst of all darkness remains.

Happy Thanksgiving from our family to yours!

What are YOU thankful for?

Baby products lead to unrealistic expectations in new Moms

2011-11-14T10:45:00.001-05:00

This morning I was shopping at a local department store. I was browsing the baby area, looking for clearance items and planning to purchase some baby-food. One aisle I perused was filled with baby monitors, swaddle blankets and other items meant to make those newborn days a little easier. And they do, don't they? Monitors allow us to peek in our on baby or hear if he or she is crying without having to open the door every two seconds. And swaddle blankets...ah, the gauze swaddle blanket is one of those items that will always make my "must-have" list.

My problem is not with these items in and of themselves. In fact, though very little other than you and a few essentials are actually necessary to be prepared for a newborn, I believe that there are modern conveniences and tools that make life easier on the contemporary parent.

Where I do take issue with the manufacturers of these products is not in the sale or creation of the items themselves. Rather, I believe that the marketing they utilize to sell their products creates unnecessary stress for new parents.

Take the above image. I took this photo just this morning. In it, you see a newly baked baby sleeping peacefully while the fresh-faced parents lovingly snuggle up to one another and the co-sleeper, gazing dreamily at their creation. Note that the handsome father has a 5 o'clock shadow, which makes him no less attractive, but alludes to the fact that he might not have had time (yet) to shave. This is the only evidence of the parents having been up no doubt most of the night, feeding, changing and soothing their child. It doesn't reveal even a hint of what those early weeks after you bring your baby home really look like. Most moms I know didn't go to bed or wake up after having just recently had a baby with perfectly manicured nails and a beautifully made up complexion, complete with lipstick and mascara. And the flat-ironed hair? Raise your hand if you had long hair that wasn't either in a rat's nest or ponytail the first six weeks after giving birth or adopting. Yeah, I didn't think so.

Of course I don't believe that advertisers or baby product commercials are to blame for PPD in the least. However, I do contend that often the photo above is just one of hundreds an expectant and new mom comes across in those 9-12 months that matter most for her mental health. Moms with PPD already feel so inadequate, guilty, alone, and different than their peers. Must we exacerbate this cycle by allowing companies to drive the bus when it comes to how we visualize new moms in our society?

Like sex and wealth, happiness sells. I get that. But, happiness isn't always a perfect picture of perfect parents with a perfect baby. Happiness looks different for everyone.

This time around, happiness for me looked like a t-shirt and sweatpants, cuddled up skin to skin with my newborn with Sting playing in the background and my greasy hair pulled up in a messy up-do. I am quite certain that clean hair might have felt a bit neater, but that it would have done nothing to improve my blissful bond with my new baby or the fact that I was mentally healthy enough and capable of interacting with my preschooler.

My happiness looked like this.

I'm sure it wouldn't sell many onesies if we packaged them in this image, but maybe, just maybe if we are all willing to put photos of real women like us out there, then other moms won't feel so alone in their un-showered, pj-wearing, and un-manicured nail selves.

Postpartum Depression and Uncertainty

2011-11-11T08:55:00.001-05:00

JIMINY CRICKET

Yep, temptations. They're the wrong things that seem right at the time, but, uh... even though the right things may seem wrong sometimes, or sometimes the wrong things, [chuckles] may be right at the wrong time, or visa versa. [clears throat] Understand?

It's about as easy for you and I to understand how PPD skews our ability to make confident decisions as it was for good ole Pinnoch to understand Jiminy's explanation of temptations. When you have PPD, every little choice may seem daunting or you may feel tempted to throw your hands into the air and give up.

Please don't give up. Things will get easier and clearer with time and healing. If you are feeling unsure, reach out to someone you trust and respect. Perhaps their input will help you to be more confident. Ask yourself if the things you are questioning are going to matter in a day, a week or a year. If not, it probably doesn't matter too much which choice you make, even if you don't make the "right" one.

There are so many reasons why the time of suffering with a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder is an uncertain one. The exhaustion, the anxiety, the stress, the overwhelming responsibility of caring for yourself and your child/ren... Give yourself a break. Try to step outside of yourself and think about what you'd say to your best friend, because really we should all be our own best friend. Then, give yourself a kind, gentle hug and remind yourself it will be okay.

Today

2011-11-10T17:56:00.001-05:00

Today I will...

Take a bath.

Ignore the phone.

Breathe deeply.

Make a to-do list to organize my thoughts.

Wait to do anything on the list until tomorrow.

Ask for help.

Pray.

Love my children.

Tell my husband I missed him.

Stay focused on breaking the cycle of intensity.

Be thankful.

Sip a cup of tea.

Ease up on our family rules...and have a little fun.

Forgive others.

Forgive myself.

Just be.

Postpartum Depression and the Constant Questioning

2011-11-07T08:11:00.001-05:00

Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders are evil thieves of peace and joy. They are also confidence-stealers.

When I was ill, I remember pondering every choice I made...

Burp him now or later?

Let him sleep or wake him up?

Feed him veggies or fruit?

Keep him on the axid reflux medication or try to wean him?

Allow him to watch TV or not? What if he's in the same room, but not really watching? What then?

My list could have gone on and on forever.

You see, even the most minute everyday things that I now "just do" without thinking much about it with L2, were like strategic decisions to made by a General at war back then. And, really, I guess battling PPD is kind of like being at war. Fighting to keep out and overcome the illness in your mind.

However, the intuition that you build upon, the mothering instinct that is like a little seed within you being starved and dying of thirst by these disorders, is there. Each time you question yourself, you over-analyze the daily routine and the things that in a year, or even a week, won't really matter, you starve that seed a little more.

Friends, water your seed by trying to recognize the questioning that is unnecessary. Use thought-stopping techniques to put those fears and over-analysis at bay and gradually build your confidence by taking small chances just to let things unfold. Once you see that most of the time it works out okay, your confidence will blossom. And that seed, each time you do that exercise will bask in the light of your growth and be nourished by your effort.

Breaking the Cycle

2011-11-02T10:19:00.003-04:00

PPD is not a choice. But...breaking the cycle of behaviors that may have increased your risk for, exacerbated your symptoms of, or prevented your speedy recovery from PPD is.

The interesting thing about family dynamics, especially as they relate to mental and addiction issues, is that they are a double whammy for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. In addition to the genetic predisposition that presents itself as a risk for depression, anxiety and other disorders during pregnancy and postpartum, the issues themselves create stressors and memories, if not also environments, that are unhealthy during the very vulernable time of childbearing and rearing.

This incredible article posted at Sharewik.com last week, entitled, From Toxic Tornado to TurnAround Mom: My God-Given Turnaround, speaks to this very phenomenon. In it, the author, Carey Sipp, never mentions PPD, but does describe in great detail the intense and dysfunctional environment that plagued the generations before her and describes her determination to put an end to it with her own kids.

Not everyone who suffers from a PMAD has had childhood trauma or has a family or personal history of mental illness. However, every parent wants the best for their children. One gift we can give them is to prioritize leaving the past in the past and to create our own stories and traditions by raising our children, and living daily ourselves, in a healthy and calm environment.

It's okay; I love you.

2011-10-25T20:35:00.003-04:00

Tonight was one of the rare occasions in the past six or so months that I've gotten to do the nighttime routine with L1. Since we do man-on-man defense now, I usually take L2 and M takes on L1. We bathe the kids together, get them dressed in pjs, come together for prayer and then break up into the kids' rooms and M reads to L1 while I rock and give L2 a bottle.

On nights when M is working, I have a different routine that starts out the same, but allows L1 some free-time while I put L2 down and then gives him all of Mama's attention after. Since it's usually a little later than his typical bedtime he's in that comfy, drowsy state and we pray and read and then I lay in his bed until he falls asleep. Sometimes he wants to talk and other times he just wants me to be there. Before we had a second child, I would lay in that bed, so tense...counting down the minutes until he'd fall asleep so I could get things done. Now, since the opportunity for that special time is so rare, I treasure it and lay there sometimes well past when he's asleep, just listening to him breathing and feeling his warmth next to me. I'm realizing that my little boy is four and soon he'll be a teenager and then a man, and I will have barely blinked. The incredible speed of passage of time when you are well is almost as disturbing as how slowly time seems to pass when you aren't.

We have some exciting plans tomorrow that L1 has been looking forward to for weeks. He was unusually anxious to go to sleep because he knew that morning would come faster that way. Still, he took a few moments after reading tonight to share his thoughts with me. After, he rolled over, as he typically does, and fell silent. Convinced slumber was nearly achieved, I, too, rolled over the opposite way and laid next to him silently, thinking.

As I gazed to the corner of his room that once contained his crib, I realized that was the exact position that I had faced all those nights when he was a newborn as I rocked him to sleep. I had looked at that wall through tears more times than I'd like to count or remember. On several occasions weeks 4-8 postpartum, I remember staring at the crib and willing it away, wishing it were in someone else's home, that I could still know and love this baby, but that he wasn't mine. The lump in my throat comes, even now, just from typing that. In at least two instances during those horrible weeks before I was adequately treated for postpartum depression and anxiety, I can recall actually verbalizing that I wished my son was my nephew. "I just can't be a mom," I remember thinking, "but I make a great aunt."

Tonight, as I listened to the sweet breath of my older son, knowing my younger son was peacefully sleeping in the next room, I marveled at, much more than I grieved, that memory. Sure, it still hurts to know that your mind was so ill and that your thoughts were so distorted that the very beings you now live and breathe for are the same human beings that at some point you thought you didn't want or couldn't be a proper mother to. Yet, all of those demons, all of those racing and ruminating obsessive thoughts, are now long gone. They are dead. But, my children and my relationship with them, is alive and well. I choose to celebrate that.

And just as I thought that very thing, L1 rolled over, draped his arm around my neck, patted my shoulder and said, as if he knew exactly what I was feeling, "It's okay; I love you."

He's right. It is okay.

Grateful beyond words.

2011-10-24T08:05:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I politely asked, then eventually (on Twitter) implored, all those who had benefited in some way from it, to give to Postpartum Progress. I even ~~threatened~~ offered to give up bacon for AN ENTIRE YEAR if Postpartum Progress made their $35,000 goal for Strong Start Day.

Unfortunately for the swine population, I'm still gnawing on pork. However, I feel like I ought to give up something in response to the generosity of several loved ones. I let people know here on the blog and also by sending an email to some people who I thought might like to know because of their part in my postpartum journey. I was blown away by the response, especially to one gift.

In gratitude, I wrote an open letter that was posted at Postpartum Progress.

In addition, I would like to thank Jessica Bandy, Jessica Isler, The Koter Group at Morgan Stanley Smith Barney and anyone else who has given in my honor or otherwise to this important cause. I pray that your gifts will help to insure that no woman has to walk through the dense and dark forest that I did without the resources she needs to find her way to the light.

Thank you ALL for your support here, at Project Healthy Moms and at Postpartum Progress!

Forgiving Yourself

2011-10-13T09:42:00.001-04:00

"To err is human, to forgive divine."

Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism, English poet & satirist (1688 - 1744)

Forgiveness is such an important component in closure, even after recovery from PPD has taken place. Many times forgiving others for not understanding, for not being supportive, for dismissing your real illness or not being helpful in the early and vulnerable times postpartum is necessary. But, always is forgiving yourself necessary.

I have yet to encounter a mom who doesn't feel self-blame and regret about having suffered from PPD. No matter how many websites and doctors reassure you that is it not your fault, there is something inherent about being a mom, particularly one who experienced PPD, that elicits feelings of guilt.

Guilt is classified by many experts as a useless emotion. Yet, I think it is probably one of the most pervasive emotions in humans. Guilt drives us to frustration, anger, sadness and a whole host of other negative actions and behaviors. No good comes from it, especially in the case of PPD.

Mamas, please, please even if you can't yet forgive someone else for their actions around your PPD (like your spouse, parent, doctor, etc.), forgive yourself. You will only be able to move on past the experience if you are able to live in the present and look forward to the future, leaving any grief, shame or guilt behind and embracing your wellness.

You already are.

2011-10-12T09:56:00.000-04:00

"To be great, feel great and act great."

That was the quote on my Yogi tea the other day. Most of the time, Yogi and I are in complete alignment, but this time, I gotta say that I disagree.

When you have PPD, you definitely don't feel great. You may or may not act great. But, you can still BE great. You can still be a great mom, a great wife, a great employee or employer, daughter, sister, friend, neighbor or peer. PPD robs of you a completely blissful experience postpartum, but you don't have to let it rob you of your greatness.

If you are getting help, asking for support, doing things to care for yourself and working hard to get well, then you already are great. You are a great mom because you know that you need to be the best and most well you that you can be in order to care for your child.

Keep on being great, even when you don't feel it and can't act it.

Keep Hanging On.

2011-10-11T07:26:00.000-04:00

"Hang in there. Even the worst weeks have Fridays in them." ~ Author Unknown

Another great quote from my flipbook. Sometimes I feel like all of these quotes could apply to PPD, kind of like horoscopes...know what I mean? Since perinatal mood anxiety disorders are so unique to the person, I am sure that in some way they could.

But this quote, I do truly believe is applicable across the board. When you are suffering from PPD, not every seven days will have a "Friday" in it. There will probably be more than seven bad days in a row, sadly, because that's kind of the definition of depression and anxiety...more than two weeks of feeling badly, anxious, down and not yourself. However, once you find a treatment plan that is working for you and that you are working with, you'll see a Friday in your future. And then, gradually, slowly, but surely, the Fridays will come more and more regularly until you are back.

Be as patient, kind and gentle with yourself and this illness as you can. It stinks to know that this is happening to you (especially since it doesn't happen to the other 7 of 8 moms), but know that you are not alone. Those 1 in 8s add up and if you walk the journey together and suffer through your worst weeks and celebrate your Fridays it will be a road much more tolerable.

Take good care,

Good isn't always popular.

2011-10-06T10:59:00.000-04:00

"Maybe she's born with...maybe it's Maybelline!"

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful!"

Remember those television ads? Yep, me, too. Well, I can assure you in my case it is, indeed, Maybelline, Cover Girl, or Clinique. And hate me? Well, if you do, I can reassure you it isn't because I'm beautiful.

Being "pretty" and popular isn't the only way to make an impact. In fact, yesterday I tweeted as much:

@AtlantamomAtlantamom

You don't have to be a "popular" blogger (I'm not) to have influence. Let's all support one another today!#strongstart #PPDChat #postpartum

19 hours ago via web

You see, I could be one of those (mommy) bloggers. Or, at least, I think I could. You know? The ones who get like 172 comments per post and whose links people retweet just to make like they know them IRL ("in real life")?

I mean, I'm nice enough. Funny? Sure. In a sarcastic, Seinfeld kind of way. And, stories? Well, there are plenty of stories to tell. I could start with the one about the time my (former) cleaning lady stole my white cashmere sweater right out of my closet, machine washed and dried it, and then wore it to clean my house two weeks later. Or, how I've dry-cleaned practically un-dry-cleanable clothing items on numerous occasions. Socks? Check. Underwear? Check. Husband's father's construction company logo sweatshirt circa 1982? Check.

But, I don't swear. I don't use the f-word (the one that rhymes with duck or the one that refers to passing gas). I don't talk about my intimate life with my husband online. I don't advertise "adult toys". I formula feed and I talk about it- gasp! I don't comment on other people's blogs just to link back to my own. I just don't play the game. You know, the one where you craft "ultra-funny" posts to garner attention or tweet with people who have 10,000+ followers all day, hoping that someone "important" will talk back?

I'm not saying that online relationships aren't very real and helpful. They are. Take #PPDChat for example. I mean hundreds, if not thousands, of women have been helped by that hashtag. And Postpartum Progress? Katherine was writing that blog years before I even knew what a blog was. Social media is a powerful source of education and awareness in the world in which we live.

But, I don't like attention. I'm talking, I. can't. take. a. compliment. So, I never ask for credit, always volunteer to do the "behind the scenes" work, and never call the person on it when I am supporting them big time and they forget about me, because, well, I am intentionally forgettable.

I even know or have met a lot of "important" people. You'll never know who, because I choose not to share that. I'm embarrassed by material success and even used to fib about where my parents lived so that people wouldn't know that we lived in a Country Club community, which sat atop a huge hill in the middle of one of the poorest areas of Pennsylvania, as it made me feel like people would think I believed I was literally (and figuratively) higher than them on the food chain and I hated that.

Can you relate to any of this? Many of you probably can in some way. I hope you know you aren't alone in whatever aspect of what I have written applies to you. It's okay if you aren't (and even don't want to be) a popular person in any arena or if you don't want to share certain things about yourself publicly. It's also okay if you do. I hope that if you do it's because you want to do something philanthropic with your success, but if it's not that at all and you just need a boost for your self-esteem, that's cool, too.

Public Service Announcement: If you get uncomfortable about the fact that I talk about God a lot here, then please skip the next three paragraphs. (p.s. yes, I am aware that that is another reason I'm not "popular".)

For you Christian types, remember Jesus asking his disciples to leave everything? Their families, homes, and even the clothes on their backs. Awkward? Yep. But, the right thing? I think so. I mean that's why we have faith in 2011, or at least I am naive enough to think so.

Right now, I am reading this book by Donald Miller called "A Million Miles...". He's also the author of a fave book of mine, "Blue Like Jazz". In it, Don talks about how we are not here on earth to have a good time. He says we are here to basically just serve God. And...to make a good story. He starts off the book, before you, the reader, know a thing about the point of all those pages, telling us that no one wants to watch a movie about a man who wants to buy a luxury car for a long time and then gets it. The End. I guess the point of his saying that is that most of us Americans spend our lives trying to make enough money to buy our dream car instead of living the story of our dreams. (I tried not to plagiarize there and just write about my take on your book, Don, but if I accidentally did, please let me know and I'll correct the error.)

