#momsdayrally

Janice Croze: On Surviving Despite the Madness

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear Mom,

If there is one thing every new mom needs to know it is, “You will survive.”

The baby will eventually sleep. She will learn how to feed – whether it is from your breast or a bottle. You will get used to her cries and one day they will no longer flood you with helpless terror. She will be happy and laugh – and you will too.

For some mothers, it may all fall in to place quite easily. The new routines, the sleeplessness, the worries – they may be able to take them in stride.

But for many of us, it is hard, staggeringly hard.

The time between feeds is so short – how can we shower, eat and sleep in one hour?!? The nights are so lonely, with exhaustion stirring fears. The depression is so relentless, crushing us as we try to crawl out of bed each morning.

It isn’t our fault. The chemicals in our brains just aren’t working as they need to be. The hormones washing through our bodies left us unbalanced and broken.

We are not bad mothers; we are not weak people. We need medical help just as if we had lost too much blood during birth or as if cancer cells had started multiplying in our organs.

There should be no shame. NO shame.

But as it all swirls around you and you wonder if you really will lose your mind, let me tell you, “You will survive.”

It might not be pretty. The laundry might pile up. The dishes may not get done. You might survive oncereal and hotdogs.

But it is ok. And you will be ok. And, yes, your baby will be ok.

My depression and anxiety didn’t end with onesies and dirty diapers. No, it is ten years since it began during my first pregnancy and I still struggle.

Some days, like today, I have to go back to bed and sleep to find enough strength to stand up under the weight of it.

But it is so much better than those early, black hole days when I sincerely felt my mind slipping out of my control, when the panic and depression was unbearable and I couldn’t bear to be left alone with my baby.

I got medical help. And I got physical help. My husband did a night feed. I hired babysitters when I had no one else. I called my sister just to say, “I am so depressed — I can’t bear it.”

Do what you have to do to make it through the days and nights. If you don’t have family and friends to help, try to hire help. If one day you will hire a babysitter so you can go on a date night, do it now! Get help and sleep.

And, repeat it every ten seconds if you have to. Believe it because we have lived it. You will survive. You WILL survive.

Janice Croze and her identical twin, Susan Carraretto, are the bloggers behind 5 MInutes for Mom. Both Janice and Susan struggle with depression and anxiety, but they prove that life can be lived successfully and fabulously even whilebattling mental illness.You can talk with the twins on Twitter at @5minutesformom and on their Facebook page.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 10:00 pm Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms

Morgan Shanahan: On Rising Out of Postpartum Depression

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear New Mom:

Hi.

I know we don’t know each other, but in a way, we do. At some point in our lives, motherhood was something we looked forward to with innocent anticipation – excited to see what this next chapter would hold — looking forward to experiencing creating life from love alone.

And then we got pregnant. For some people, hopefully for you, this was a time filled with excitement and joy. For me, it was a time when the rug of reality was pulled out from under me and everything I thought I knew about myself was challenged.

In May of 2009, at 22 weeks pregnant, I was so deeply and thoroughly imprisoned by antenatal depression that I told my obstetrician that I no longer wanted to have my baby. I didn’t deserve her. I was obviously unfit and already failing her. This baby that my husband and I had planned for and dreamt about and this baby whose heartbeat we heard on ten years to the day after the first time he kissed me. Our baby. I couldn’t go through with this.

My brain started to tell me lies as early as 22 weeks. But an unfit therapist labeled me a major depressive and told me there wasn’t anything to be done until I gave birth. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, and tried to pretend like everything was going to be okay. And I did a decent job. I designed the nursery. I tried to convince myself that meltdowns over lime versus ochre were normal and that I was NESTING. I was about to have my first baby with the love of my life — everyone around me couldn’t stop telling me how glowing and happy I was, so it must be true. Right? And then, on October 8th, 2009, Delilah George was born. The first thing I remember learning about her is that she has a dimple. Just one. Like me, on the left side. And she was beautiful. Not squished like I expected. I did a lot of staring at her in the early days. I kept waiting for the rush of emotion and tears. It didn’t come. In fact, I was feeling so “stable” we left the hospital a day early. And when my doula called to check in and told me “don’t worry, a lot of people spend the first few days thinking what have I done?” I thought, “How sad. I don’t feel like that at all.”