So, I guess what I'm saying is, I want to live a good story. It doesn't matter if my story is popular, funny, beautiful or anything but good. For who? For God and for me.

You don't have to be popular to have influence. That's what I tweeted yesterday. And, I truly believe it. I also tweeted a slightly snarky comment about people, the ones who do have thousands of followers, who hadn't yet participated. Yeah, it was uncomfortable. Yeah, it made someone (or maybe several someones) mad. But know what? Dozens of prominent (and barely read) bloggers started retweeting and posting about #strongstart day almost immediately after.

In another favorite book of mine, author of "The Tipping Point", Malcolm Gladwell writes that its not a big thing that creates a "revolution" or the popularity of something, like say skinny jeans or playing hacky-sack, it's a small thing, one little thing, actually, that "tips" the tables, turns the tide, whatever you want to call it. Was I the the reason many people donated to Postpartum Progress, the non-profit yesterday? I doubt it. But, maybe, just maybe, I was the tipping point. And, if I was, well then how uncomfortable it made me to shamelessly ask for support and money for a cause I care about or to call people out who hadn't participated was worth it. Because? Bottom line? We need to help people. Postpartum Depression is WAY more uncomfortable than doing the right thing. And, no mother deserves to suffer for one second longer than she already has.

That's why I'm here. Beyond Postpartum is my good story. Well-read, popular, or not, great or crappy, it's mine. And because of that? It's good. (And I hope doing a little good, too.)

p.s. If you think you would (or have) found my support helpful, then I hope you'll keep reading whether you agree with me or not. I'm here to reach out to and care for suffering women first and to voice my personal, humble, opinion second.

How Buster (and Postpartum Progress) changed my life

2011-10-05T08:04:00.000-04:00

A couple of week's ago, my son, L1, decided that his stuffed dog, Buster, needed a specific birthday. For the past year, L1 has been extremely interested in people's age and asks everyone, included middle-aged women he barely knows at church, "How old are YOU?". He's been told by more than a few that it's none of his business and it's not polite to ask such questions, but he keeps on asking. If someone asks, "Well, how old are YOU?" in return, he adds 1 to the age they said they were, even if it's 67. Apparently my 68 year old son just looks young for his age.

Buster is important to our family. So important that before traveling to Italy in 2009 we bought another Buster to take with us in the case that the favored stuffed animal accidentally found a new home somewhere in Europe. My 35 year old husband can't find his cell phone most days, so trusting my 22 month old son with his most prized possession was not something I was going to allow to fate. Miraculously, "the other Buster" made his way back to the good ole US of A and soon after was renamed "Buster's mom". His (Buster's) Dad is a stuffed pig, but that's a different story for a different day.

So, a few weeks ago, L1 asked me for the gazillionith time how old I was, his dad was, his baby brother was and finally again how old Buster was. "Two!", I replied emphatically and slightly snappily, having answered this same question so many times over the past year. "Well, when is his birthday?", replied L1. "Hmmm...", I said, "must be sometime in the fall, because you got him for Christmas in 2008." "Well what day?", asked L1. "I'm not sure what day he was "born", I said, "but how about I let you choose his birthday and we'll have a party on that day?" Over to his calendar L1 tromped and pointed to October 5. Since then, we've been eagerly awaiting the day Buster will turn 3 years old. Exciting stuff happening in the K-P household, huh? :-)

Today, I got an email from Katherine Stone. In it, she asked me to share my story, the one that explains how I met her and got involved in Postpartum Progress. The day she had asked me to share it? October 5. How fitting.

As you see above, when my son is hurt, scared, nervous, happy, tired, sick, or excited, he wants Buster near him. When he can't be near...then he has to stay in L1's car seat. Ready and waiting, certain to be there, exactly where we left him, in the case that L1 might just need to take a deep breath and rub Buster's back left paw (his favorite spot) for comfort.

When I was really sick, in addition to leading me to a doctor who at the time was able to help me to get better fairly quickly for how ill I was, God led me to Katherine. She was the first person besides the doctor that I reached out to. The first person who answered my questions, encouraged me to start a support group, told me who I needed to contact to network in the PMAD community, and so much more.

When I started a blog, back in early 2008, Katherine read it and commented, even when what I wrote was either copied from someone else's site (before I knew much about blogging etiquette and integrity) or was my writing but was still very green and frankly, probably pretty bad. She read because she wanted me to keep writing. She said it would help me and help others and that my sharing so openly about my experience was all that mattered in the end, since it would help to raise awareness and de-stigmatize PPD.

When media opportunities arose like the WebMD and the first and second Sharewik stories I've done, Katherine either suggested me for the piece or supported me by sharing the videos on her blog. When I wrote a good post, Katherine would link to it. She knew I needed to keep telling my story to get better and to broaden the audience I was beginning to reach.

Later, when I decided to take the leap of faith and try to conceive again, Katherine was one of the first five people I told as soon as I saw the pink word pop up. She told me I would be okay and that even if I wasn't she and others would be right there.

On day three, hour 47 after having a glorious birth experience with L2, the walls came crashing down. I was back in the pit, having fallen from the mountain-top of a fantastic childbirth and initial time with my new son, into a pit of demons. Guess who was the first person I reached out to, besides my husband? Yep, Katherine, who was sitting at a convention for pregnant and new moms, offered to pull up a chair and hold my hand in the middle of the Fox Theatre. If they'd have discharged me early from the hospital I probably would have found myself in that chair on May 14, 2011.

Dear Katherine, October 5, Buster's Birthday, is a fantastic day to say thank you to you. I've clicked the button below. Postpartum Progress deserves and needs my donation. In honor of L1, Katherine, Buster, a friend, family member or me, I hope you'll click below, too, even if you can only give $1.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Buster! Thanks for always being there for L1. He needs you. Kind of like the millions of women in the world who suffer from perinatal mood and anxiety disorders need Postpartum Progress. I think you'd say that you approve of your gift if you could speak.

Please, .

On Fire.

2011-09-26T06:55:00.000-04:00

Faith is hope on fire. ~ Author unknown

About two years ago, one of my dearest friends very unexpectedly and very late into the postpartum period, began suffering from a horrible perinatal mood disorder. The Postpartum OCD from which she suffered permeated her life and was further complicated by the fact the her physical health was the source of her anxiety. In addition, she had already had one uneventful postpartum period and two uneventful pregnancies under her belt. And, she almost made it through the second postpartum period unscathed. And then...nearly 8 months after giving birth she began to experience symptoms that were terrifying.

My friend recovered and I was honored to be a tiny piece of that happy ending, by providing her phone and email support. She, upon getting back to herself, sent me the sweetest note and a flipbook filled with inspirational quotes. Happy and healthy or in the midst of a horrific nightmare, everyone could use a little lift once in a while, right?

I keep that flipbook on my desk. The one at which I do all of my work for both church and for advocacy and support for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. Each week, I close my eyes and turn to a page where my fingers fall. Whether it's God or just the way the quotes are written, they always seem to be exactly what I (or sometimes maybe you readers) need to hear. The above quote is the one I happened upon today.

If you do a search for faith and hope on my blog, you'll find that the two topics are popular labels here. Hope is something I've defined as THE most important component in recovery from PPD. Faith, well that's also important. Whether it's a religious or spiritual faith, a faith in yourself or your support system when you can't have faith in yourself, or even a faith that the treatment you've chosen will be effective, you must have faith.

Today I am hoping to be a little kindle or maybe fuel to your fire. Even if you can't see or feel it, it is burning deep and powerful inside of you. May your fire burn every last bit of the suffering you endure into ashes and may the winds of change blow those ashes away forever.

For better or worse

2011-09-20T16:10:00.000-04:00

It's hard to write here sometimes. I mean, when I am having a bad day, or way back when I was still pretty sick, I would sometimes think about how people who actually "know" me might learn more about me than I cared they know. People I know at church tell me (and others) all the time how "calm" I am. Ha! I find it quite amusing that someone with an anxiety disorder who constantly has perfectionistic self-deprecating commentary going on in her head is viewed as calm. Discerning what and how much to share is a slippery slope. My goal is always to be helpful, but sometimes with a side of catharsis for myself, as well.

I wasn't kidding when I said that I really feel great most of the time now. For the past three months (months 1-4 postpartum) I've been feeling normal. When I say normal, I don't mean in the "in the past this is how I usually feel" kind of way, rather in the "this must be how people who don't suffer from depression or anxiety usually feel" way. It's kind of cool. Actually, it kind of rocks.

Anyway, so with me feeling good and all I know how much it must suck to be feeling bad. I remember, because when I felt bad it was like the yang to this new yin I am experiencing, or something like that.

I also remember how I felt years ago when a close friend announced she was expecting after I had been trying to have a baby for more than two years and we had been told that we were infertile. That strange place between really caring about your friend and wanting to be happy for her but questioning why "it", whatever "it" is, isn't happening for you. When you genuinely want the best for someone, it's not made any less by your seeming ambivalence because of questioning your own circumstances. I didn't wish infertility on my friend. And I knew she'd be a great mom. I simply wanted to be one, too.

I feel like that's kind of how it is with PPD. You don't wish it on your friend who is having a great postpartum or pregnancy experience. In fact, you probably wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy. Yet, it is so difficult to overcome the sadness and grief that accompany perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. Not because you want anyone else to suffer, but because you don't want to be suffering.

I hope that this community of Survivor Mamas and those who care about them is a place where you find company and comfort, as well as hope. Where you can find acknowledgement of how bad coping with a mood disorder stinks, while the promise that you can and will get better with treatment prevails. Each of our situations is unique. And we each encounter different challenges at different times, but like most relationships, being there for one another in good times and bad, is what really counts.

Short

2011-09-19T09:04:00.000-04:00

Having a purpose in life is the most important gift one can be given. Doing this work is my purpose and call. I am richly blessed.

Write a short snippet about what is on your mind in the comments...it can be a "deep" thought or simply a sentence. Whatever you feel like.

Just feed your baby.

2011-09-14T12:46:00.001-04:00

If I had a dollar for every mom who shared with me how much guilt or angst they have over feeding their baby I could get a live-in nanny and do this work all the time. But, well, the reality is that I can't afford a live-in nanny, exacerbated by the fact that I feed my son hypoallergenic formula that costs an arm and a leg.

Speaking of formula, my hynobirthing, organic eating self is still amazed at the fact that I have become a Fearless Formula Feeder. I never thought I wouldn't be able to breastfeed, that I would feed my first son formula and then begin feeding my second son formula on the fourth day of his life. But, then again, I never thought I would get PPD that almost killed me, either.

Over the past year, I have become increasingly aware of and reticent to accept the dogma that breastfeeding "advocates" push. I have nothing against breastfeeding. I still mourn that I never got to do it for more than a few days, and never fed either of my children more than 5 weeks of breastmilk. I mean, there's no doubt, it's good stuff. It's natural, and like the rest of our body and it's functions, I view it as just one little example of the greatness and infinite wisdom of God. But? When feeling so strongly about it causes other women to judge and berate each other? That's where I gotta draw the line.

Today, I happened to be on Twitter while I waited for my toenails to dry (I treated myself to a pedicure for enduring the two fillings I had just gotten at the dentist's office). The first tweet I read was about breastfeeding moms being thrown under the bus. Umm, excuse me, but the only time I ever hear anything negative about BFing moms' experiences is when some idiot at McDonald's tells a mom who feeds her child without covering her breast to put a blanket over her kid. Now, I am not saying I endorse that behavior, but I honestly don't believe that moms who have successful breastfeeding experiences can even fathom what it is like to 5-8 times per day feed your child what others openly and loudly call junkfood, poison and the like. Being told to cover up is not emotionally equivalent to the grief, guilt, frustration and sometimes even devastation that moms who wanted desperately to breastfeed feel each time they are insinuated to be inferior, less intelligent, less hardy or committed to their children, lazy, etc.

This article I found today does the best job I have yet to read articulating what I have been trying to say for years. I hope you'll enjoy it and find some comfort in it, no matter how or what you feed your baby.

I feel so strongly that we are doing moms NO DARN GOOD by calling constant berating of formula companies and moms who buy their products "advocacy". As far as I can tell, advocacy is doing work that will raise awareness, support with resources and funds, educate and offer an outlet and safe haven for moms. Katherine Stone? She's an advocate for PPD. She is relentless in her non-judgmental and selfless dedication to the cause she has adopted. Maybe a balanced advocate for breastfeeding exists out there, but sadly, I have yet to meet her.

But what if today stinks?

2011-09-14T11:32:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, in response to my post about not letting bad days rob you of the joy and progress of having had a good day, I got a great comment:

I do try to live in the present when the present is bearable. However, one thing that has always bugged me with sentiments such as "live in the present" is, what if the present really sucks? Which has been the case for me a lot lately. And the only way I've been able to cope with a present that sucks is by focusing on the future, both in making tangible plans and also thinking dreamily about how things will be "one day." What do you think about that? Do you think it's a contradiction to ask suffering moms to live in the present?

I had never thought about things exactly from this perspective, but as the reader pointed out, it does seem kind of contradictory to encourage a mom not to ruminate in her depression and anxiety yet to "live in the moment".

I have been having great days. I mean GREAT, like I haven't felt this good, in spite of stressful stuff going on, in years! But, yesterday and today? Not so much. Blah at best. Verge of tears at worst. Also? I have been talking several times a day with a mom who is very sick. Like as sick, or maybe even sicker, than I was, sick. I am helping to get her through this period while she waits for her SSRI to take effect and also while she awaits an appointment with a psychiatrist who specializes in PMADs to be evaluated and hopefully have her medications adjusted to be more effective. Trust me, she and I know how very much it stinks to be living in the present when the present consists of feeling like you can't go on another minute without exploding from anxiety. I have been there and she's there now. It was honestly the worst experience of my life. Worse than some pretty scary stuff that happened to me as a child that I am not going to share here because I don't want to trigger anyone's anxiety or OCD further.

But, in the midst of that scary, overwhelming, depressed and anxious present that moms who are suffering from a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder feel, there is hope. Not only hope for the future and the promise of getting well with help, but hope that you do have control of this very moment.

When I write about living in the present, perhaps I should refer more to the act of mindfulness. Mindfulness to me means asking one's self a simple question, "At this very moment, not the moment prior or the one to come, but THIS very moment, what do I feel? Am I okay?" And if you are so ill that you truly are not okay, then there are lots of things you can do like going to the hospital if you are a danger to yourself or others or reaching out for help if you are just so depressed or anxious that you need someone to help you. But, for most of us, once we are on the road to recovery, the answer is "Yes.". Perhaps we will have a bad day or a bad hour to come and perhaps we've just gotten back up after stumbling yesterday or this morning, but we have the present. The gift of this very moment.

Mindfulness not only focuses on the act of living not in the past or future, but also on examining one's surroundings and utilizing one's sense to deepen the connection to the present. For example, when I was recovering from, but still suffering with, postpartum anxiety and depression I would rock my son to sleep. Sometimes I was exhausted and the act of the bedtime routine in and of itself would cause lots of anxiety. I was often so focused on whether or not he might sleep well that night that I was barely present in bathing, dressing, feeding and rocking him. But, when I realized that I would soon have a toddler and may not remember those early days at all if I didn't make the effort to, I began a practice. It involved taking in the scent of my baby's lotion. Nuzzling the soft hairs on the top of his head and analyzing how they felt on my cheek. Examining how the soft fleece blanket felt on my arm. Considering how the rocking sensation might be calming me.

These acts of simply being aware allowed me to ingrain in my memory very special moments with my child, but they also allowed me to stop and just be. To allow my mind a brief rest from worries, rumination, racing thoughts and constant guilt about the past. They were gifts that I allowed myself. Gifts that I am still so grateful for even four years later.

It is these gifts, tiny as they are, that I am praying for, and willing with all my might, for you.

Two Steps Forward. One Step Back.

2011-09-13T09:47:00.001-04:00

I've heard from several moms in the past couple of days who have the same, valid concern and frustration. "I had a really good day. My first since becoming ill...and yet, today (or the day after) was awful," they'll say. In fact, many of them even lament having the good day in the first place, as it was like a "tease", a glimpse of how life used to be, or could be, but was so temporary that the let-down after made the moms feel like the good day might not have been worth it.

Don't let yesterday use up too much of today. ~Cherokee Indian Proverb

I want to encourage you that having a good day, especially your first good day, since becoming ill with a mood disorder is one to celebrate! Not only because of the gift that day of relief, of more peace than you've recently known, of bits of joy, but also because it is a sign. A sign that you are getting better. That more good days are ahead. It is not an anomaly. It is not a coincidence. It is not a mistake. It is your mind and body's way of saying, "Keep faith dear woman, you are still here, the real you, the one who is able to laugh, cry, smile, and just be."

Keep working. Keep living in the present. Keep reaching out for help. And, most importantly, keep celebrating that you are a Surviving Mama!

Living in the Present

2011-09-12T08:00:00.000-04:00

Thursday, September 9, 2011
If you've been a long-time reader you know how much I adore yoga. In fact, I wrote about my yoga studio and experience there in another post, which you can read here.

Last week was the first time I had been to class since I had been 28 weeks pregnant with L2. It was also L2's 16 week birthday. Ironically, I took the pregnancy test to find out I was pregnant with L2 right after yoga class the Thursday before the Penn State vs. Alabama football game last year (and today is the Thursday before the 2011 PSU vs. BAMA game, but I digress...).

Yesterday I was back to yoga for my 2nd class postpartum and our instructor read a poem to begin class and center us. The poem so spoke to me (and I thought would to you all, as well) that I ordered the book in which it was written. Thanks to Amazon Prime, it arrived less than 24 hours later (and no, I am not being paid for that plug, but I love me some online shopping).

The following is a poem from the book "Bodhisattva" by Nicole Grace. It is entitled "Now".

Now

When you project your mind
Into the future
Dreaming about
Circumstances
You hope might occur
Or that you
Dread
You are living within
The confines
Of your own mind.
When you remember the
Past
Stirring up emotions of
Pleasant nostalgia
Or of desperate trauma
You are living within the
Prison
Of your own mind.
But when you simply
Abide
Still
In the present
You are in the
Free and
Infinite
Expanse
Of Eternal mind.
The future and the past
Belong to time
And time is a
Construct
Of limited consciousness.
In the fullness of
The infinite awareness
There is no time
There is only this moment
Now.
The only way to live
In Peace
The only way to know
Truth
The only way to be
Truly free
Is to keep your mind
Here
Now.
Stop dreaming
Stop reminiscing
Let your mind
Expand to
Complete awareness
Of all of life
In the Present;
Then you will
Live
Not in
Your mind
But in
God's.

It's a white out.

2011-09-10T14:06:00.001-04:00

Today is the Penn State vs. Alabama game. I was there in Tuscaloosa last year when Alabama showed us how they do things in their stadium. I get it. In fact, I kinda got wrapped up in the whole Roll Tide deal, too. If you are a BAMA fan, you know exactly what I am referring to. However, comparing college teams and fans to Penn State is about as fair as comparing NFL teams and fans to the Steelers. WE ARE...PENN STATE. Not that I am at all biased. ;-)

Anyway, Penn State has these awesome videos that are intended to "pump up" fans and crowds. I was watching this one this morning to "get ready" when I got a call from a very, very ill mama. It wasn't even 8am, but she hadn't slept all night and she was begging to be hospitalized. She said, "I can't live in this head even one. more. second." "I know," I said. I wish I could make it go away for her. Give her a magic potion. Stop time until her medication begins to take effect. Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. In fact, it doesn't work AT ALL like that.

But, here's what I can do. I can tell you that the Survivor and Surviving Mamas are like the fans in Beaver Stadium. We've donned our team gear, painted our faces, grabbed our pompoms and herded into the arena where you'll be facing your battle. Picture JoePA as your physician or therapist. The Nittany Lion mascot as me, or Katherine, or Lauren, or whomever is your go-to for support and encouragement. And your spouse? He's the drum major that does a split at the end of the game. Watch the video carefully. We're all there, cheering you on, screaming your name, making sure you are surrounded by love, caring, and reminders to KICK SOME BUTT.

~ When Penn State plays a particularly rivaled opponent, the University encourages the fans to send a strong message by wearing all white. You can see from the images inside the stadium at the beginning of the video that they aren't kidding. And, we're not kidding either. Take that, PPD...It's a white out.

On what you will become...

2011-09-08T09:08:00.004-04:00

The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become. ~Charles Dubois

I love this quote. In fact, when I think about being a survivor of a perinatal mood and anxiety disorder during my first experience with motherhood, I can't imagine a more accurate or encouraging sentiment. While the word "sacrifice" does not generally hold a positive connotation, in this case, I believe that what we let go of, or sacrifice, in this situation is the PPD.

Dictionary.com defines the word "become" as "to come, change, or grow to be" or "to come into being". It is important to remember this. Becoming a mother does not happen the moment that baby is delivered. Rather, "becoming" is a process. It requires time, change, growth and ups and downs. Sure, you are technically a mother the moment you conceive the baby. But in reality, motherhood is a journey and just like you didn't become an accountant the moment you graduated college with your degree, but rather when you got your first job, the desk, the accounts to oversee, etc., you aren't a mother until you have experience being one.

So perhaps if we consider the word sacrifice positively and then expand upon this quote to make it applicable to postpartum depression and anxiety we might say,
"The most important thing is this: To be able, after suffering a horrible experience that you anticipated being a positive one, to let go of and move past that experience in order to become the mother that you want and need to be."

Give yourself time friends. Becoming is not something that happens over night. It is a process, a journey. May yours become a blessing for you.

Thanks for the love!

2011-09-02T09:31:00.000-04:00

Hey y'all! Happy Labor Day weekend. I hope you and your family have something both fun and relaxing planned for the long weekend. :)

Just wanted to express my gratitude for all of the support that my past couple of posts garnered. You all ROCK. Thank you for telling me that you are still reading and encouraging me to write. I still (and always) welcome your post suggestions...this blog is about YOU!

Also, I wanted to clarify about my most recent post. I really want to offer you some hope that this horrible, hell-like symptom of being panicky and unable to be near or hold your child is a temporary symptom. I shared my experience from 2007 with L1 with you in such detail so you would know I had been there. I didn't share much about this new experience and I am afraid that in doing so I haven't offered the hope I had planned to. While long weekends and dog-days of summer do stir a tiny bit of anxiety within me even still, I don't really struggle with this anymore. Even with a newborn. L2 is like an appendage and caring for him comes as naturally and normally as caring for myself. I have absolutely no anxiety about spending time with him or caring for him. And, this time I am the primary caretaker, both because I work very part-time and because my husband and I divide and conquer with him taking primary responsibility for L1 and me for L2. So, all you Survivor Mamas out there who are considering having another babe or are currently pregnant, please take note...the next time can, and often will, be SO much easier.

xoxo,

Why does being alone with my child make me feel so anxious?

2011-09-01T09:29:00.000-04:00

Ahhh, do I know this feeling! In fact, this was one of the first symptoms of a perinatal mood disorder I had after L1 that really made me question my sanity. I had insomnia, generalized anxiety and worries, but the overwhelming panic that came over me as the approaching two week mark when my parents were scheduled to leave filled me with terror.

When we realized that both physically (I had labored 46 hours, 36 of which were done naturally before finally having an "emergency" c-section) and emotionally I was nowhere near prepared or able to care for my family, my mother extended her stay another week. Surely, we thought, at three weeks postpartum I would be much better and could be without help. Then that week flew by, my being forced to eat and even get out of bed, and doing little other than pumping breastmilk when it came to caring for L1. My sister's kids needed caring for back in PA, too, so she left, promising to return in a few weeks.

Our new nanny, the one who wasn't supposed to begin working with us until the last couple of weeks of my maternity leave, was called in. First for two days a week. Then, "Well, can you just add another day this week?". Then, for all five days the following week. I was slowly realizing that something had to give. I never got out of bed, but I didn't sleep, either. I lay there, in my tiny ranch home, listening to each and every move my nanny and baby made. Why is she opening the refrigerator??? He isn't supposed to eat for another 30 minutes!, I would think. Where is she taking him? She can't take him on a walk now. He'll fall asleep and he's supposed to be sleeping in his crib, not the stroller! On and on and on the rumination and racing thoughts sped through my mind. My nanny realized I was not resting, the purpose of her being called in, and offered to take him to her house. That only made things worse. Horrible thoughts of him suffocating because he wasn't in a proper crib kept me from resting and made me even more anxious than I was when I could hear every move they made at home.

Once I reached nearly 6 weeks postpartum I had no real excuse for my inability to care for my baby. The OB had given me a perfect bill of physical health, a stamp of approval on the healing of my scar and off I went. Except, I wasn't okay. On the outside I might have looked decent. But, inside? Inside I was fragile, weak and felt as if I was dying.

I made the call after one particularly volatile sleepless night of pumping and bottle-feeding. I quickly got on medication, was ordered to sleep...many of you know the story. But, the interesting part about those next few weeks is that I got worse, not better. The anti-anxiety medication wasn't helping me sleep much and the lack of sleep and the time that SSRIs take to build up in your system and take effect was working against me. I expected to be better. I felt too horrible to be patient. And so I analyzed, read, paced, made up dumb reasons to get out of the house and leave my baby with someone else. Anyone else, just not me. I would tag along with friends to the grocery store, with my husband to work, hiding in his conference room and making shopping lists for Christmas and reading magazines. Wasting time, just so I didn't have to be home.

Then, one evening when my husband was supposed to leave for just a couple of hours to go to his jui jitsu studio where he would likely be awarded his blue belt during a ceremony, I had a horrible panic attack. This one was worse than any of the others. I was literally frozen in one place, like a seated fetal position, and could. not. move. I was crying, hysterical, overwhelmed with guilt, shame and terror that I could not take care of my baby and put him to bed so that my husband could go celebrate his accomplishment. He offered stay home. "It's okay!", he said. But, no, it WAS NOT OKAY. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I even be in the same room with my child, let alone bathe him, feed him, and rock him to sleep??? Thank goodness a friend came over and I listened from the living room as she sang to and loved on my baby and put him to bed. She left her family dinner to come over and do this for me. For us. The pain, yet appreciation, that those couple of hours wrought burns a hole in my heart, even now.

A few weeks later (like four or five) I was celebrating Christmas with my family, able to hold my baby, still not well, but so much better. The medications had been changed and adjusted, I was able to at least sleep a little more and shower and dress myself. I could muster a smile or a couple of minutes of cuddling without my heart pounding out of my chest. I was recovering.

The next month I went back to work. It helped to busy my mind with productive things and have a place for adult conversation. A bit of my old life had been given back to me and it helped me recognize myself again. The medication and therapy continued to heal my brain, as well.

On my drive home from work each afternoon I realized that those anxious feelings would return. I hated that even the thought of the evening ahead was enough to create a sense of unease within myself. So, I used some CBT strategies and I took a tiny little bit of anti-anxiety medication each afternoon. It helped me to be more calm and present for those few hours each day I was spending with my son.

Weekends were hard. The thought of long days, especially when we didn't have plans or when the weather wasn't suited to spending time outdoors, made me feel trapped. I would begin to ruminate as soon as I woke on Friday mornings. I realized that the only way to get over this fear, irrational as it was to be afraid to be with my baby, was to face it head on. I came up with a list of things we could do with free time. I put him in the exersaucer and let him watch me cook and bake, things I loved to do. I played music cds so I would become familiar with children's tunes and could sing them to him when I felt up to it. And I talked about it. As embarrassing as it was, I shared with my friend, husband and mom how I felt. Sometimes verbalizing it made it seem less overwhelming.

If I'm honest, holiday weekends, especially, still rattle me a bit, years later. Summer, too. All that unplanned time just laying before me with the pressure of entertaining and caring for my kids without help from others. But, each day, each month, it does get easier. And even if I have to allow a little screen-time or go shopping just to get us out of the house, we make it through.

I can handle this, and so can you.

Worry...is it productive?

2011-08-29T11:55:00.002-04:00

WORRYING does not take away tomorrow's troubles; it takes away today's PEACE ~ Author unknown

When wearing the marred lens that PPD places in front of our eyes and minds it is easy to believe that our worries are accomplishing something. That anticipating all that you are convinced could and will go wrong will somehow prevent the consequences of that fall out.

The truth is that worrying almost never changes a darned thing about the outcome, and in fact serves only one purpose. To steal your ability to be present. In fact, scientific research has proved time and time again that the vast majority (something like 90%) of people's worries either never actually occur or do take place but at a severity much less than they had anticipated.

When I think about it like that it seems pretty obvious how wasteful it is to use my time in that way. If only it were that easy, though, huh?

I come from a long line of worriers. My grandmother was a worrywart who controlled her anxiety by keeping a very limited agenda that was stagnant for as long as I knew her. Every Wednesday she took a taxi into "town" and got dropped at the exact same corner. From there she would walk to all of the destinations she frequented weekly. In exactly the same order. Post office, drug store, newspaper stand, liquor store, and then back to the same spot exactly two hours later to be picked up by the same cab driver. "Take me directly home", she'd say. And unless my neglectful and mentally ill mother actually got her act together enough to get my grandmother to the grocery or take us all to church on Sunday, that was it for my grandmother's outings each week. Two pieces of toast with seedless blackberry jelly. Breakfast for my grandfather each morning. Yellow cake, no icing. Dessert every single day of the man's life. In the end when she was overcome by Alzheimer's the poor guy wound up eating yellow cake for every meal day after day because it was all she could remember how to make.

My mother...well, y'all already know that tale. An alcoholic by way of self-medicating her anxiety.

I come by my worries honestly. Anxiety is hereditary from a genetic and an environmental perspective. Yet, I want to stop that cycle. I want my children to observe a family environment that is functional, at least from the standpoint of flexibility and enjoyment of the precious life God has given us. When we find ourselves wrought with anxiety, we are robbed of the moment. And really...what else in life is guaranteed? The past is behind us and the future is unknown.

Some of us will require more practice, and maybe even therapy or medication to learn to do this. But what better gift can we give ourselves than to find joy and peace in the here and now?

Blessings,

Woe is me.

2011-08-24T12:15:00.000-04:00

The world's smallest violin is playing for me today. You know...for my pity party.

Lately I have been trying to ignore the nagging thought that keeps popping into my head time and time again. The one that keeps being pushed away by rationales like "Oh, it's Summer. Everyone is too busy at the swimming pool and on vacation to comment on my blog." or "There are so many great blogs out there now...there are just too many to keep up with!"

I hear from those of you who are thinking about conceiving again or are already expecting and you tell me how grateful you are I am doing well, with expectations and hopes of doing as well next time, yourselves.

At first, when L2 arrived safely during an amazing natural Cesarean, I heard from everyone! Best wishes! Congratulations! So glad things are going well. Then, on day three, when the proverbial you know what hit the fan, the awesome ladies of #PPDChat and my friends rallied around me. Everyone offered to hold my hand, sent me messages and reassurance.

A few weeks later, after I began a much less intense than last time, but equally effective, treatment regimen, I rallied. I began enjoying motherhood, rolled with the punches and spent a great deal of time laughing, having quickly found my sense of humor again and resuming my normal daily activities. In fact, if I admit it, I actually feel great. It's something that I'll have to discuss with my doctor when the time comes, because though I thought I felt "good" between the two boys when completely unmedicated, I know for sure I would have rarely said I felt "great". In fact, when I think back, it seems like "fine" might have better described it. Hmmmm...great sounds a heck of a lot better than fine, huh? Yeah, I think so, too.

Anyway, In reality, I wonder if the real reason that the comments and retweets, etc. on my blogs posts are down is that reading about how great I am doing postpartum this time is just too darn hard when you are in the midst of PPD yourself. I know that I am writing messages of hope and reassurance. And, I know that to some they are helpful. Yet, I remember distinctly how I couldn't even watch commercials for Windex when I was suffering. Those stinking moms who managed three kids, a job, husband and house all the while windexing counters with perfectly manicured nails put me almost over the edge. And those women were fictitious. I, on the other hand, am very real. And y'all know me. If not personally, then virtually, and that counts, too.

I TOTALLY get it if you can't read Beyond Postpartum right now. If you aren't buoyed by how much I am mourning the loss of my newborn because I am just so attached to him this time. If you don't want to hear it. If you are so sick and tired of everyone in your "real" life being fine that you just don't care to read about another person who is fine, too. But, on the other hand, if you want to keep reading, but just want me to write about other things, specific topics, like which books are helpful when suffering, or how to handle a panic attack or self-care strategies, then just tell me. Please. I want to be helpful to you, and if you don't comment or write to me, I won't know how.

Much love,

1/4 of a year

2011-08-15T09:11:00.002-04:00

L2 is three months old today. When I anticipated this "momentous" milestone day when L1 was a newborn and then again as I thought about the postpartum period when I was expecting L2, I expected to be breathing my first real breath of motherhood to two children only just at this point. For me, Harvey Karp's notion of the "fourth trimester" was a scary prospect. The sleep deprivation, the unknowns about your new family member and the lack of routine made me more than a little anxious. Add to that what I perceived as the inevitable PPD, and you have a recipe for a time period that you anticipate will be wrought with dreams of longing for the future and daily reminders of "This, too, shall pass.".

Nothing pleases me more (in an odd way) than to say that most of that was not true for me. Instead of being grateful that the first 3 months of my baby's life are behind me, I am mourning the loss of my newborn. I am longing to freeze, instead of fast-forward through, time so I can hold onto my last experience with birthing and then caring for a teeny-tiny human being that I grew inside myself...right there in the space I look down at each day as I work at my computer and remember how big it was just a few weeks ago. Sure, I'm glad to have my body "back", but I won't ever feel those tiny kicks or movements of this little miracle inside me again. And I won't ever experience again the awe of holding someone that you've loved for months, but only known for days.

I am incredibly blessed and will forever be grateful for such a positive postpartum experience this time. Unmarred by physical complications or serious PPD and Anxiety, and filled with the joy of instantly bonding with my baby it seems that in the midst of all that is wrong in the world at large, all is right in my little world. That, my friends, is a glimpse of Heaven on earth that will be short-lived. So I sit here and revel in it for just a short while, as it will soon be a part of my past.

Our mothering choices do not define who we are as people or parents

2011-08-10T12:20:00.001-04:00

I don't need to tell you how strongly I feel about, or perhaps I should say against, parents, specifically mothers, who spend their time judging and discussing the choices of other parents. We know that debates pop up on an almost daily basis on parenting websites, blogs, and even in newspapers about how to feed, sleep, diaper, and discipline your children...just for starters. The writers will often purport a particular benefit to his/her point of view and then the comments below the article will generally be filled with equally positive and negative responses in reference to the topic.

As mothers we've gotten away from supporting and helping one another unlike women of generations before who helped to raise their sister's, cousin's, daughter's and even neighbor's children. They worked together with a common goal...a healthy and happy child. I believe we've lost track completely of that common goal and that motherhood has become more like combat than community.