The problem was, I didn’t feel anything at all. I didn’t want to hurt my baby, so certainly there was nothing wrong with me. I just wasn’t one of those women who was going to look at her newborn and weep.

* * *

I could tell you the story of the five months it took me to finally be diagnosed with postpartum depression (actually antenatal and postpartum depression). I could tell you about my decision to breastfeed until Delilah was a year old and how that affected my ability to get proper psychiatric treatment, and how I don’t regret it a bit. I could tell you about the day I finally realized I was starting to feel better, but instead, there is one thought that I want to leave you on this Mother’s Day.

I’m falling madly, madly head over heels in love with my child. Everyday. I feel it now. That heart swelling “HOW COULD SHE POSSIBLY EVEN EXIST” that I dreamt about as we charted and planned for this baby to be born. I get up on Sunday morning and make pancakes. I taught her how to count to ten. In the mornings, when I get her out of her room, I creak open the door while humming the tune from Jaws and she laughs hysterically.

Me and my girl, we’ve had a hell of a year. We had to fight for the bond we have, but I wouldn’t give back the lessons I learned about life and love and parenthood during the year it took me to come to terms with and conquer my peri-and postpartum depression and anxiety.

And when my OB put her hand on my knee at our yearly visit last week as I filled her in on having finally weaned off my Zoloft, leaving only two drugs in my brain chemistry cocktail, she grinned at me and she said “one day you’ll wean off those, too.” And as Delilah pulled all of the cord blood pamphlets out of the stand in the exam room while singing E-I-E-I-O at the top of her tiny lungs without sending me into a sweaty panic, I realized I undoubtedly believed her.

Life is good. These days, I’m floating along, happily enjoying my family — working hard to heal the scars the past year has left on the lot of us. But life is GOOD. This too shall pass. And next Mother’s Day, all of this will be, well … but a dream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily …

Morgan Shanahan blogs at The 818, is a Momversation Fresh Voices of 2010 winner,and is the entertainment section editor for BlogHer, the world’s largest community of women bloggers. She is a survivor of postpartum depression. Follow her on Twitter at @the818.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 9:00 pm Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms

Kristen Howerton: On What She Wishes Someone Told Her About Postpartum Anxiety

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear New Mom:

First of all, I just want to tell you that it is normal to be anxious as a mom. It is the biggest life change any of us will ever face — followed by a massive change in hormones and fueled by exhaustion and lack of sleep. I think every mom feels a bit panicky as they learn how to navigate life in a new role.

For some of us, though, the anxiety becomes crippling. It creeps into every interaction. It makes us fear being around people. It makes us fear being alone. It makes us afraid for our baby. It makes us want to hide. It gives us persistent and intruding thoughts that we aren’t okay, that our baby is not okay, and that we aren’t going to make it.

I have always been an anxious person, but the experience of infertility and miscarriages really colored my experience of pregnancy. I was scared to death, and that feeling didn’t go away as soon as I gave birth to a healthy child. Fear, worry and panic had become habitual for me. The concerns I had about carrying a baby to term just spilled over into fears that my baby was dying, and that I was not a good mom.

If you are experiencing anxiety that has gripped your heart like a vice, I hope you will talk to someone about it. I spent so many months trying to white-knuckle myself through anxiety attacks because I was embarrassed by my fears. I wish I could have extended myself more grace in that time, instead of desperately trying to prove that I was okay, to myself and to everyone around me.

These are some of the things I wish someone has told me about postpartum anxiety:

Fake it. Let yourself off the hook for not feeling whatever idealistic feelings you think you should posses about motherhood or your baby. Give yourself grace that those feelings will come, even if it takes months. Or years. Stop judging yourself for how you think you should be feeling, and ACT in the ways you think you should ACT. Ask yourself, “what behaviors would a loving mom do today?” And then behave like a loving mom. Even if you don’t feel like one. Because it’s okay if you don’t feel it.

Consider medication. Postpartum anxiety is a neuro-chemical issue. Think about what you would do if you discovered you were diabetic, or needed medication to regulate your thyroid. Why do we treat our brains any differently? There is nothing valiant about not seeking medical help if you really need it.