In a little book I keep on hand, but have never read cover to cover, entitled Dojo Wisdom for Mothers, the author, Jennifer Lawler writes in #3 of what she calls "100 Simple Ways to Become a CALMER, HAPPIER, More LOVING Parent", that we should "respect all mothering choices". That's kind of a foreign concept in Atlanta in 2011, but one that I yearn for both from the outside world and within myself, so I read on. Within this chapter Lawler discusses the division that specific labels have created in our society. No longer are we "mothers" or "parents", but stay-at-home-moms, special-needs parent, working dad, single parent or custodian. On top of that, we're baby-wearers, co-sleepers, attachment parents, supporters of CIO or not, cloth diaperers...on and on and on it goes. It's exhausting even to consider all the labels that I hear on a weekly basis.

Later in the chapter, the author utilizes her experience and education as a martial arts instructor in describing and instilling an important and confident philosophy into her students and readers. She says, "No matter what choice you make as a mother, remember that you are worth defending." She contends that we can and should, stand up for ourselves. Learning to set boundaries, demanding respect and feeling stronger about our decisions results in becoming less likely to be bullied or attacked. Perhaps you've never considered someone sneering at you for pulling out a bottle in a coffee shop, while the "Judge Judy" nurses her two year old, as an attack, but it's just as detrimental to your psyche and motherhood experience as any other type of attack would be to you. Lawler says that whatever choices we've made for ourselves and our families, "You've made the right choice for you- it's no one else's business." I agree with her.

But it doesn't stop here. Not only do we need to respect our own choices and demand boundaries from those around us, but we need to respect the choices other mothers make, too. While I find myself lamenting and even chastising those who judge others, I would be lying if I didn't admit to sometimes judging others myself. Sure, I don't glare at bottle-feeding moms or those who use disposable diapers, because I am one of them. But...I do tend to roll my eyes when I see parents who have toddlers out and about at 10pm. "My children are tucked into bed and have been for hours", I think to myself. Really? I need a reality check, too. Who knows what is happening in that family...perhaps one of the parents works shifts and would never get to see their kids if they didn't go to bed later and get up later in the morning than my kids. What do I care?

Bottom line? Unless someone is physically or emotionally harming their child, we have no right to judge or get involved. If only we spent as much effort fine-tuning our own parenting skills as we did judging others the world would be a better...and certainly nicer, place to live.

How much...

2011-08-01T08:52:00.000-04:00

How much different this time is from the last time.
How much I am enjoying every moment of maternity leave...and we're down to counting hours left.
How much I both ache and celebrate each milestone of this newborn phase that is achieved.
How much I adore being a mama to two boys.
How much I long to live forever in the moments of laughter and sweetness between the brothers.

When I put L2 to bed each night I cherish snuggling him and nuzzling the soft, freshly washed hairs that tickle my nose as I hold him close in the last moments before placing him in his crib. Tonight I realized that I am the only person on this earth to have ever done this. In his eleven weeks and one day of life no other human being has laid him down and kissed him goodnight. And, instead of dreading that ritual, I revel in it each day.

Perhaps it's that he's been here just under three months and it will get old at some point. Perhaps this time I have what a reader once called the "cling to your baby kind of PPD". Perhaps.

But, maybe, just maybe, this is how it is supposed to be.

New Website for Beyond Postpartum!!!

2011-07-26T07:35:00.001-04:00

Hey y'all I am thrilled to announce that you can now find this blog, Beyond Postpartum at http://www.beyondpostpartumblog.com/. I hope that this address will be easier to remember and therefore easier for you all to successfully share with others who you might discover through conversation would find it helpful. Not to worry...you'll still be able to get here via the old blogspot address, as well.

A few of my Fave Summer Posts on Parenthood

2011-07-25T09:54:00.000-04:00

From "A Savvy Mom":

Why must we try to raise other people's kids on the internet?

From Babycenter:
7 Reasons mom needs a night off

From Babble:

Some reassuring news that we are going to screw up our kids no matter what we do

and
Could a Mom Have Written Go the ____ to Sleep?

From "Pick the Brain":
10 Surprising Findings on Happiness
And, just because I love my phone:

An iphone baby monitor with unlimited range

Preparing for a positive postpartum experience after surviving a PMAD, Part Two

2011-07-19T09:16:00.001-04:00

In Part One, I offered the background for how I came to an unexpected decision to have another child after surviving a devastating perinatal mood and anxiety disorder. Today, in Part Two, I am going to offer a more practical perspective. I will share with you the list that was written on that tattered sheet of paper nearly a year ago and also provide some insight into why those items made "The List" and offer some helpful tips or links so that you can learn more about the topics. Some of what I share will be globally helpful and other resources may pertain more to what is available here in Atlanta, but I trust you will be able to research what might be more applicable to you in your part of the world if and when the time comes for you to prepare. I also want to mention that these tips might be helpful for women who are at high risk for a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder, even if they are considering pregnancy or adoption for the first time or have not had PPD with previous children (i.e. those who have not suffered in the past).

SLEEP:

Share feedings with your partner.
Contract with a baby nurse several times per week in order to get eight hours of continuous sleep regularly.
Have your partner be in charge of any older children during the night hours.

HOME ENVIRONMENT:

Create a "sanctuary" in a room that is quiet and dark (or whatever is calming and restful for you).
If possible, have two bedroom options for yourself. One that is away from your spouse and any older children and one that can be shared with your spouse on nights when you have respite or want to spend part of the night together.

FOOD:

Consider buying a second freezer. Stock up on prepared frozen meals either from a store or by cooking and freezing meals that can serve many people before you give birth.
Ask a close friend or family member to invite people to sign-up to bring you meals during the first 4-6 weeks after you give birth. Choose times when you won't already have help cooking at home.
Put together snacks for yourself ahead of time so that you can easily grab something healthy to eat while feeding the baby or in between meals. This is one of the things my postpartum doula did for me that helped to keep my energy up and kept me well-nourished.

SUPPORT:

Schedule childcare for older children and/or the baby in advance. Try to get as many volunteers from your circle of friends, faith community or family members and then fill in with a paid babysitter when and if necessary.
Consider hiring a postpartum doula so that you have an ally and resource with expertise and experience available to you during those precious, yet fragile, first weeks at home.
Consider your older child's needs, if applicable, when thinking about school once the baby arrives for him/her. Does your high energy child need more stimulation and physical exertion than you or others in your household can provide? Or, will he/she be more clingy and need to spend more time with you, your partner and the baby once it arrives?
Be clear that any visitors (both long-term and for short visits) should plan to be there to help, not just visit with you and hold your baby. It is much too draining for a new mom to "host" company when she is recovering from childbirth and sleep-deprived. It's also not great for bonding when a plethora of others hold your baby during the first couple of weeks of life. Consider creating a to-do list of things that visitors can do that will be helpful to you while they are in your home.
Talk with your partner about how they can help and support you. Read "What Am I Thinking?" together. Create a list of things your partner should (or shouldn't say) to help you.

MENTAL HEALTH:

Continue (or begin) seeing a therapist who specializes in PMADs regularly before and during pregnancy so that you can make your personalized plan together and he/she has background knowledge and a barometer of your mental health in order to compare if any changes in your mood occur.
If you have a network of PPD survivors or experts with whom you interact, share your plans to get pregnant or the news that you are expecting with them so that they can offer support and insights with you.
If your therapist is not your psychiatrist, continue or begin seeing one regularly before or during pregnancy so that if you plan for medication (or in case you find that you need it at some point) during or after pregnancy you have already established a relationship with him/her. Or, find a treatment program and research it in case you find you want/need to participate.
If you were medicated during pregnancy or postpartum the last time you suffered, but have since gone off meds, discuss with your doctor the appropriate plan for pregnancy or postpartum this time. Good doctors will evaluate your risk for relapse and help you to determine whether going on medication prophylactically or taking a "wait and see" approach is best for you.
Participate in a support group during pregnancy so that you are comfortable with the group and they know your background before you give birth.
Make several copies of the EPDS (a screening tool used for PMADs) so that you can take it a few times during pregnancy and each week postpartum to evaluate your mood and have tangible information for comparison purposes.

PHYSICAL HEALTH:

Make a plan for your physical recovery from childbirth. If you are having a vaginal birth (or expect to) consider how you will help yourself to heal and rest after labor and delivery. If you are having a scheduled c-section (or are at risk for an unexpected Cesarean), plan for a longer recovery period and research methods and resources that will help you to heal faster. Since I decided to have a scheduled "natural" and family-centered Cesarean with #2, I purchased a special belt that was one of the best choices I made regarding postpartum health. It allowed me to be much more physically active and experience less pain postpartum this time.
Plan to be screened for conditions that could mimic or exacerbate perinatal mood disorders such as thyroid disease, anemia, a vitamin D deficiency, etc.
Once you are able to and your doctor clears you to, plan to exercise. The exertion can actually energize you and provide you anxiety and stress relief. The endorphins are also excellent for women who have mood issues.
Consider planning ahead to do things that could potentially help your physical healing and mental health such as acupuncture, placenta encapsulation, massage therapy, cranio-sacral therapy, chiropractic, etc.

RISK FACTORS:

Review the list of risk factors for PMADs. Consider how you might address them ahead of time so that you can feel they will have the least impact on your mental health.
If you had a difficult or traumatic childbirth or recovery, breastfeeding experience, or other complication previously, consider being proactive so that you can feel well-armed with information and experience this time. This might involve taking a "class" or hiring someone such as a doula or lactation consultant who is an expert in the field so that you are well-supported.

The above bulleted points outline my personal plan shared in a way that could be applied to anyone in a similar situation or with a similar history. It is not an exhaustive list, nor are any of the items a "prescription", nor does doing each and every thing on the list guarantee you a positive experience. However, I have found that considering these factors and resources, as well as putting much effort into planning ahead allows you to be more prepared and aware in order to take the shock factor out of the picture. Please take only your health care provider's advice into greatest consideration when preparing for your personal and individual experience. Together you will know best.

Best wishes,

* In full disclosure, I have not received any compensation for writing this content and I have no material connection to the brands, topics and/or products that are mentioned herein. The links provided are simply resources that I personally have found helpful.

Preparing for a positive postpartum experience after surviving a PMAD, Part One

2011-07-18T07:56:00.001-04:00

It took so very long for me to get okay with even the idea of having another child after our first postpartum experience that I truly believed I would just never get "there". And then? I started having moments of more than just wanting for my son to have a sibling, but rather yearning occasionally for another child myself. First it was finding that "cute" maternity store and thinking about how I actually enjoyed the simplicity of dressing and accessorizing myself while pregnant because of the limited choices in my closet. Then it was the walking past the newborn section at Target and seeing the baby clothes and gear and finding them interesting rather than nauseating. Then it was admitting to my husband that I was having those thoughts and feelings. Next, I shared it with some friends who knew me really well and had walked the journey with me the first time. This was important to me because when I wasn't well my lens was foggy and out of focus. But, they were there and theirs was clear. I needed them to tell me the truth. Do you think I can do this again? Do you think I can prevent getting so sick this time? And, the most important question..."WILL YOU WALK THIS JOURNEY WITH ME IF I DO GET SICK AGAIN?" I needed to know that those people who held me, literally and figuratively, would do so again if needed. I couldn't have done it without them then and I knew I wouldn't be able to another time, either.

Clearly you know the answer to the above questions, so we'll fast forward a bit...
Several months later I talked with my OBGYN about my concerns and while he wasn't an expert (and still isn't, though I have to give him huge credit for all he has done to better educate himself and care for his patients recently by reading what I share with him and making the EPDS standard practice in his office now), he assured me that he, too, would walk the journey with me and do all he could to support me and help me make choices that would assist the process. He also promised to consider my preferences as they related to pregnancy, childbirth and the postpartum period, no matter how unusual, alternative or unorthodox they were.

And then we moved forward. I had my IUD removed. And I was scared. Not in the "Holy crap, put that thing back in RIGHT NOW" way, but in the "Wow! This is a really important and life-changing decision" way. And, then, and now, I believe this is a healthy way to feel.

Four months later, after taking a yoga class on one of M's rare days off, I realized I was feeling a bit unusual. Since I had two tests already in the medicine cabinet I figured I would take one just to rule that out. Sure, it hadn't happened that quickly this time. M lay on the bed, dozing off, while I sneaked into the bathroom just a few feet away from him to secretly pee on a stick. I couldn't believe my eyes when the words "pregnant" appeared. It wasn't a faint line, it wasn't a questionable plus sign, but the word, in bold pink letters, staring right back at me. I capped the test, stomped out into the bedroom and placed it so close to M's face that he couldn't even read it. But, he knew. "Really?", he asked. "Are you sure?", he said. The exact. same. response. he had had almost four years prior. He never seems to believe I am pregnant until we have an ultrasound, but that's a story for another day.

And, there you have it. The story of how we decided to have another baby and how God blessed us with a quick conception. That, my friends, was the easy part. The rest? Well, it's a blessing, too...but a lot more complicated.

The following month, now October 2010, I was in Pittsburgh, eleven weeks pregnant, at the Postpartum Support International/Marce Society Conference. The first day I attended was to participate in the PSI training so that I would have the same training and accurate information as all my other colleagues who had received this training. As I sat in the conference room of the hotel, during several of our 30 minute breaks, I made a list on a tattered piece of legal pad paper. That list I carried with me for my entire pregnancy. When I got home from the hospital with little four day old L2, I sat it on the coffee table and read and re-read it. Then, a few weeks ago, I organized my office area and filing system and put it in a folder marked "L2". This morning, I flipped through the hundred or so pieces of paper in that folder that contains dozens of hospital bills, hearing test results, information about newborn care, etc. and found that one precious sheet. Now, it sits right in front of me, preparing to serve me, probably for the last time, as I share its contents with you.

Because this post is already so long, I have decided to make it a two-part series. Consider this the background or "Foreward" to the more important chapter.

Thanks to Grace you are reading this post, as I have been wanting to write it for so long, but simply couldn't find the time or energy. Knowing that she is preparing for her precious baby boy #2 gave me the motivation.

The Foggy and Out of Focus Lens of PPD

2011-07-13T10:18:00.001-04:00

When I think back to how I felt postpartum after having my first son lots of adjectives come to mind, though it is hard to articulate exactly how it feels to someone who has not experienced it. One of the ways I often describe it is being in a "fog" or being deep in a dark and dangerous place with no sense of direction and no idea how far from safety you are. In fact, the image I chose for the header of Beyond Postpartum was carefully selected to show how I had finally emerged from a place I liken to a huge, dark and desolate location, like being lost among tall, towering trees that seemed to go on forever. If you look at that image you'll see that the sun at the edge of the forest does indeed exist and that once you emerge from the darkness the path becomes clear and light.

PPD creates all kinds of distorted and scary perspectives. When you think about and look at your life while suffering from a perinatal mood disorder you see things very differently than you would well. It's not like having had a few margaritas or taking a pain pill. When under the influence of a substance you realize that your thinking must be skewed because of that and that it will be a very temporary experience. Just the opposite occurs when you have postpartum depression. You don't (and can't) realize that your lens has been twisted out of focus, scratched and fogged up. You think that what you are seeing and feeling is very real and accurate. You might see your spouse as a totally different person than the one you married and think that he must have changed overnight. You might look in the mirror and think that surely aliens have abducted the "real" you and that she's permanently gone into outer space. You might consider your parenting and see an inept mother, yet observe the women at your playgroup and think they are all Mother Theresa.

I am here to tell you that you are wrong. If you are seeking treatment and support for your PPD, working hard to get better, reaching out for resources, even just reading this blog, then those things ARE NOT true. You are not a bad mom. The other women are not Mother Theresa. Aliens have not abducted the real you. You are just temporarily ill. You can and will get better. And when you do your current lens will be replaced with a more clear and rosy one. One that will allow you to look at your life and smile.

Blessings,

We are not invincible.

2011-07-11T09:58:00.001-04:00

How many of you are perfectionists? Raise your hands. Yeah, me, too. It's part of the deal. We want to do everything for everyone. ALL. THE. TIME. And? We want to do it "perfectly", as if there is such a thing, anyway.

Having PPD the first time taught me a lot of things. I have talked about many of them right here on this blog. About patience, about understanding, about sympathy, about resilience. All of those things and so much more. I'm not typically a rosy-glasses or glass half-full person, but in hindsight I choose to think about my perinatal mood disorder in a positive light.

This time around I've also learned a lot of things. Some of the lessons I am learning again. But, some, one in particular, I am learning for the first time. This time, I learned that I am not invincible. That no matter how much I planned, orchestrated, took charge and willed myself not to get sick, I still did. Just 47 hours into being a mom of two the stack of cards collapsed.

Like addictive substances or substance abuse, whichever way you think of it, I believe that PPD is a project or product of the devil. Maybe not in the red-horned kind of way, or even in the ruler of Hell kind of way, but in the most evil and heinous way. It steals mothers of enjoying the miracle that pregnancy and childbirth are. I can think of no more incredible and amazing process and outcome than conception through infancy. (Okay, well cell phones and space shuttles do, kind of amaze me, but still.) Seriously, though, even now when I read a children's book about pregnancy to L1, I am just as in awe as he is that a mommy and daddy come together to make a baby and that it works! Just like his little book says, the puzzle pieces fit exactly together to create a completely and entirely new and separate human being! The fact that for some women the positive emotions around that are not allowed to emerge and be enjoyed and experienced because of perinatal mood disorders is beyond devastating.

Yet, devil or not, there is so much good that I believe has come from these experiences for me. Even though I wasn't invincible, I was prepared. I was armed with knowledge, resources and support. I knew exactly who to contact when and had all of the safety nets in place. And, on top of all of that, I was open with my family of faith so that they could pray for and with me and offer a type of healing that no one else could. And, thanks to all of that, after a scary but brief early onset of postpartum anxiety, just two or three weeks later I was at the pool with friends having a Memorial Day picnic and watching L1 splash around with his friend while L2 slept happily beside me. All with a smile on my face.

So, no, there is no perfect. There is no invulnerability in perfectionism or preparation. There is, however, loads of strength and absolutely indestructible power in joining forces with others who understand and being proactive about treatment. Each day I look in the mirror now I see a woman I recognize. She's the one I have seen for most of my 35 years. I celebrate that this time I am not a stranger to those I love or to myself, no matter how imperfect I am.

This Sums It Up!

2011-07-07T10:23:00.000-04:00

I am so grateful and blessed. This experience has been amazing. What an absolute miracle to actually be enjoying enjoying (not a typo) my baby.

Have hope, Survivor Mamas who are considering another, what seems impossible is indeed very attainable.

"On Constant Watch": Trauma and Postpartum Anxiety

2011-06-27T14:10:00.000-04:00

Sure, motherhood is a 24-7 job. I mean, you ask any mother of any number of children and she'll say she's tired, she has or is still getting up in the middle of the night with kids, getting calls at work about sick children, canceling appointments with doctors, friends, and pedicurists because something going on with her child takes precedence. All that is true, but that isn't what I am going to talk about today.

When I was a child, I lived in a a completely unstable and unpredictable atmosphere. My mom's drunken rages would come out of nowhere and take place at anytime of the day (because she drank until she passed out and then as soon as she woke she began drinking again). I couldn't count on the basics like clean clothes, a well-stocked refrigerator or even being able to get to places I needed to go, like school, let alone on time. Most years I missed 29 days of school (since 30 was the maximum before child services would be called) and I couldn't ever be counted on by my friends to participate in activities or get together because my mom's alcoholism and the amount that she drank each day varied between consistent tipsiness (a condition under which she drove constantly) or a coma-like stupor (which resulted in being passed out on the couch and unresponsive). My Junior year of High School, my teacher sat in front of the school with me until after midnight waiting for my mom to pick me up after a ski trip. The bus and all the kids had arrived at 11pm to rows of parents waiting in warm cars for their kids and had long since left, but mine never showed. And, even in those days of pay telephone and landlines with cords the phone was never going to ring loud enough to wake my inebriated mom. So you aren't left hanging, I'll tell you that I eventually called my best friend's mom and she came to pick me up and I stayed at their house that night. That was the way I lived childhood. Never knowing what was next or whether I'd have what I needed.

Fast forward fifteen years to my thirty-first birthday when after 46 hours of labor and an emergency c-section my little boy came screaming into the world, already making a statement at 9 lbs. The last ten years or so had been pretty predictable and stable...I'd made them that way. By then, I had a great Senior year of High School with my Gram, four awesome years of college, two years at my first job and living with my sister and baby niece, two years of living in NY and working a great job and enjoying the city, and three years of living in Atlanta, finding renewed faith, a great community, learning how to be married and making friends all under my belt. I had created a predictable and stable life for myself. I had control of my own destiny and felt confident that I was living the life I wanted and needed. Then L1 arrived.

The labor and delivery going awry and breastfeeding nightmare probably would have been enough to take me back to that place of uncertainty and lack of control that causes general anxiety and discomfort. But, add in a couple of perinatal mood disorders and we had a full recipe for disaster on our hands. And there is only so long that your body can live under those sleep-deprived conditions of constant duress before something gives. It was my mind that gave in that time.

If a typical expectant mom asked me about new motherhood today, I would have two priorities. One would be to alert her to the risk factors, symptoms of and resources for PMADs. The other would be to be sure that she clearly understood that there is almost nothing predictable, reliable or stable about being a mother to a newborn. And, if it's your first time? Prepare to have your world rocked. Can you survive it? Sure, gratefully most people do and even go on to do it again. But, will it be a challenge? Absolutely.

If you are a woman who has a history of trauma or anxiety, I believe that your brain is already trained to go into overdrive in times of stress. You've been there too many times before and for your mind, anxiety is almost like a default mode. For a new mom, that fight or flight switch that was flipped on repeatedly in your past due to traumatic experiences or an anxiety disorder may feel like it's been permanently flipped when you have a baby. I mean, already you are responsible day in and day out for this human life (could there be any greater of an assignment than that?). But on top of that, your brain reacts to those sorts of situations like they are life and death. Just like getting in the car with my drunk mom, or engaging in an argument with your abusive boyfriend, or whatever our trauma or triggers were in the past, simply having this baby and caring for it seems like an overwhelming, anxiety-producing and never-ending proposition. And? This baby? It will be months before anything he/she does will be reliable. In fact? You may not even know what he or she needs at any given moment and the itty bitty responsibility may spend most of the day (or night, for that matter) wailing and fidgeting, further exacerbating your anxiety.

So, what should we do with this? First, I believe that women who have a history of trauma should be educated about postpartum anxiety disorders before or during their pregnancies. Then, those at risk should be offered a plan for how their support system will help them identify and treat if they do indeed suffer from a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder. Having this discussion ahead of time and creating a plan while the mom is well will help her to feel more in control of the situation, even if she is really ill at the time. Secondly, I think we need to acknowledge that motherhood not only isn't a bowl of cherries and we might feel sad sometimes, but that sometimes moms don't necessarily feel sad, but rather feel like they are on a plane that is about to crash or in a car that's lost its brakes. And that feeling sometimes doesn't go away on its own. And sometimes that anxiety when left to continue for days, weeks, or months can actually change our brain chemistry and damage our ability to cope, even under otherwise non-stressful circumstances.

Postpartum Anxiety Disorders can be overcome. And, with good resources and support and a treatment plan can even be mostly avoided in the future if you have more children. But, it takes time, patience, and a lot of letting go, in addition to treatment and support to be able to be able to relax enough to find joy and peace in mothering.

An Anniversary of Sorts

2011-06-21T12:30:00.000-04:00

Today is a significant day. L2 will be six weeks old on Thursday. You see, in 2007, at 5 weeks and 5 days postpartum, I officially "crashed". After yet another sleepless night of bottlefeeding breastmilk, followed by endless futile and obsessive burping, followed by 45 minutes of pumping during every three hours, I snapped at my husband for the last time that day. After giving him a verbal lashing so severe that even my nearly psychotic mind was able to tell I was in the wrong I simply slumped over the kitchen counter and whispered, "I think I'm going crazy".

THAT was the turning point. I called a psychiatrist. She got me in two days later and diagnosed me with severe postpartum depression. Turns out I actually had postpartum anxiety and panic disorder, as well as postpartum PTSD which all eventually caused depression, but the exact diagnosis isn't important.

What is important is what happened over the next few weeks and months. Initially, we discovered that a simple SSRI wasn't addressing the real issues of sleep deprivation, anxiety, racing thoughts, panic and obsessing about the trauma of my birth and inability to nurse. Once we added another medication, I found a therapist in addition to my physician, I began sharing about my experience and found out that indeed others HAD survived this severe of a PMAD before (can you believe that technology was so different just four years ago that I wasn't on Facebook or Twitter and Postpartum Progress was the only blog I could find...and Katherine the only "person" I could seem to manage to email with questions and concerns at that time?).

The time, sleep, medication, therapy, support from family and friends finally led me to find myself again. The horror of the experience led me to be initially adamant about not and then simply scared to death about having another child. But, the resources I had found since those awful days in 2007, like the awesome new doc, new therapist, amazing network of support, both in person and virtually via social media, knowledge that I had survived once and would again, if I had to, eventually allowed me to warm to the idea of another child. Wanting a sibling for my older son pushed that warming into action and in just a couple of months of trying we became pregnant again the month before L1 turned 3.

Today? It's been 5 weeks and 5 days since I had L2. And? I am super tired from getting only 5 hours of totally unconnected sleep last night. But? I am well. It's only noon, but I pray, hope and believe that this day will come and go with challenges but won't be any more memorable in the long-term than yesterday or tomorrow.

Have hope, Survivor Mamas. You can and will get well if you are currently suffering. And, it is possible to be well during pregnancy and postpartum if you choose to have more children. I am living proof.

A Father's Day Reflection and Dedication to my Dad and Husband

2011-06-20T10:45:00.000-04:00

As I sat feeding L2 this morning, I thought about all the reasons I appreciate my father and husband, yet fail to take the time to thank them throughout the year. In response to my thoughts and reflections on Father's Day, I've written each of them letters that I would like to share here.

Dear Dad,
I rarely have the opportunity or take the time to tell you how much gratitude I have for your love and support. You never gave up on spending time with me as a child, no matter how difficult my mother made it for you. You drove hours just for a 36 hour visit with me. You came immediately when I was left traumatized after being the victim of a violent crime as a middle-schooler. When you learned of the abuse and neglect I had suffered under my mother's care, you made a plan and came to take me away, even as a Senior in High School. When I could only manage to bring a few personal belongings with me that day, you took me shopping for new clothes so I could feel better about myself. When you realized that switching schools my Senior year would cause even more trauma for me, you sacrificed your only opportunity for me to live with you permanently that last year of High School and asked your parents to care for me so I could remain with my friends and teachers. You'll never know how that one choice impacted the rest of my life. That year with Gram was the greatest gift you could have ever given me.

You've never raised your voice or hand to me. No matter how angry I must have made you, you always listened and respected me enough to figure out how to do the right thing on my own. Even when I disappointed you with one of the "Big Five" (gratefully the least of the offenses in wrecking my new car), instead of holding a grudge and lecturing me about how much of a bad choice I had made to drive down an icy hill just to take a trip to the mall, you allowed me to take responsibility and learn how to deal with insurance companies, auto repair shops and repayment of the loan towards my deductible.

When I was sick after having L1, not once did you question the validity of what I was experiencing or tell me to "get over it". Instead, you left a luxurious resort and rushed to be by my side. When I was having a panic attack, you held me and told me you understood, instead of telling me to suck it up or trying to distract me or minimize it. When I couldn't care for myself you made extra trips to Atlanta so I wouldn't have to spend my days alone, racked with anxiety. When I got better you celebrated with me.

Thank you for being the kind of Dad that always tells others how proud you are of me, that always wants to take the time to talk with me, and that won't ever give up on me. I love you.

Dear M,

From the day we had our first date...a casual lunch at a local college restaurant...I knew I would marry you. I wouldn't admit it to others or myself, but I came home from that meal completely surprised myself at the certainty in my head and heart about that. We didn't marry until 6 years later, but I always knew that despite the ups and downs and "togethers and aparts", God had made us for each other.

As I reflect on this particular Father's Day, I want to thank you for becoming the kind of father that I am proud to be married to. When our children are in your care I never worry or question that they are safe and healthy. When you are away from us, I can always be certain that you are doing whatever it is not only for yourself, but for us. If you are working, I know it's so we can have financial security and insure that our children have the best possible future ahead by saving for tuition at good schools, being able to buy healthy foods, having the opportunity to travel and experience cultural and educational experiences, and setting a good example of the work ethic that was passed down to you by your own father. If you are exercising, I know that you are taking the time to care for your body so you are best able to care for us, both by having released your stress and by staying healthy so you can be with us and provide for us as long as God allows. If you are spending time with friends, taking up a hobby, enjoying watching sports or even getting a massage, I know that even then you are caring for yourself so that you can come home to us refreshed and able to enjoy your family time even more.

As a husband, you balance me, which balances our family and provides a healthy home for our children. Your flexibility for my rigidity. Your goofiness for my seriousness. Your frugality for my whimsy. Your practicality for my romanticism. Your aloofness for my over-analyzing. Your big thinking for my getting stuck in the details. Your fortitude during my times of anxiety or weakness.

Thank you for being you. I love you.

Maybe the best post I have ever read on PPD & Breastfeeding...

2011-06-16T09:38:00.003-04:00

This post*, written by Allison Robicelli, someone who writes about food, not mommyhood or PPD, is probably one of the most poignant pieces I have read to date. I HAD to share the link. Here's a snippet to wet your palate, but please, pretty please with sugar on top, go read the entire thing. And then share it.

The part that I was fully expecting, the part that would change me for the better and heal all the pain inside me I had been living with to bear this child, was the moment that my son was born. You know that scene on TV, don’t you? Where the baby comes out, and everyone has the biggest smiles on their faces, and they hand the child to their beaming mother who looks as if she’s so happy she might explode? Where the bitchiness, discomfort and depression immediately end, and your endorphins thrust you into the ultimate high of total unconditional love?
Yeah, that part didn’t happen. After an extremely rough birth, I laid there in semi-consciousness looking at my son, and didn’t see the love of my life, but rather a complete and utter stranger.

Thank you Nona Brooklyn for posting this. THANK YOU, again and again.

*Please note that this post does include language intended for adults.

On deciding if you should have another baby after surviving a PMAD

2011-06-15T09:24:00.001-04:00

Yesterday at Postpartum Progress Katherine Stone asked readers what they think about Gwyneth Paltrow's recent statement that she doesn't plan to have any more children as a result of her postpartum depression experience. The comments that post generated showed me that there is so much more to this and that this question elicits conversation that goes well beyond a celebrity and her family size.

After I read the post, I quickly rattled off this comment and hit "post".

I believe that my experience this second time is evidence that with a good plan, treatment during pregnancy (whether it be meds or not), good social support, and proactivity at the earliest sign of things going down that path again, that a recurrence, should it occur, can be very short-lived and manageable. Even with the severity of my first experience and the sudden onset of panic/anxiety/depression day three postpartum this time, I was able to put my treatment/contingency plan into place immediately and be back to functioning well in my family a week later.
While everyone's experience and chemistry are different, I do believe that should you decide to have more children after surviving a perinatal mood disorder, there are many things that can be done to either prevent it happening again, to limit it's severity this time or to recover very quickly without it impacting your long-term health and family life.
I also COMPLETELY respect anyone's decision not to have more children after experiencing the hell that PMADs are. It took me three years and lots of prayerful consideration to come to this conclusion. I wouldn't have been at all surprised, however, if the answer had been "one and done". And? I would have been totally okay with that, too. While I love L2 with all my heart and have bonded with him immediately, I couldn't have known that happy ending would be the outcome.
Regarding Gwyneth, I think that Survivor Mamas will use her statement, if they choose to give it any weight in the first place, to bolster them and feel good about whatever decision they, themselves are leaning towards/have made regarding more kids. From the comments above, I already see that happening in this community.

But then, as I savored a shower and one of the rare few moments of quiet time in my home recently for obvious reasons, I thought to myself...hmm...I do believe all of what I wrote above, but I left out THE MOST IMPORTANT component of preparation for having a child as a Survivor Mama. And, therefore, I felt compelled to share my thoughts, of course, my humble opinion only, on the matter. I truly believe that being completely recovered from and having reconciled your pregnancy and postpartum experience are probably the best ways to begin preparation for having another child as a Survivor. Going into another pregnancy haphazardly, accidentally or before you have not only completed treatment for your PMAD, but then done the work necessary to reconcile that experience are recipes for possible disaster.

I wasn't thrilled to be nearly 35 with a child well out of diapers and finally to the point of fair independence only to start all over at square one with my second child. However, I knew that I needed to complete my treatment, continue working on the issues that arose as a result of my PMAD, and to move past the guilt, anger and other ugly remnants that PPD had dispersed in my life before I could even consider another child. I also knew that I needed to be totally okay with seeing those pink lines on the stick, because once I did there was no going back. So, for six months before I removed my birth control device I prayed about and made sure that I was very clear and honest with myself that I was truly "ready". I talked with other Survivors and my doctors and therapist. I asked friends to pray for me and with me. And, then finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the answer that was right for me became clear and we "pulled the trigger".

So, here I am darkening the door of 35 with an almost four year old and a newborn, but well. Not perfect. Not free from anxiety. Not able to do this without the help of treatment again. But, well. Well enough to care for my family, function in my life, interact with my friends, and even take a shower once in a while. ;)

On why bonding can happen anytime...and why it will be okay...

2011-06-13T14:52:00.000-04:00

It was months before I bonded with L1. Sure, I took care of him when I was well enough to. And, somewhere deep down I knew that I loved him. But, I remember in those early weeks confessing that I loved him like and wished that he could be my nephew instead of my son. That I knew how to be an aunt and that I was obviously unworthy of being a mother if I couldn't even bond with my own son. My flesh and blood. The child whom I had longed and cried just one glimpse of in the weeks preceding his birth.

In this photo, taken when L1 was around 7 weeks or so old, I can tell, and maybe you can, too, not only how sick I am, but also how far removed I was from being the kind of mother I desperately wanted to be. I was a shell of a person and was far from being connected to my own child in the way that you anticipate you will be when you dream of motherhood.

The following photo was taken a few weeks later, once my treatment had begun to take effect and I had begun doing things to improve our bonding. You can tell that things were progressing, but I know as I look carefully and remember this tenuous time that they were far from perfect and that my relationship with my son, but more importantly with myself as a mother, left much to be desired.

A couple of weeks after that photo, at Christmastime, this photo was taken. I remember feeling joy for the first time in months that Christmas. It was fleeting. It was temporary. But it was real. It was genuine and heartfelt and the smile I wore was not an attempt at a decent photo of my child and me, but rather a moment in time captured.