Don’t martyr your mental health over breastfeeding. Of course we all think the breast is best. But those breastfeeding sessions are not worth you being distraught and not present for the rest of the day. I have had the experience of breastfeeding through PPD, and bottle-feeding an adopted child, and I can attest that the bottle-feeding while sane was a much more bonding experience for both mother and child. I wish that I had given myself the grace to stop nursing when I needed help.

Say your fears, out loud, to another person, as often as you can. Anxiety is built on irrational fears. Sometimes, just getting them out there can help cast light on the irrationality. Anxiety breeds in the dark. Talk to your spouse, a friend or a therapist. Even better, talk to all three.

Keep a cognitive thought journal. Write down your fears, and then look for evidence that those fears are unfounded.

Do one thing a day. Or less, if you want. Keep good boundaries around your schedule. Say no when you need to. Keep your to-do list to a minimum. Overwhelm is anxiety’s bedfellow.

Ask for help.

Stay off Google. If you find yourself panicking about your baby’s health, you can find all manner of deadly diseases that account for even the most minor symptoms. WebMD is not your friend when you are anxious.

Wallow in natural oxytocin. Put sex on the to-do list. Lay in bed and cuddle your baby. Have regular nights with your girlfriends. Eat chocolate. Figure out the things that give you a “hit” and make them a priority.

Be easy on yourself. Lower your expectations. Take things one day at a time. Wake up. Care for your baby. Care for yourself. Do only the work that needs to be done. Everything else can wait.

Kristen Howerton is the mom of four children in four years via birth and adoption. She is a psychotherapist-turned-blogger, chronicling life at Rage Against the Minivan and editing the blogging newsmagazine She Posts. Follow her on Twitter at @kristenhowerton.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 7:00 pm Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Postpartum Anxiety, Warrior Moms

Katie Sluiter: On Finding Peace After Postpartum Depression

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear new mom:

Tonight my son and I rocked silently in his room.

We didn’t need to rock. He wasn’t upset, and he didn’t need to wind down.

I just wanted to rock him. And he let me.

I wanted to share a quiet moment with him. And he with me.

In the dark room we are one. His face turns in to my chest as he hugs his lamby close with one arm. The other arm finds its way around me.

He allows himself to be held.

I allow myself to relax.

But it wasn’t always like this.

That rocking chair used to be a battle ground and a jail.

Twenty-one months ago I was unable to make him happy.

His cries — no, his screams — filled the room. They filled my head. They filled my thoughts.

I wanted to make it all stop: the screaming, the buzzing in my head, motherhood.

I was convinced I had done the wrong thing. I had gone against nature.

My body didn’t want to keep a pregnancy, so I took progesterone.

My body wasn’t shaped correctly to birth a baby, so I had a C-section.

My brain wasn’t wired for motherhood, but I was at a loss.

We had fought for this baby. We had dreamed and smiled while he kicked inside me. We wanted this.

So much.

But it wasn’t right. I wasn’t right.

And so every day was a battle. Every minute of every day was hard.

You wouldn’t have known from looking back at pictures or from how I dressed or how I smiled at jokes and acted that things were lovely.

But my mind was racing; my marriage strained; my bond with my son so very weak.

I was losing battle after battle, and I was about to lose the war.

And then I read a blog. A post about something not being right.

I read a blog post, and I related.

One blog led to another blog. And another. And then to Twitter. And then to this Mother’s Day rally.

I sat and wept.

The Unnamed Feeling was real. It had a name. I was not alone.

I have postpartum depression and anxiety.

I have survived by leaning on others, by trusting my doctor, by taking medication, and by seeing a therapist.

I am here because I asked for help.

Postpartum depression was not something that I could overcome by myself. It isn’t something that is my fault that I need to fix with hard work. It’s not me.

It is something I have survived because I made the decision to come outside myself and call in reinforcements.

And so I rock my son now.

And it is peaceful.

There are still hard times. Life is not perfect.

But I am learning to know my limitations. To ask for help. To slow down.

I am learning how to beat PPD.

And you can too.

You just have to ask for help.

And I am here. We are here.

With help.

Kate Sluiter is a wife, a mother, and a writer who is trying to find her voice in a world that has shaken her. She loves her life. Even when it’s hard. There is just more laughter during those times. Katie writes the blog Sluiter Nation and is a co-host of The Red Dress Club. Follow her on Twitter at @ksluiter.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 6:00 pm Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms

Becky Harks: On Not Having To Love Every Second of Motherhood

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear New Moms,

In 2001, I was a freshly-turned-twenty-one-year-old discharged from the hospital with a baby. My baby, I should add, in case you think I’m some kind of baby-stealer. Single-parenthood looming on the horizon, I’d moved back in with my parents, and now, having just expelled my firstborn from my uterus, I had no earthly idea what to do with him.

In a sense (despite all precipitating factors that, when lined up, make my life sound like a bad Country-Western song), it was fortunate. I hadn’t yet met The Internet, I had no mom-friends, and I only owned one book on child-rearing: Dr. Spock’s. I didn’t meet the Judgmental Parents Club until much later, and by that time, I knew enough to tune them out.

The first bit of advice I can give new parents is exactly what I took away from Dr. Spock: trust yourself. You know more than you think you do. I cannot imagine how hard it must be in the digital age; all of the information and judgment flying at you from all sides, but in the end, you need to trust that you know what’s best for your baby. Anyone who tells you that you’re doing it wrong can kiss off.

What took me nearly five years to learn is my second piece of advice for new parents, and it’s one that’s not often mentioned. Sure, you hear people say, “parenting is hard,” and other boring platitudes you can crochet on a pillow, but that’s not the whole picture. Parenting IS hard, that’s a given, but there’s no law that mandates you must love every second of it. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t love every moment, age, or stage. Be wary of anyone who tells you stuff like, “enjoy it while it lasts, because it’s over too soon,” because that is a recipe for needless guilt.

I suffered terrible antenatal and postpartum depression with the pregnancies and births of my last two children. There were days I was so miserable that I could barely get my ass out of bed. Having antenatal depression wasn’t a sign that I was a bad mother or that I didn’t want my baby: it just meant that pregnancy made me feel like crap. Don’t beat yourself up if you’re not glowing while pregnant. The only time I had any sort of “glow” about me was after I’d vomited.

Make yourself aware of the signs of postpartum depression. The more you know and all that After School Special stuff. If you’re feeling low at any point, tell someone. Get help. Don’t be too proud to admit that you’re struggling.

Try to remember that you matter, too. It’s too easy to put the needs of everyone else before your own, especially when you have a new baby. Sometimes, yes, parenthood calls for this, but that doesn’t mean that you should neglect yourself. Eventually, that catches up to you. Not all of us have the luxury of having a live-in housekeeper, nanny or personal chef (I certainly don’t) but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a break to be myself now and again. You won’t win Mother (or Father) of the Year by neglecting yourself. I know. I’ve tried.

Celebrate the good times and the bad. Try to remember that the worst days always end. Relax. Tune out unnecessary noise. Don’t be afraid to admit you’re struggling and need help: no one can do it all.

And if all that fails, there’s always vodka. Or cheese fries. Or both.

Becky Harks, known throughout the blogosphere as Aunt Becky, blogs at Mommy Wants Vodka and is the creator of Band Back Together, a user-submitted group support blog which recently won a 2011 Bloggie Award for Best Kept Secret. You can follow her on Twitter at @mommywantsvodka.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 5:00 pm Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms

Grace Parson: On The Transformation From PPD to Joy

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear New Moms,

Welcome to the most paradoxical experience of your life.

Exhilarating … Exhausting.

Mundane … Surprising.

Rewarding … Excruciating.

Fun … Boring.

Wonderful … Difficult.

Motherhood is all these things and so much more.

The month of May is a very special one for me as a mother, and not just because Mother’s Day is in May.

May is also the month I began treatment for my postpartum depression in 2009 (nine months postpartum) and May is also the month I began my blog as a source of healing, advocacy, & community in 2010. I believe May 2011 is another milestone for me as I’ve hit a stride, discovered pure joy in mothering, and am pregnant with a second child.

Exactly two years ago I was overcome with despair. I had been battling severe anxiety, depression and insomnia for five months. I still didn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I hadn’t felt like myself since my son was born nine months prior. I genuinely wondered if this little person would gradually ruin my life.