In mid-February of the following year, when L1 was 5 1/2 months old, he was baptized. For the first time since I had become a mother I recall that I felt like me again this weekend. I hosted our dear friends for the Baptism festivities, had a luncheon in honor of the occasion, enjoyed a casual glass of wine, and did all of the things that had been previously missing from life post-baby. I finally realized that while the "me" I had known had gone MIA for a while, that deep down she was not lost and was still in there and capable of reconciling this new role as a mother and being the same person I had been and wanted to continue being. And? As a result my heart and mind, healed and open, allowed my son and I to connect and to create an unbreakable bond that has continued to deepen and thicken to this day.

Have hope dear Survivor (and Surviving) Mamas, that regardless of when you bond with your child that with effort and healing it WILL happen. And it will be so worth it!

If someone's gonna call me in the middle of the night...

2011-06-09T11:04:00.000-04:00

they had BETTER be this cute:

Can you believe it's been a month already? Neither can I! It seems like L2 is so brand new and these four weeks have passed so quickly, and yet? Somewhere in my heart he always existed. Maybe as a tiny little missing L2 shaped piece.

While I am far from having everything figured out, at the one month point I do feel like I have a bit of perspective on pregnancy and the early postpartum weeks as a survivor of postpartum depression and anxiety. So...what questions do you have for me? Ask away!

When you want to cry...laugh.

2011-06-03T07:55:00.000-04:00

Today is one of those days. One of those my three week old slept better than my husband and three year old did and therefore I barely slept last night days. And now? L1 will not keep his hands off of L2 long enough for the poor wee one to get 5 winks. So today...when I want to pull out my hair and crawl into my closet and cry? Instead? I am going to look at this photo...

Three Week Update: Two's More Than Company

2011-06-02T09:28:00.001-04:00

As you've probably gathered if you've been following me on Twitter or reading between the lines in the short posts I've done since L2 was born, at least for now I am SO much better off this time around postpartum.

Physically? My c-section recovery was a cinch compared to with L1. I was up and around within a week of surgery and was able to participate (carefully) in everyday life. I didn't take a single pain pill (not even an Advil) once home, so while I was a little uncomfortable if I lifted something I shouldn't have or moved about too much one day, it was nothing I couldn't handle.

Emotionally? We had a blissful start after an amazing birth experience (more on that later) and then at hour 47 I crashed. Days 3-6 postpartum resembled a slightly milder version of the hell I lived in for weeks and months postpartum with L1. Honestly? It both scared the crap out of me and was a huge wake-up call. I knew we needed to do something and fast. And? I knew that while all the emotional work I had done in preparation for this experience was helpful and worth it, that for me postpartum depression, anxiety and panic are about physical changes that happen in my body completely outside of my control. Gratefully, there are things one can do about that and we immediately began to put the contingency plan into place. I went back on the meds I had been on previously postpartum, albeit on much lower doses. After more struggles breastfeeding (despite L2 latching perfectly- imagine that?!?!), weight issues with him, and the anxiety that taking multiple meds that were seeping into my breastmilk, I made the tough decision to stop nursing. This time, though, it was completely my decision and I felt good about it. Turns out, the kid has horrible reflux and a milk protein allergy just like his brother and is on hypoallergenic formula anyway. So, ironically, even if I had "toughed it out" and continued nursing we probably would have had to stop because of his health issues.

Managing two kids, even with lots of help, is a huge adjustment, for those without any PPD, too, I imagine, and so I won't say we are even close to figuring it all out. But, I am trying to take it day by day and pray my way through the challenges and physical demands that it creates. Two? It's a whole new ball game, but I must say I am still so glad we decided to play.

BEST. DECISION. EVER.

2011-05-26T09:01:00.000-04:00

Despite some challenges like a bit of a PPD/PPA recurrence, having to give up breastfeeding for various reasons, a baby with some major reflux, a husband who had to go on a three day business trip, and a three-year-old who is adjusting to not being the center of the universe...

THIS?

Was SO worth it.

Happy two week birthday, little man. I love you to the moon and back!

And then there were FOUR...

2011-05-20T08:43:00.000-04:00

After a beautiful and blissful birth our family grew by one.

We welcome with love to our family...L2!

Less than 72 hours...

2011-05-09T11:34:00.000-04:00

until I hear my baby cry for the first time.
until I see how much hair this baby has and how much he weighs.
until I know how much different this birth experience will really be.
until I say "yes" instead of "no" when asked if I am ready to see my baby.
until I am a mama of two.

This time...

I look forward to being the first, not the last, to hold my baby.
I look forward to spending as much time "just the two of us" in the hospital as possible to get our early bonding on.
I am grateful that I have been smart (and humble) enough to ask for help. I said "yes" to each offer made, including meals, childcare, hand-holding, and whatever else anyone offers to do (including cleaning, dishes and laundry)!
I plan to be open about what I need in the hospital and home. Including letting family and friends know when I need a little quiet (i.e., no news watching in my hospital room), a little rest (i.e., I might put a "do not disturb" sign on my door and mean it...including unnecessary checks by nurses), and including planning to have visitors help with the home and big brother...and leave the holding and feeding of baby brother to me, unless I ask for help.
I plan to unmarry myself to any definitive plans, including breastfeeding, sleeping in the same room, etc., if needed. The best mom I can be will be a result of my using my gut and being well. Whatever that looks like is just fine with me.
I will prioritize caring for myself. Writing, seeing my doctor and therapist, eating well and staying hydrated, getting rest and taking time for a bath or shower will all take precedence over being a hostess or having a clean sink.

I look forward to sharing our good news with you. Until then, I am grateful for your support throughout my pregnancy and I am hoping and praying above hope that this time will be the kind of different that encourages, inspires and offers you reassurance and hope.

Blessings,

(Happy) Mother's Day!

2011-05-05T12:53:00.000-04:00

Postpartum Progress hosts 3rd Annual Rally for Moms' Mental Health

Get ready to do a lot of reading this Sunday (or next week) as Postpartum Progress hosts the Mother's Day Rally for Mom's Mental Health. As Katherine shares on her blog, "You'll be hearing from each of them, every hour on the hour, starting at 12:01am on Mother's Day, May 8th, on the importance of mothers' emotional health and on surviving PPD and related illnesses."

Motherwoman's touching Mother's Day Video

From their website..."MotherWoman found a unique way to celebrate mothers. We engaged our community in creating this video to honor the gifts we receive from mothers. Families and friends told us what they treasure most. We asked internationally known singer/songwriter powerhouses, The Nields, to write a love song to mothers. Amazing family photographer Sarah Prall captured the beauty of area mothers, fathers and children. We hope you enjoy this tribute and share it with the mothers you love!"

POEM's Tonya Fulwilder talks to her local news anchor about PPD

In this short video POEM's Executive Director, Tonya Fulwilder, talks about her PPD experience and her work to help other mothers in her area:

Another Powerful Word

2011-05-02T08:44:00.000-04:00

Compassion: A word with a latin root, meaning "to suffer with". A word, as I really consider it, that is almost as valuable as "hope". We talk a lot about hope here. We offer stories of hope. Of healing. We hold hope for mamas who are struggling and can't seem to find any reason in the midst of their illness to support being hopeful. We hope and pray for recovery for all PPD mamas. Pregnant and adoptive Survivor Mamas hope for the best this time and hold on to the possibility that the Hell they experienced the last time will never meet them again.

Equally important, though, to "hope" is the way that we walk with others who are suffering. Why do we do this? Not only to provide hope, but to take a bit, even if only a minute amount, of someone else's pain and carry it. By suffering with other moms, we show them that we are willing to offer our time, our support and our compassion to them. And, only we can do this. Why? Because only one who knows this pain can truly offer this gift. Sure, family and friends, and even near strangers can be sympathetic, helpful and loving. But Survivor Mamas? You, my friends, have been given the opportunity to show true compassion. The kind that boldly says to a mom, "I understand. You are not alone. I am there for you. I know you will get better. And until then? I will suffer with you."

Having a baby after PPD (with Katherine Stone and me): the feature story at Sharewik this week!

2011-04-25T09:02:00.001-04:00

This week at Sharewik.com the topic of having another baby after a PPD experience is the feature. I am so grateful to Diana and Matt at Sharewik for not only doing the first piece on PPD in 2010, but inviting Katherine and me back to talk about the important and relevant topic of considering and preparing for having more children after surviving a perinatal mood disorder.

In the following video, Katherine Stone of Postpartum Progress and her husband, Frank, describe their experience of PPOCD with their first child and then their completely different experience, even with a surprise pregnancy, when they had a second child.

Also featured is Suzanne of The Fearless Formula Feeder, writing about her recent experience having a second child after having had PPD just two years prior with her first child.

Included in the story is this short video interview I did with the Sharewik team during my second trimester about the way I am preparing for this postpartum experience having the benefit of both time and hindsight. I hope you will find it helpful as you process your own experience and perhaps even plan for expanding your family, as well.

Best,

You have to go THROUGH it

2011-04-19T09:54:00.000-04:00

Good Friday is for Christians one of the most important and penitent days of the year. Yet, it is also the most horrifically sad and painful day to Worship, as well. During this Holy Week, we move from the waving of the palm branches on Palm Sunday through the "Stations of the Cross" and Good Friday and then wait in anticipation, not only for chocolate on Easter morning, but also for the Resurrection and the opportunity to shout "Alleluia, He is Risen, indeed!"

On Palm Sunday our pastor preached a short but poignant sermon of which the point can by my estimation be appreciated by people of all religious faiths and backgrounds. The bottom line for him, in thinking about this week and the closing of Lent and awaiting Easter morning, is that Good Friday, as uncomfortable as it might be, is something that we MUST go through in order to experience Easter. There simply is no Resurrection without Good Friday. Without Christ's death we would not have the Easter promise. Period.

Even if you don't worship the same way I do, I'd like you to think about that. To try to grasp the image and concept. There is no eternal life, joy, promise and hope without going through Good Friday. We simply cannot go around it, ignore it, sleep through it or wait it out. We must walk through and experience that somber, painful day in order to fully appreciate and celebrate Easter.

So, as you walk this PPD journey, I encourage you to accept and embrace that your day of hope and promise is on the other side of the pain. That, while you cannot go around it, you can and will get through it. And, on the other side of it? There is light. There is promise. And, boy, oh boy, will there be celebration!

On Being Depressed vs. Suffering from Depression

2011-04-14T12:54:00.000-04:00

People love to throw around the word "depressed". It seems that everything from a favorite team's loss in a ball game to a death in the family can lead someone to declare being "depressed" these days. But, I wonder...are they really depressed? I mean, is being depressed the same thing as suffering from depression, and if it is not, then is it accurate to say you are depressed? And, how does it impact someone who is living with depression to hear it used so nonchalantly?

Sure, it must be crazy stressful to suffer from multiple losses of loved ones in a short period of time. Or to lose your job. To have piles of bills stacking up and not be able to pay them. To get a divorce. To become an empty-nester after 18+ years of being a full-time parent. To deal with the things that inevitably happen across the course of a lifetime. And that stress? Absolutely can impact your mood and create feelings of sadness and anxiety. And those who have a particular genetic or other predisposition to mental health issues may very well find that one of those occurrences actually is the last straw that transforms stress and sadness into true clinical depression. But, for most folks who toss around "being depressed" the way they talk about being hungry, tired or excited, I have to say please don't confuse a feeling with a health issue.

Yesterday during the Postpartum Support Chat at Cafemom I was reminded of one of the many reasons moms who suffer from postpartum depression and anxiety are so damned confused and frustrated by it. It doesn't make sense. Period. When they think of being depressed in terms of being sad for a particular reason, then they are accurate in being perplexed by PPD and why they are dealing with it. The reality is that most of us who suffer from PPD have healthy babies, enough to eat, some sort of support (whether from a partner, family or friends), and a roof over our heads. Sure, one of the risk factors is a baby who has health issues such as being premature, but most of the women who I interact with didn't have NICU experiences, babies with disabilities or serious physical complications. They had perfectly healthy, full-term newborns. And that? That fact alone is a tremendous source of confusion and guilt for mamas. Imagine staring at a beautiful, healthy infant and thinking, "Here is this perfect human being I have been blessed with and yet I feel sad, anxious, scared, angry...", the list goes on and on.

The other thing I hear moms say all the time is, "What did I do to deserve this? I mean, I am a good person." In short? You didn't do anything to deserve it. Yeah, it stinks, but most of us are good people, too. I'm not saying PPD only targets the cream of the crop, but I don't think it is over-stating it to say that the majority of women who suffer from PPD pay their taxes and help little old ladies across the street, at a minimum. And? Most of them do way more than that...They are the dedicated volunteers at their churches. The neighbors who take a meal to everyone who has a baby and gets a head-cold. The women who go the extra mile for mankind. There's just nothing we can do to deserve or completely prevent PPD.

So, what's up with PPD, then? Unfortunately, what's up is that PPD, unlike being down, sad or "depressed", is that it is a disorder...an illness. It's not based solely upon circumstances. It's a complicated and unique beast. Much more than a temporary feeling or emotion in response to a situation. So rest assured, mamas, you don't have to have a "reason" to be feeling the way you are. I pray that knowing that, and helping others to understand it, gives you a little relief and hope.

Allowing the miracle

2011-04-07T08:08:00.001-04:00

When people talk about newborn babies the words awe, wonder and miracle always seem to be a part of the conversation. When men, women who've never been pregnant, and even women who've had children in the past first hear you are pregnant, it's not uncommon for their reaction to be, "Oh, what a miracle. It's just so incredible having that life growing inside of you, isn't it?"

With both of my pregnancies these types of reactions were common responses to the news. And, while we tend to wait a bit to share our news, the sharing happens early enough in the process that I am generally not showing, and the only signs of this "miracle" are the constant nausea and fatigue...not exactly awe-inspiring symptoms. And then, of course, we have the emotional component. With both of my pregnancies came varying degrees of surprise and concern, though for very different reasons the second time than the first. Still, that tenuous, vulnerable state of the first trimester made it hard for me to accept and celebrate what an awesome thing this ability to create and grow another human being actually was. Many people commented with joyous shouts and exclamations when I shared my news...and I tried to make them feel good about that by obliging with an appropriate smile and hug.

This pregnancy certainly has been a time of both learning and anticipation for me. The uncertainty of the way that things will unfold postpartum is matched by the fact that this time I know exactly how unpredictable a newborn can be. But, in the midst of that I know that the work I have done over the past three years to both heal from the postpartum depression and anxiety that I didn't cause, yet was at risk for because of my personality traits and personal and genetic history, has prepared me. Maybe not in the way that you can prepare for a big exam, but in the ways that matter for my situation.

This weekend I attended a small women's retreat with 19 other members of my church. It was at a simple Catholic retreat center in the middle of nowhere. The accommodations were "bare bones", which was perfect for the weekend. See, this retreat began to be advertised just weeks after I learned I was pregnant last fall. Knowing how much I would need to pray my way into childbirth, the postpartum period and becoming a mother of two, I immediately registered. What better a time to go away for rest, respite and renewal than just over a month before I had this baby? And, what better a way to spend that time than in prayer? The atmosphere, both the physical location and set-up of the retreat center, as well as the intentionally scheduled agenda and components of the weekend were just what I needed. I know I am not alone in feeling that way...many other women on the retreat expressed the same thing, but what a blessing that I felt as if God had orchestrated this opportunity just for me!

During our times of Centering Prayer, I was able to quiet my mind and listen for God. So often when we pray we are listing our wants and needs to God. We rarely remember that prayer is a conversation and that God has something important to say to us, too. And, it wasn't only during scheduled prayer time that God's message clearly made its way to me. In fact, it was in quite the opposite situation! Facilitated by two women who I adore and with whom I have a friendship, in addition to professional and spiritual relationship, the retreat was as fun as it was contemplative. One of the friends is so great at little touches that add to the festivity and/or meaning of events, and she didn't fail to impress this time, either. On Friday evening she unveiled her gifts to the attendees...a collection of inspirational t-shirts, mugs and journals. We each had the opportunity to choose the one that spoke to us. As you can imagine, twenty women of ages ranging from late 20's to late 70's have varying tastes and t-shirt sizes. But, somehow there was at least one item that was just perfect for each woman! Walking quietly over to the piano where the items were displayed I looked down and truly saw just one item in the bunch of 20+. A t-shirt (in my size, of course) that said nothing more than "Allow the miracle..." and it was then that I knew that God had done all the preparation and anticipation for this baby necessary and that if I just could move aside and allow him to work, that he would.

And the countdown begins...

2011-03-28T13:59:00.001-04:00

Six weeks. 6 wks. Sei settimane. Seis semanas. Six semaines. In any language, I believe the current translation is, "Holy crap!"

First of all, if I get any bigger I will have to call in for one of those motorized scooters that they advertise in the middle of the night. I mean, heck, I am up at that hour anyway, if not for peeing, then for quenching my seemingly endless thirst. Do you think I can get those discounts they claim "you" might be eligible for? I promise to donate the chair to someone more needy in say...a year or so...when I will have the energy to walk again.

I know, I know. I need to remember how much I couldn't wait to have the baby the first time, but how after a couple of days, I found my most fervent request was, "Okay, kid, you're cute and all, but umm, could you go back in my belly for a day or two so I can sleep for more than a two hour stretch?" Thing is, the last month or so of pregnancy seems exhausting by any definition. The constant peeing, rolling over so your limbs can access a minimal bloodflow, holding the belly just to walk from one room to the next, struggle to put on socks...the list goes on and on. But, three years is recent enough for me to remember that literally falling asleep the moment I sit down on the couch at 7pm, whether holding a baby or not, is the reality of the newborn phase. And, like it or not, the exhaustion I feel now is nothing compared to what's coming.

The point of this post is kind of that it doesn't have a point other than to say I am at that odd place on the spectrum between "I am so uncomfortable that I can't wait to not be pregnant anymore." and "Holy moly, I am scared to death of having a newborn to care for 24-7."

In the midst of this post my three year old came over and invited me to dance to Twinkle, Twinkle with him. I mean, how can you pass up an invitation to dance with the cutest little boy in the world? No matter how much my back hurts and how tired I am...I just can't. But, I do wonder...will it be harder to say yes with a crying infant and an even more sleep-deprived mama? I hope not. The thing I love about the doctor I have been working with this pregnancy is that he always brings my awareness back to prioritizing my family's health, not just my own, as we make decisions about the postpartum period. I love that Dr. N. reminds me each and every appointment that I must consider what's best for L. in every. single. decision. So, as I consider taking medication, I consider how taking or not taking a drug will impact him. And, when I consider breastfeeding, I need to consider not only what is best for #2, but also for him. And, as I consider how much help to plan for in the weeks and months after having the baby, I need to consider not just how much help I need with the baby, but how much help I need with him to insure that he has lots of attention and gets out of the house plenty. And, of course that I have some help with the baby so that big brother gets one on one time with Mama, too.

For those of us who are PPD Survivor Mamas, there are lots of things to consider when preparing for our next birth and baby. But, honestly, I am praying that being prepared and aware in the first place gives us a huge leg up on any preparation we did the previous time. And, this time, I've got the best thing in the world going for me...all of you!

Why do some moms care SO much how other people raise their kids?

2011-03-24T13:14:00.001-04:00

It is fascinating (and not in a good way) how mothers these days feel the need to not only concern themselves with, but also pass judgment on, the way other people parent their kids. The hot topics these days, as I observe them, seem to be whether moms work outside the home and breastfeeding. And, of course, the "drama-cherry" on top is the whole epidural/"natural" and vaginal/c-section childbirth debate.

When I first became a mom, I invested in a plethora of parenting books on topics ranging from sleep to discipline, and even my own parents didn't try very hard to hide both their frustration and amusement at the fact that I felt the need to educate myself about the process, let alone label what type of mom I was going to be. In their day, people just had their kids and did the best they could, which was to balance keeping their kids alive and keeping their lives from being too impacted by having had kids in the first place. "Go play." would about sum up any parenting theories they subscribed to, if such a thing even crossed their minds.

Nowadays, people invest insane amounts of time taking up causes that are in line with their parenting philosophies and trying to educate the world on why they are right in their opinions. Breastfeeding advocates who take a more extremist approach even use scare tactics to guilt mothers into thinking that feeding your infant anything but breastmilk for the first ~~years~~ months of their lives is the equivalent of offering them dropper-fulls of cyanide. They dedicate their time to "teaching" the world about the dangers of formula, while using the benefits of breastmilk as an after-thought. What they don't realize, in my opinion, is that the people actually listening are mamas like me and you...smart, well-read mothers who are essentially the "choir" that these folks are preaching to.

In fact, now pregnant, my husband and I registered for and attended a breastfeeding class in preparation for our second baby. With my first I had an awful experience breastfeeding that certainly contributed to my PPD. With this next baby, I wanted to be well-educated so that should I run into issues nursing again I wouldn't feel as if it was my lack of preparation that led to the complications. The class was advertised as a three-hour couples experience that would teach us all about latch, positioning, and helpful tips to make breastfeeding as easy and enjoyable as possible. I was excited to learn all the things that I hadn't known going into motherhood initially. Almost immediately upon arrival, my husband and I became acutely aware of what this "class" actually was about. The first exercise focused on matching a list of "facts" about breastfeeding with worldly roles/jobs. For example, if the fact was that "breastfed babies' bowel movements are much less foul-smelling than formula-fed babies" we were to match that with "garbage collector". Not only did we feel like we were in a 4th grade Social Studies class, but we also realized that this "class" was really about promoting breastfeeding propaganda. It was a hilarious discovery considering that all 10 of the couples in the class had paid $35 and sacrificed their Saturday to attend! Um, not to be a smart-aleck, but is this not the epitome of "preaching to the choir"??? Hello?!!? We all PAID to attend the class...OBVIOUSLY we are aware of and sold on the benefits of breastfeeding.

This example of my recent personal experience is just a symptom of what I feel is a completely backwards approach to promoting breastfeeding in our country. What lactivists (claim to) aim to do is to increase the breastfeeding rates among the general population for the purpose of improving the health and wellness of American children. What I believe they actually accomplish, and are quite successful at, is completely missing the population of people who actually need this "education". And those of us who already know a lot about breastfeeding and are consistently surrounded by nursing moms are instead simply reminded of our supposed inadequacy as mothers, which results in unnecessary guilt and shame...but no more successful of a breastfeeding outcome than had we not been inundated with messages of the "poisonous" nature of formula. Here's a thought...how about dedicating the time, energy and financial resources to lactation support before and after babies are born so that instead of memorized "facts" about breastfeeding benefits we actually learn best practices for latching and feeding our babies at the breast?

What in the world makes people put all their eggs in the "what kind of milk you feed your kid the first few weeks/months/years of his/her life is the MOST important thing in the whole world" basket???? Seriously...there are thousands of dead people in Japan, people losing their minds, families and homes all over the world, incredibly important issues going on in our country and some people care that much whether someone else's kids' milk comes from a boob or a bottle? Give me a break.

The other hot topic, which can bring any mom to tears, is the "where you work" debate. Some stay at home moms seem to have a particular affinity for and loud voice around the benefits of and superiority of not working outside the home at times. On several blogs lately, comments nearing the hundreds have be shared which range from a subtle and passive-aggressive disapproval for a mom's working outside the home to outright declaring that she doesn't know her child as well as or have as good of a bond with her child as she would if she would just stay at home. Nevermind that some moms don't have a choice about generating income for their family, or that for some moms, like me, working actually makes us better equipped to parent when we are with our children because of our innate personalities or gifts.

I realize that I am among a blessed minority who have the choice, both financially and by matter of a great employer, to determine my work schedule. Having had a taste of all four scenarios (stay at home, work outside the home full-time, work outside the home part-time, and work from home), I have definitely determined that part-time paid work (and a combination of from home and outside of the home) suits me best. I enjoy my weeks most, feel most productive and find myself enjoying family time most when my life is well-balanced with adult conversation, stimulating intellectual work, time for prayer and devotions, play-time with my son, and plenty of time to accomplish maintaining the home. My current schedule allows for that...which paves the way to both my contentment and sanity.

On the other hand, there are lots of moms who are career-driven and who would be devastated not to continue with the pace of their career, even after having kids. They might enlist the help of a family member or great childcare provider to care for their kids and then spend their own free-time fully engaged with their children. And, there are moms who stay at home who don't have the ability to find gainful employment because of childcare costs or lack of education, but who would love to work outside the home if given the opportunity. And, of course, there are also moms who have to work to meet their family's needs financially who mourn the time away from their kids, but don't have a choice about it. These scenarios just touch upon the individual nature of each family situation.

If you are a mom who passes judgment upon other moms regularly or who criticizes parenting choices based upon your personal philosophies and opinions, I urge you to re-think things. We're all doing the best we can here and the point is, no matter what kind of milk you feed your child, what kind of "work" you do or where you do it, if you love your kids and make sure that they are well-cared for then you are a good mom...and you shouldn't let anyone tell you differently!

What I learned from PPD...

2011-03-21T07:33:00.000-04:00

As much as we'd like to say the PPD has no usefulness, no purpose, and surely no benefits, because of how dreadfully awful it is to endure, I do believe that somewhere in each PPD experience there is something that will inspire, strengthen or teach us in a way that no other challenge might.

From a faith perspective, I get so irritated when people make trite comments after a tragedy or loss, such as "Well, God must have a reason for this happening." or "Everything has a purpose." B.S.! My God is not up there with a magic wand waving it willy-nilly, and especially not intentionally, at us wee-humans on earth inflicting pain, suffering and grief upon us. However, He is walking beside us, holding us up through the pain, and making whatever good can be made out of circumstances that neither He, nor we, created.

As I think back upon and discuss my postpartum depression and anxiety with others, I realize that so much good has been created from what I went through. I actually learned a lot about myself, others and the world from having had postpartum depression and anxiety. It doesn't really matter if I would "do it all again", since frankly a do-over of my first birth and postpartum period aren't an option. What does matter is if I focus on the positive now that I am years out from the experience, so that this illness doesn't rob me of anymore than it already has.

I have learned....

that I am sooooo much stronger than I knew.
that sometimes emotional pain is actually harder to endure and more painful than physical pain.
that the people who are your rock through your journey are often not the ones you ever expected to understand or to be there for you when you most need it, but they are just the right people for the "job".
to be less judgmental and more humble.
that love for your child is so powerful, even when you can't feel it, that it can help you overcome just about anything.
that hope isn't something we have to hold on our own. It still works if someone else carries it for you until you can accept it yourself.
that sometimes by getting lost in complete darkness first, you find your perfectly lit path in life.

What have you learned from PPD?

Uncomfortably Numb

2011-03-12T09:44:00.000-05:00

I can't tell you how many women I know who lament the way they feel in the early days of treatment. Sure, they see a tiny little flicker of light at the end of the tunnel now that there is a diagnosis and that they've begun their journey towards wellness. But, quickly, very quickly, that horrific pain and discomfort can be replaced with something equally (or perhaps more) unfamiliar. "Nothing", they tell me. "I feel nothing. No good, no bad. Just...well, nothing."

That's how I was, too. I remember my niece and nephew (who I adore) putting on this hysterical show to try to cheer me up when I was near the bottom of the pit in my darkest PPD hours. I sat there like a zombie...not even laughing at my 4 year old nephew in a full ballerina costume acting like a goofball, exclusively for my benefit. In that moment I felt like I (the real me) was gone forever. And then, incredibly...just 2-3 months later I was back to hosting parties, getting dressed up and enjoying a glass of wine with a girlfirend. Sure, I still had some anxiety and work to do...but man, the difference that couple of months made!

So, friends, let me reassure you. Whether that numbness you might be experiencing is due to psychiatric medication and its side effects or simply to being at a crossroads in your PPD recovery...you will indeed get better. You will feel again. You will find yourself and your true emotions. And then. Then? Then, you will thank God for replacing the sheer hell you had been enduring with temporary relief in the form of nothing. And later, you will shout with gladness when that relief is substituted for joy.

Just a quick hello

2011-03-07T14:28:00.000-05:00

Things are rough around here. Due to a lot of circumstantial stuff happening in our lives, the stress and pressure has been cooking for a while. Last week we had a death in the family that was sort of the last straw.

I have been so blessed to have had only had a few bad weeks during this pregnancy so far, and I have just 9 weeks to go. Compared with the sheer Hell that was PPD, I am thrilled about this. But, since I promised I would always be honest in my writing, I need to confess that I am having a tough time right now. I can't get into all of the details on this very public blog, but please know that I just need some time to figure things out and I might not be around much in cyberspace for the next couple of weeks.

I know I will get through this...it is a pothole, not a cliff. It doesn't make it any easier to navigate, but I have hope and that's all that matters.

Your prayers are appreciated,

Peer Support Confirmed Effective by Medical Researchers

2011-03-01T07:15:00.000-05:00

A recent study out of Ann Arbor, Michigan confirms what we knew all along...peer support is very effective as a component of care in people who experience depression. This article in Medical News Today describes the study which was the first of its kind to specifically isolate peer support as a factor in depression treatment and recovery. Peer support as an added treatment option was found to be more effective than traditional care alone and , in fact, this type of support was found in the randomized trials completed to be just as effective in some cases as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy completed by therapists!

Knowing that medication and therapy were key in my complete recovery from PPD in 2007, I would never purport that peer support alone is a first line of fire for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. I do believe that in most cases it can be an awesome addition to a treatment plan that might already include strategies such as therapy, medication, exercise, and a host of other components. And, I will acknowledge that it has been my experience in interaction with women over three years that a few, mostly those who were experiencing very mild depression and adjustment difficulties after having first children, have indicated that peer support alone helped them to recover.

Peer support, while something that I did not get experience the benefits of during my postpartum depression and anxiety after having my son, has become integral to my health during this pregnancy. Thanks to a "Pregnant After PPD" group that I formed a couple of months ago, I have felt so much hope and reassurance as I approach the end of pregnancy with #2 and grow closer to the postpartum period. Knowing that these women, though they live in various places across the globe, are available to me and are walking this journey with me, is an incredible gift. As stated in the article, peer support does indeed decrease feelings of isolation for me and is a great way to share health information and resources.

If you haven't yet explored peer support groups in your area, I encourage you to do so. There are two great lists of groups that you can search...a list at Postpartum Progress and another at Postpartum Support International's website.

Where to begin...?

2011-02-23T11:08:00.000-05:00

Considering having a baby after PPD is a little like going skydiving again after your parachute didn't open 'til the last second on a previous dive. At least, that's how I think about it. I've never actually been skydiving since I have a bit of a fear of heights and don't really like that dropping sensation you get, even on the mediocre roller coasters. Yet, I can just imagine free-falling, unable to really make out how far below you the ground and potential safety might be, while at the same time trusting and hoping that something you didn't design and have no guarantee works accurately will pop out just in in time to save you from sure peril. That's how postpartum depression and anxiety felt to me...like a free-fall.

Over the past year or two as I blogged about even considering having another baby after my experience, so many women would write to me. They'd ask me about where I was in the process and how I even found myself at a place that I wanted to entertain such a thought. They'd wonder what was an appropriate motivation to have another child (age, wanting their child to have a sibling, wanting to reconcile their previous birth or postpartum experience with a possible positive one the next time...the list goes on). And, I hesitated to give any answers or direction. I was full of similar questions myself and contemplation of becoming pregnant again was just that...a thought process that really had little to do with having made the decision to consider the idea, more just that I hadn't been able to not think about it anymore. When I was sick, it was easy just to flat out say, "I'm done. I am never putting myself or anyone else through that again." But later, months and years later, it didn't seem that simple anymore. When I was feeling like a "good mom", I would think that perhaps I should expand my family to give an adopted or needy child a loving, Christian home. And, when I was channeling a "not-so-hot mom", I'd be thinking about how L deserved to have a sibling with whom he could complain about his "crazy mama" and commiserate about all the mistakes we were making as parents.

Now, just 11 weeks away from this baby's arrival, I don't have much consideration or contemplation about that left to do. The decision has long since been made and the planning is practically complete. And while I'd like to say that once you've made a decision things get simpler, it doesn't exactly work that way. Sure, I no longer have to struggle about the timing of discontinuing birth control or if I've explored all the pros and cons of having another child enough to come to a logical conclusion. Yet, the future is unknown and this process is still a leap of faith.

In a future post, I will be sharing what I've done this time around to position myself best for a positive postpartum experience, both physically and emotionally. But, the reality is that I won't know how well-prepared and armed I am until after the fact. Just like making the decision to have another baby, being pregnant after PPD is filled with questions, concerns, and ups and downs. I wish I had better, more definitive advice, but the best thing I know to say is to trust your gut. Once you're well, and when you take out the unnecessary external pressures that might possibly muddy your perception impact your decision, talk with your partner and take your time. And, then...you'll just know. And when you know, move on, realizing that whatever decision you make is the right one for you.

When it's okay to take a break from fighting it

2011-02-14T11:01:00.000-05:00

Each week I hear from moms who are tired. Moms who are fed up. Moms who are disillusioned and unsure. Women who desperately want to have hope, but feel so badly that just getting through the day, let alone being positive, seems equivalent to climbing Mt. Everest.

This Valentine's Day, my "gift" to you is a break. For one day, whether it be today, tomorrow, or a day next month, put down the plastic smile, the self-help book, the laptop reader filled with inspiration. And...just be. Be you. No matter how you are feeling or how much energy you do or don't have. Give up channeling "Rocky" for a day. You don't have to fight all the time. Sure, kicking PPD's butt takes effort and energy, but don't let it take all of yours and drain you completely. Let your battery recharge for a day. Put it in neutral.

I know you don't need my permission to do all of this. But, I want you to know that it's okay to do it. That it doesn't mean you've given up or that you've thrown in the towel on your efforts to get well. It just means that sometimes fighting it isn't the best way to cope. Many times it is, don't get me wrong. But, sometimes, honestly we need to take some time off from it. To take our minds to another place. One where things are a bit easier, where we simply deal with things as they come across our plates one bite at a time, instead of taking on the world. Postpartum depression, like the dust bunnies my grandmother always reminded me of, will be there tomorrow. And then...you can get back to kicking it to the curb.

Today...just breathe and be.

It's Never Too Late

2011-02-08T09:36:00.005-05:00

...not even if you initially saw a therapist a few times and then didn't go back.
...not even if you previously stopped taking medication because you didn't like the side effects or thought that you had recovered.
...not even if your child is more of a toddler or preschooler than a baby.
...not even if you prefer not to take medication. (There are lots of treatment options, and some cases can be treated with therapy or other methods...not everyone needs medication, though some do.)
...not even if you feel your family or friends don't support you seeking treatment.
...not even if you are feeling (unnecessarily) ashamed or private and therefore have held off because you've been uncomfortable telling people how you are feeling.
...not even if you you tried alternative treatment options first, but haven't found relief from the depression or anxiety.
...not even if you had recovered from PPD and now you are experiencing a more chronic depression or anxiety.
...not even if you swore you could do this "on your own".
...not even if everyone is telling you that you seem to be doing just fine now, but you're not so sure.
...not even if you feel so badly that you are convinced you'll never get better...that this is your new reality. (It's not; I promise...it just feels that way right now.)