“On the night you were born,

the moon smiled with such wonder

that the stars peeked in to see you

and the night wind whispered,

“Life will never be the same.”

New Moms, life will never be the same.

That truth shocked and startled me to my very core when my son was born. Nothing prepared me for how motherhood would affect my emotions, my desires, my mental state, my ability to function.

I crumbled underneath the weight of it all.

“Not once had there been such eyes,

such a nose,

such silly, wiggly, wonderful toes.

When the polar bears heard

they danced until dawn.

From faraway places,

the geese flew home.

The moon stayed up until

morning next day.

And none of the ladybugs flew away.”

New moms,I am living proof that while your life will indeed never be the same, your suffering is temporary.

Your despair will evaporate into hope.

Your anger will dissipate into joy.

Your fear will transform into strength.

“So whenever you doubt just how special you are

and you wonder who loves you, how much and how far,

listen for geese honking high in the sky.

(They’re singing a song to remember you by.)

Or notice the bears asleep at the zoo.

(It’s because they’ve been dancing all night for you!)

Or drift off to sleep to the sound of the wind.

(Listen closely…it’s whispering your name again!)

If the moon stays up until morning one day

or a ladybug lands and decides to stay,

or a little bird sits at your window awhile,

it’s because they’re all hoping to see you smile…”

Today I am a proud, happy, content mother of a two-and-a-half year old, the greatest joy and challenge in my life. Each night as we put him to bed, we read On the Night You Were Born by Nancy Tillman. Each night my heart swells.

New Moms, your tears will go dry.

Your tension will ease.

Your burden will lift.

Heather King: On Getting & Accepting Help for Postpartum Depression

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear New Mom,

When you can’t believe that you’ll feel better, let us believe for you.

When you can’t see through the hormonal and chemical induced fog that has taken you over, let us see for you.

When you haven’t slept enough in weeks or months to have any hope that you’ll ever find yourself, let us hope for you.

Come to this space or ask someone to come over. Write down how you feel or read the words of those who know your pain. Tell a trusted friend exactly how you feel. Get help. Accept help. Don’t you dare feel guilty for needing help.

And now please, don’t feel guilty for feeling guilty.

Feelings can’t be wrong. They just are. They are yours and they can be very mixed up, but they are like weather, they really are. Sometimes it seems like the weather will never change, but it always does, in time.

Waiting is hard. So while you wait for healing, know that your child has exactly the perfect mother. You. Imperfect, messed up and scared you. The new mom that is you. The one who has to feel all kinds of things right now because that is how the love explodes. That is just what happens. Sometimes it turns itself inside out and looks nothing like anything good. But it is … it’s just working itself out, growing you, preparing you, allowing you to become.

I’m about to have my third baby, in about six weeks. I struggle through the postpartum period when I do that. I’ve done it twice before. I will need to read this to myself. I will need help. I will need someone to carry some of my pain. I will weep and I will want to always stay in bed. Most likely. That’s just how it goes for me. And then one day my baby will be so big ad I will have grown too. Like we were in a cocoon, a sometimes very uncomfortably small space. We will come out better, despite and because of the tightening pain.

I only know because I’ve witnessed it, over and over in my life and the lives of other mothers. We need each other. That’s all I really know for sure. We need to speak our truths, no matter how ugly they are, allowing the words to steal the power from the pain, and then we need to wait in the hope that springs up through an unconditional listening heart. So please keep talking. Just keep talking.

You are good, sweet Mama. Believe it.

Heather King, soon to be a mom of three, blogs at The Extraordinary Ordinary and is also a Story Editor for Story Bleed. She won a 2010 BlogLuxe Award in the category Blog You’ve Learned From. Follow her on Twitter at @heatheroftheeo.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 1:00 pm Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms

Susan Petcher: On Having Nothing Left to Blame the Unhappiness On

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear New Moms:

From the moment I learned I was pregnant, my baby was my world. She was all I could think about and we were so excited to be expecting. Expecting. That’s kind of a loaded word, isn’t it? You spend your time pre-baby not just waiting, but “expecting”. Expecting not only a baby, but a whole life. A charming nursery to be filled with tiny jeans and even tinier socks. Long, magical nights spent rocking your new baby, motherly instinct oozing from your every pore. Friends and family coming to oooh and ahhh over your new little family. I had it all planned out.