Bottom line? It is NEVER too late to seek treatment for postpartum depression or anxiety. While this is not forever, seeking help for PPD is the best way to feel better sooner than later. Perinatal mood and anxiety disorders are 100% treatable. Reach out today. You'll be glad you did.

Who is surviving PPD?

2011-02-02T11:36:00.000-05:00

The mom who had been suffering from anxiety and unnecessary guilt for months before she finally began therapy.
The mom who had a traumatic birth and knew from the moment she saw her child that something wasn't quite right.
The mother who struggled with infertility for years and then tried IVF three times before she conceived and now feels completely shocked and sad that she isn't elated to be pregnant.
The adoptive mother who is sleep deprived and feeling disconnected from her newborn and just can't understand why she feels this way...it's not like she "gave birth".
The father whose wife is "over the moon" for their baby, and who feels like no one understands and therefore bottles up his feelings, instead of telling someone how down he really is.
The single mom whose life looks nothing like she expected when she dreamed of having children.
The mother of a special needs child who is reminded each time she looks at him that parenting will be a lot more than an 18 year commitment.
The mother who has a supportive husband and family, a baby who is pleasant and sleeps through the night, and who had a great birth experience...because sometimes there's no rhyme or reason for PPD to strike.
YOU, with your own unique history and story...because you can survive and recover. You are not alone.

If you are suffering, but haven't yet reached out for help, there are lots of options for you. Talk to a Survivor Mama or find a support group. Reach out for professional help. Participate in an online support chat; there are two on Twitter on Mondays and one Wednesdays at Cafemom.

Know that this isn't your fault and the guilt and despair you are feeling are due to the illness...not to something you did or didn't do. You can survive PPD and recover fully.

The Strength and Influence of a Survivor

2011-01-24T08:08:00.001-05:00

Half. That's about how many women who RSVP to the in-person support group that I facilitate actually attend the meeting. Half. That's about how many ask for resources after the meeting. Half. That's about how many follow-up after I send resources to let me know how they're doing. Half. That's about how many attend a second meeting.

50% might seem like a failure. In fact, growing up in a traditional school, a 50% grade was most certainly far from passing. But, I am considering today what it means in a support group setting, and I don't think it is always negative. From another perspective, it might just be about meeting needs. See, I believe a lot of women who come to the meeting have a need that they can't quite articulate. Not a list of doctors or therapists, though this is a common need, for sure. But rather, acknowledgement. Validation. Assurance. And then, reassurance.

When you are experiencing a PMAD, feeling alone, strange, guilty, bewildered, hopeless and uncertain are common and overwhelming emotions. The one thing that peer support, when provided by a survivor of a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder, can provide that no other treatment option can, is validation. The knowledge that this illness is real. That someone else really has been through it, and perhaps been as devastated as you have by it. That they have survived and recovered. Looking into another woman's eyes and hearing her say to you, "You will get better. You did not cause this. I have been there, too. I will help you.", can be the difference between hope and Hell.

Postpartum Progress begins "Daily Hope"

2011-01-17T16:05:00.001-05:00

Dear friends,
I hope that you'll run, not walk, to the Postpartum Progress site to sign up for an awesome new initiative that Katherine Stone has created for mothers suffering from perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. Here's what Katherine says about this new Postpartum Progress feature:

"This service is specifically for those of you who are currently suffering from postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, postpartum OCD, antenatal depression or related illnesses. I know that many of you don't have access to support groups or the best specialists. You may not have people around you that understand. Need some extra hope each day from people who DO get it? Someone to shine a light towards the end of the tunnel? That's Daily Hope!"

The Power of One Word

2011-01-13T09:01:00.001-05:00

When I think back to my postpartum experience, especially the part (which was practically the whole) related to depression and anxiety, I can easily think of one word to sum it up. Sure, it was such a complicated, deep, dark hole. Yet, there is one particular word that for me defines it. In a way that were this word removed from my vocabulary or the English language, I would be helpless to replace it with anything that comes close to depicting the depth and breadth of the Hell that is severe PPD...

Hopelessness.

That was the worst part. For many of us who have endured physical or emotional pain before, the present, our current reality, even in the midst of the darkest days of life, is not the concern. No, the pain itself is somehow temporarily manageable, though deeply uncomfortable. Rather, the thought, the mere idea, that the pain might not ever end is unfathomable. But, since PPD creates that kind of inexplicably horrifying terror, the mind is convinced that the Hell will not cease. That this terrible pain and anxiety will continue for eternity (or at least your lifetime). And that untruth is as deeply intertwined in the PPD experience as the guilt that accompanies it.

Hope. The one word that changes everything. The one gift that can be offered time and time again, by person after person, and still repeatedly disbelieved by its desperate and devastated recipient. Yet, its power is endless. In the midst of tragedy, loss, pain, and even desperation, hope is the only saving grace. So let's use it wisely...which means using it broadly...again and again, without ceasing, until every woman accepts and knows that she will get better.

It is there for you, too. I promise.

HOPE.

Calling all Pregnant PPD or PPA Survivor Mamas!

2011-01-04T08:53:00.002-05:00

Are you a Survivor Mama (a survivor of a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder) that is currently expecting a child or has recently given birth? If so, please email me at atlantamom930@gmail.com! We'll form a support network (more details TBD) to walk through this journey together.

The Ups and Downs of PPD Recovery

2011-01-03T08:29:00.001-05:00

Even though I talk to moms battling PPD every week, now that I am 3+ years out I must admit I was beginning to become mentally more factual than emotional about signs, symptoms and details regarding postpartum depression and anxiety recovery. I realize that now.

In the past few weeks, as I talked with women in the middle of the storm, or even well into recovery, I didn't have to dig very deep to remember...truly remember...those blasted "bad days" that shake you to your very core, even when you think you're past the roller coaster stage of your journey. They happen. That's a fact. We say it all the time. We try to remind moms during support chats, email or phone conversations and in-person support groups that bad days are just what they sound like..."bad days". But when you're having one, in the midst of a day that feels like a month, it's kind of hard to believe it.

Here's what a bad day isn't:

One bad day isn't a sign of relapse.
A bad day isn't a signal that all of your future days will be bad.
A bad day isn't a sign that you did something wrong.
A bad day doesn't mean that similar days in the future will be bad.
A bad day, no matter how much it feels like it won't, WILL END.

If we're honest, we don't really know what triggers "bad days" or why they happen, even after a string of good ones or having been "recovered" for months. Sure, sometimes there is rhyme or reason to it (your car breaks down, your child doesn't nap or is up all night vomiting and you're sleep deprived, you get in an argument with your husband or sister...), but often, the day, which may be just like any other you've had in the past (a regular ole' Tuesday in the middle of the month), doesn't offer you any insight into why it stinks so badly. It just does.

If you are struggling with a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder right now, please rest assured that while you will have bad days (I have yet to meet a Survivor Mama who hasn't), they will become fewer and further between as you recover. And to prepare for when you have one, arm yourself with the resources you need to get through it and remind yourself repeatedly throughout the day that just like the other bad days you've had in the past, there will be an end and more good days do lie ahead.

On Waiting and Hope

2010-12-22T10:38:00.000-05:00

Advent. The time of the year in which, regardless of whether your season is filled with Santas and chocolate or nativities and prayer, we wait. For some, the anticipation building is for family, food, gifts, and fun. For others, who are isolated, hurt, grieving or lonely, the waiting may be a more somber, painful waiting for Christmas to simply be over. For Christians, we wait for the birth of Christ, a reminder that Jesus is indeed our gift from God, sent as the ultimate reminder of love and hope.

In 2007, my Advent was filled with waiting. And hope. I had begun treatment for my severe postpartum mood disorder just before Thanksgiving, and on Thanksgiving day had added some new components to and finalized my treatment plan. That day my despair and hopelessness turned to anticipation of wellness as I caught a small glimpse of the promise of relief from my emotional pain. Each day, I waited, and prayed, and tried, and hoped to get better.

Children put ornaments on an Advent calendar as a way to actively countdown to a most special day that is certainly coming for them. The days of Advent feel like they are made of 100 hours, instead of 24, to a youngster. Christmas can't arrive soon enough to a child. And, that's how it is when you have a PMAD. The day of hope and gladness can't arrive quickly enough. The waiting can't cease soon enough.

This photo was taken just 5 weeks after I began treatment for PPD. During the worst moments of Postpartum Depression and Anxiety, I had often been unable to be in the same room with my baby. This moment, when the Advent waiting was over and Christmas had finally come, began my journey to recovery, advocacy and support for other women.

I pray that your waiting is short and that you are able to find solace and peace in the hope of knowing that you, too, will get better.

Merry Christmas!

Loss and Grief in Pregnancy and the Postpartum Period

2010-12-17T09:10:00.000-05:00

According to the American Psychological Association and many other valid resources, death of a loved one while pregnant or postpartum is a risk factor for postpartum depression. Grieving the death of someone near and dear to you, especially if this person would have been a support to you during your pregnancy or with your child, seems obvious. But, for me, this realization only came much later...in hindsight.

Our pregnancy with L was a surprise. We had been married for two and half years when we conceived and had never used birth control. We had had some fertility testing (though hadn't opted for any interventions) and had basically been told that like 10% of other "infertile" couples we had what doctors call "unexplained infertility". There's more to that story, but that's not what this post is about.

Anyway, it was such a shock that we had become pregnant at all. And because I didn't learn I was indeed expecting until six+ weeks into the pregnancy, it took a little while to adjust. By the time we'd shaken off the surprise and begun some planning I was nearly into my second trimester.

Right around that same time, I traveled to Virginia for a weekend with my college girlfriends in anticipation and celebration of our friends' wedding in just a couple of months. On Sunday morning, just before most of us were awake, I got an unusual call. My husband rang to tell me that he'd heard from my parents early that day and that my aunt, with whom we shared all major holidays and who had been the Matriarch of the family since my grandmother had passed away, had died suddenly at 62. This news took us all completely by surprise and shook the family to the core.

Then, just a month and a half later, while shopping for supplies for a church retreat in the mountains I had planned for that weekend, I got a call. My grandmother, the one with who I had lived during my Senior year of High School, had become suddenly ill and the outcome was unknown, but looking grim at that point. I had just talked with her recently and she seemed perfectly fine! Being in another state and having work obligations I felt extremely out of control and unsure of how to proceed. Throughout the weekend and into the next week her condition worsened and the meningitis and strokes that she was experiencing as a result of it would certainly prevent her from ever truly being present and herself again. At best, she'd likely be physically alive, but mentally would never regain any real consciousness. Over the course of the next week or so the entire family decided to grant her well-known wish and allow her to pass and not to "live" solely by the aid of dozens of machines.

I flew into Pittsburgh the day that we would take her off of life support and held her hand, talked to her and stroked her face during the 2-3 hours from the time she was unhooked from the ventilator to the time she gasped her last breath. I had an almost surreal presence about me during those days and barely even cried or mourned, even as we buried the woman that was in so many ways my rock.

Looking back, I don't think I ever grieved properly for my grandmother and even now I live in denial of her death and the circumstances around it. They say there are stages of grief and I am certainly stuck at the anger stage...so much so that I have to push thoughts of her and her passing out of my head or else I become enraged or overcome with tears.

The summer following those Spring deaths of two of the most important ladies in our family was filled with the busyness of the third trimester when expecting your first child. Baby Showers, Nursery decor, childbirth classes and "to-dos" allowed me to focus on everything but my grief.

Then, early in September, the phone rang. It wasn't even 6AM on a Sunday morning and we knew the call was unusual. Hoping it was just a wrong number, my husband stumbled half-asleep to his cell. Just moments later his sleepiness was replaced with sadness and shock and he began wailing. "No, no, no, not her", he cried. His best friend had just called to tell him that his little sister had died of meningitis. What were the chances??? Two people we loved dearly would die of a disease that kills just 250 people per year in the United States. The odds were astronomical and winning the lottery would have been more likely. This young woman, a college student, just 19 years old, had contracted what the doctors called a virus and sent her home to rest. Within four hours, her brain literally burst from the pressure of the disease and she had died. In front of her brother. A tragic and utterly senseless loss of a brilliant and beautiful person, and someone who had been like a little sister to my husband. And I, in fact, had grown closer to her myself when we shared a hotel room at her brother's wedding at which my husband was the best man just months before. We both cried and prayed at church and even as we tried to go about our day and week, covered with the pall of her death and our inability to travel to her funeral because of my impending due date.

Three years later, I am still in awe of the losses we suffered in a period of 5 months in 2007. I am saddened and angered that so much of my pregnancy was filled with loss and that my memories of it (even before I knew a thing about PPD or how it would rock me to the core) are woven with grief.

Knowing risk factors for perinatal mood disorders and being aware of signs to look for in pregnancy and postpartum so that extra support and early interventions can be planned for are imperative. Let's talk about one of the hardest things to face so that we can help others...

Did you experience a loss during pregnancy or the postpartum period? How did it impact your mental health? Did you know that death of a loved one was a risk factor for PPD? How could you have planned differently for the postpartum period if you had known that you were at greater risk?

Cafemom responds to our requests to clarify facts and myths about PPD

2010-12-14T14:58:00.000-05:00

Special thanks to Cafemom writer Julie Ryan Evans who responded to our comments and emails asking her to clarify the facts or to amend an article she wrote a few weeks ago about "crimes being committed by mothers who suffered from PPD". As many of us in the community pointed out in our comments below the article, generally women with PPD do not harm their children, in fact, even in cases of Postpartum Psychosis, while there is great risk of potential harm, and therefore the condition should be treated as an emergency, rarely do women harm their children.

In this article, published today and entitled "Postpartum Depression Myths Debunked", Evans quotes several of us who were interviewed for the piece and writes accurately about postpartum depression, clarifying that it is neither the very normal and common baby blues, nor the most extreme form of perinatal mood disorder, postpartum psychosis.

I applaud Cafemom for their timely response and interest in contacting several knowledgeable resources for this article and for their care of women with perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. As you'll recall, Cafemom offers several online community "groups" specific to PPD and related disorders, and one of them, "The Postpartum Support Group" is one in which I offer a confidential, private weekly chat each Wednesday at 1pm EST. This group, and the chat, are a part of the work I am doing via my partnership with Mental Health America of Georgia's Project Healthy Moms initiative. I hope you'll join me as you are able...doing so is very easy:

Just join (or login if you've already got an account) Cafemom.
Go to the Postpartum Support Group and click "join group".
Look under the left sidebar (it's green) and click "chat".
In a blue highlighted bar just under the group name you'll see a "Start Chat" or "Join Chat" button.
Click that button and a new window will open up. If you have downloaded JAVA already and your computer allows it, the group chat will open. You will be able to see who else is participating (by screen-name only) and will be able to post your messages by typing into the yellow box and clicking "send".
Questions? Email me and I will be happy to walk you through it!

Pregnant after PPD: How I am working hard to stay healthy

2010-12-13T09:19:00.001-05:00

Most of you know from my most recent posts that I am expecting. This pregnancy was not unexpected in any way, but when conception happens I think that there is still some normal shock and tentativeness accompanying that positive pregnancy test for every Survivor Mama.

Everything about this pregnancy, from the timing to the support system in place has be intentional. It's funny, because I thought I had intentionally and thoughtfully planned my last pregnancy and birth and yet nothing (well, almost nothing) went as expected. This time, I am actually focusing on the important things for my health (and letting the little things and specific expectations go). The post "Then and Now" that was selected for Postpartum Progress' Top Ten PPD Blog Posts of 2010 gave me the idea for a new Then and Now post...this one. The "then" will refer to my pregnancy with L during 2007. The "Now" refers to my pregnancy now, with baby #2, affectionately referred to as "Champ".

Then...
I spent my time decorating the Nursery and worrying about paint colors.
Now...
I spend my time praying for a healthy pregnancy and postpartum period- physically and mentally.

Then...
I studied "What to Expect" types of books and read and re-read each weekly update to the point of memorization.
Now...
If I have time, I glance over the weekly "summary" email Babycenter sends.

Then...
I tracked each pound, inch, symptom and milestone during my pregnancy in a 200+ page journal.
Now...
I haven't gotten past writing in a few September dates in this pregnancy journal...and I don't really feel badly that I'm not spending my time that way.

Then...
I spent hours each day preparing for a method of childbirth that helped me cope with labor, but in the end also contributed to my devastation around having a Cesarean birth because it gave me the impression that would "never" happen to me.
Now...
I have sucked it up and accepted that not everything about my previous birth experience has to be different in order for me to be healthy this time. As much as I wish that a VBAC was the right decision for me I have come to the conclusion that it's not...and that's okay.

Then...
I never thought about what help I might need postpartum or how challenging it might be.
Now...
I spend a lot of time pondering the weeks and months after I have this baby next Summer. I plan to have a lot of help, both family and friends and in the form of professionals like a postpartum doula or night nurse. I realize that this investment of time and money will benefit my whole family if I am able to get more rest as a result.

Then...
I held onto the name of a physician I'd call "in the very unlikely case that I would need to".
Now...
I have an established relationship with both a physician and therapist who I see regularly. While both are impressed at how well I have weathered the storm so far, they also realize that being prepared and having a plan that we can put in place at a moment's notice, if needed, will be key to my health and recovery.

Then...
I thought of motherhood as an add-on and said things like, "this baby will just have to fit into our current lifestyle", actually believing that was somehow possible and wouldn't require much effort.
Now...
I realize that motherhoods blessings are equally matched by its challenges. I am ever grateful for this experience, but also incredibly aware of the sacrifices and commitment that go along with it. I know that the next year of my life will be overwhelming and demanding and enter the time period with my eyes wide open.

Sometimes hindsight is 20/20...or at least slightly better than legally blind.

Peace,