Those plans fell apart even before DoodleBug was born. I had a high-risk pregnancy, the details of which I won’t bore you with. The major cross-country move we made in the third trimester resulting in me quitting my job and leaving my career as a teacher to become a stay-at-home mom. We sold our home, packed up our car-sick cat, and crammed as much furniture as possible into a tiny apartment in our new city. It’s a laundry-list of depression risk factors.

When DoodleBug was born and spent her first three days of life having difficulty nursing and then receiving antibiotic injections, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Though she (thankfully) came home healthy, I was filled with fear that I didn’t know how to care for this seemingly fragile child. Cue the anxiety.

When I look back now, I can see that throughout my year of postpartum depression and anxiety, I took amazing care of my baby. I breastfed DoodleBug for three moths, using a nipple shield (hellooooo, mastitis!) because she refused to latch without, and gave up all dairy and soy because of her milk allergies (during the holidays, no less). When she continued to projectile vomit, I gave up nursing and we bought her the best formula money could buy. You know the prescription stuff … that costs as much as gold. She was rocked to sleep, fed on demand, taken on outings, worn in my mobywrap, entertained endlessly when awake … and of course I have a million pictures to show for it. Everything revolved around my baby and her needs.

All the while, a part of me knew something wasn’t right. No matter how well I cared for DoodleBug, I always felt like a failure, and I attributed my unhappiness to that failure. “I’ll feel better when I can figure out how to get her to nurse without the shield,” I told myself. “Everything will be alright when I can get her to nap for more than 30 minutes,” I used to say. The insecurity and overwhelming responsibility was crushing. So I read. I read every baby-care book I could get my hands on. With each, I spiraled deeper into my dark hole, convinced I would never figure out the right way to take care of DB, and would never be happy. I pitied my baby for being stuck with me for a mom. I wanted to put her in her crib, leave a note for my husband and just drive away. I truly believed they would be better off without me.

When my baby started sleeping, when we found a formula that solved all our vomiting and reflux problems, when she started laughing and playing and crawling, and I was still miserable … that’s when I finally asked for help. I had nothing left to blame the unhappiness on. She was five months old. By that time, the depression had grown so deep that I had stopped feeling anything. I was just numb, all the time. It was the numbness that finally scared me into calling the doctor. I’m not sure how something as simple as a phone call can be so devastating and liberating at the same time.

I spent more than a year-and-a-half in therapy. It took a while, but we found the right combination of medication that took the edge off the despair and gave me back enough of myself so I could think clearly. True to the stereotype, we trudged through hours of childhood memories. I journaled. My therapist validated my feelings and mirrored back to me what she heard. She asked insightful questions designed to let me change my perspective if I was ready. Slowly but surely I put the pieces back together. And what started as treatment for postpartum depression led to a realization that I had been struggling with generalized anxiety disorder and mood swings for years.

If I could go back and prevent the PPD and anxiety I absolutely would. Thought at the same time, a part of me is grateful for the therapy and diagnoses that have led to this moment, because in this moment I am a confident mom of a willful and amazing two-and-a-half-year-old daughter. I am again the joyful version of myself I hadn’t been for years. I just wish I hadn’t waited so long to get help.

I waited because I was uneducated about the symptoms and real dangers of postpartum mood disorders. I waited because I thought I had to be miserable all the time and unable to care for my child in order for something to be wrong. I was ashamed and afraid of what it would mean if I wasn’t the mother I wanted to be. But mostly, I just didn’t matter enough.

So, on this Mother’s Day, the most important thing I can say to each of you is that you matter. Although your life may be consumed with counting diapers, feedings, and those few hours of sleep, you matter. When friends and family come to see your bundle of joy and you seem to fade into the background, you matter. And whether you’re just having a bad day, are suffering through the baby blues, or you’re in the midst of a postpartum mood disorder, you matter. Take care of yourself. Rest. Tell someone you trust if you’re feeling overwhelmed. Ask for help. It’s not just that your baby needs you to be at your best. You — the woman you were before this new baby, and the woman learning to be a new mother — deserve to be healthy and happy.

Susan is an elementary teacher-turned-SAHM and private music instructor.She is a postpartum depression and anxiety survivor, and was diagnosed after her recovery with generalized anxiety disorder and mood swings. She blogs atLearned Happinessabout parenting and finding balance and happiness in a life impacted by mental illness.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 11:00 am Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms

Morra Aarons-Mele: On Time-Tested Tips for Postpartum Anxiety

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Love is so beautiful and so heartbreaking

Dear New Mom,

You feel like you SHOULD be enjoying your precious new baby, and all aglow.

Instead:

You might be feeling pretty anxious right now. You may feel completely out of control. You may feel like your child might die at any moment. You may worry you will irrevocably harm your baby, either in utero or out of it. You may walk down the stairs and see yourself falling, dropping your baby from the landing, half wondering what it would feel like, as if you were to stick your hand in a flame. And then reel with terror at the power you have over this little life.

You may wake up in the middle of the night sweating and in a panic, worrying about money, your health, your partner’s health, global warming, the national debt, toxic chemicals in your food, toxic chemicals in his toys, losing your job, losing your home. You will definitely be a bad parent and your baby will grow up to hate you. You may feel there is just no hope in raising a child and why did you do it and all of a sudden you’re having trouble breathing and it all feels too, too scary.

For me, much of my pregnancy and the first few weeks of motherhood were a time of terrors whenever I closed my eyes. I could only see bad things happening. Demons would come to me. I know now this was part of my sickness, of my depression. It didn’t make it any less real.

I imagine each new parent feels helplessness in the face of protecting their little one from the universe. When you have depression or anxiety, it can be overwhelming. When my first baby was born and I felt so helpless, my mother said, “You’re now a prisoner of love.” To me, this is the essential truth of motherhood. Just today, I was drawn to this comment from SueBobon BlogHer.com.She writes, “Love is so beautiful and so heartbreaking. The real truth is that we will lose everyone we ever love, either through their deaths or ours, and yet we do it anyway because it is worth it.”

I can read this quote now and just about cope with it. That doesn’t mean you should. For my dear new moms, scared to shut your eyes, here is my time-tested tip to overcoming the anxiety.

Create a bubble and live in it. You are allowed to censor yourself from bad news, scary stories, and the general awfulness of the world. Don’t watch the news or read the paper. It’s ok. Vet all your movies and reading material. I have a rule, even now: I never ever watch movies or read books in which children die. If someone tries to tell me a sad story I don’t really need to hear, I politely stop them. Watch happy things, read happy things, and act like Candide. It’s good for you.

When it gets rough, have some warm milk with a little B&B or brandy. If you don’t want to drink, have some hot milk and honey. It does wonders for the restless imagination. My mom made this for me and it felt like warm, velvety calm in a cup.

When you go to rest or sleep, ask someone you love and trust (your husband, sister, mother or friend) to sit with you. Let their spirit watch over you as you get some much needed respite (This tip, too, is from my mom. She struggled, too).

Draw on the wisdom of the ages and the law of averages. Chances are, you’ll probably be ok. Have a mantra and stick to it.It may be bizarre, but I like to think of the first line of this classic poem from one of my favorites, Philip Larkin: “They fuck you up, your mum and dad.”In this poem, Larkin acknowledges the classic conundrum of love: It’s too hard. But of course, we do it anyway.

You can do it. You will emerge. And it is so worth it.

This Mother’s Day, I want to thank my mother, who taught me it was possible to be strong while wrestling with life’s demons.

Morra Aarons-Mele blogs atWomen and Workand is the founder ofWomen Online, a digital PR and marketing firm. Her writing also appears on the Huffington Post. Follow her on Twitter at@morraam.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 10:00 am Filed Under: Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Postpartum Anxiety, Warrior Moms

Molly Shalz: On How It Feels To Be Depressed During Pregnancy

By Katherine Stone May 8, 2011

Dear new mom:

I remember seeing the blue plus sign on the pregnancy test. It was positive. I waited for the happiness. It didn’t come. Instead of happy tears I had a panic attack right there in the bathroom. The sting from the guilt that I felt in that moment has never really gone away.

My first son had just turned one. I had just quit my job two days before. I was on birth control! We wanted another child but the timing. Oh, the timing. Why couldn’t it have happened later when things were more settled? When we were ready? When we could celebrate it and not be riddled with worry about our finances and future?

I will never have those answers. I didn’t choose my son. But that’s okay. He chose me. I know that now.

If you are one of those soon-to-be-moms who stands in the bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test wondering how in the hell you and your tiny impending bundle are going to get through this, let me be the first to tell you … you will.

As a woman who has faced severe depressive episodes due to bipolar II disorder for all of her adult life, I often wondered if the pregnancy hormones and then postpartum depression would push me into my worst mood episode yet.

So I was pleasantly surprised with how truly happy I was during my first pregnancy. Comfortable? No. But happy? Yes, gloriously so.

With my second, I waited for those happy feelings. The first trimester went by and my anxiety grew. The second trimester came and the worries and depressed thoughts took over my brain like flies swarm over food in the heat.

I tried to force happiness. When you’re pregnant and your belly reaches the point where it’s obvious to everyone else that a baby will be coming out of you, that’s when everyone starts talking to you about it.

“When are you due?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Any names in mind?”

I would fake a smile, rub my round belly in that natural motherly way, and answer all their questions. It was my hope that as I heard my own voice it would conjure up that nervous and excitable anticipation that all mothers are supposed to feel. But what came was nothing of the sort.

What all those strangers and friends alike didn’t know was that I was terrified. Terrified of this baby. Terrified of another traumatic birth experience like the one with my first. Terrified by a future that was uncertain for many reasons. Job and income loss. House sitting stale on the market. Husband working six days a week so we didn’t lose everything.

It was all too much. I was mentally and physically exhausted. And not the normal type of pregnancy exhaustion. I wanted to pull the covers over my head and sleep. Sleep through the first, second and third trimester. Sleep through the birth. Sleep through the first month and while we’re at it, maybe the first year.

That’s when I realized . . . I am not just pregnant. I am pregnant and depressed.

True depression. Sadness. Hopelessness. The things no mother-to-be should feel. That was me. I was so ashamed. I kept thinking to myself, Do you know how many women would do anything to be pregnant like you are? Snap out of it!

But now I realize that a pregnant woman who is suffering with depression can no more “snap out of it” than someone who isn’t pregnant and suffering with depression.

That’s when I high-tailed it to my OB’s office and proceeded to break down in tears, unable to muster the courage to talk. The shame of what I was saying enveloped my own words.

“I want to be happy,” I sobbed. “I love my baby and I want so much not to feel like this anymore.”

My doctor looked at me with caring eyes and explained that I am not the first pregnant woman to be depressed. “I see cases of antenatal depression all the time,” she said.

There it was. A miserable diagnosis at a miserable time.

I had been keeping this dirty secret all to myself so as not to offend other people, and come to find out there are other depressed pregnant women out there! All this time I had felt so alone. All this time I had hidden my sadness and there was no reason for it.

My doctor prescribed a very low dosage of medication and talked me through her experience with this drug as it relates to pregnancy and birth. She had seen excellent results in mothers and I trusted her word.

Within three weeks of taking the medication as well as starting up weekly therapy again I started to feel better. I started talking about my baby, thinking about my baby, preparing for the birth. A funny thing happened on the way to wellness and stability. I finally fell in love with the little baby boy inside of me. It’s not that I didn’t love him all along. It just took me awhile to accurately feel those feelings because they were weighed down by depression.

My second son, Brigham Douglas, was born on May 2nd, nearly one year ago as I write this letter. I will never forget the instantaneous bond we shared as our eyes first met. There he was, only seconds old. But he had already taught me more about patience and trust than anyone living on this earth.

If you are pregnant and think you might be depressed, please know you are not alone. Talk to your doctor and trust your instincts. Your baby’s birth day can be joyful too.

Molly Shalzis a working mama to two beautiful boys born 21 months apart. Trying to manage a busy life with two kids under the age of three while also struggling with bipolar disorder. Married to a man made of glue who helps her hold it together. Writer. Traveler. Dreamer. Trying not to trip over tonka trucks. Her blog is called A Day In Mollywood.

Donations to Postpartum Progress can be made here: http://postpartumprogress.org/donate-postpartum-depression-2/

May 8, 2011 9:00 am Filed Under: Depression and Pregnancy, Mother's Day Rally for Mental Health, Warrior Moms