I had written it and rewritten it. Then I put it in a drawer and there it remained. My postpartum OCD story, that is.

It was 2004 and I wasa marketing director at The Coca-Cola Company. I felt this push and pull between speaking openly about what I had gone through a few years earlier — so that others wouldn't feel as alone as I did — and keeping my mouth shut so as not to screw up my job. I had planned on sending the story to a magazine that I knew accepted essays, but then I changed my mind, figuring it would only cause me problems I didn't need. Into the drawer it went.

The universe did notlike the drawer option. God had other plans for me. After years of a stellar career, I suddenly found myself being offered a package to leave Coke in the midst ofreorganization, and I took it. Not long after, I printed out my story, sealed it in an envelope, and sent it to Newsweek. There was nothing holding me back now, I figured.

Then came many months of silence, which was okay really because Ihad estimatedI only had a snowball's chance in hell of hearing back from them. But thenthey called. They were going to publish my essay. (!) They sent a photographer to my house who took a picture of my son and I that makes me laugh because I look so nervous. Then came the pub date: June 7, 2004.

(cue the foreboding music)

Have you ever been really excited about something, only then to develop a serious case of buyer's remorse? I started thinking about the fact that people would know about my intrusive thoughts and my horrible moments. They could judge me. They might discount me. Or avoid me.

Neighbors. Acquaintances. Grocery store clerks. Google. They would all know.

Perhaps this hadn't been a good idea.

My husband and Istarted to joke that when the magazine came out we would buy a bunch of copies and put one in each of my neighbor's mailboxes with a Post-It note that said "P.S. I love to babysit!!!" It was good to laugh about it, but at the same time I worried whether there'd be no more playdates at my house.

In the end,everything turned out just fine. I heard nothing from my neighbors or pretty much anyone else, other than from friends and family who were proud of me. I still remember, though, the feeling of dread that I had done something that couldn't be undone, the consequences of which might be less than ideal.

I tell you that story to tell you this: I know it's scary to speak up. I know the fear in the pit of your stomach when you think about sharing your antenatal or postpartum experience with a mental illness openly. I know that for some of you now is not the optimal time to talk about this. That's okay. One day, if you can, you will tell your story, and you will find there are many rewards in doing so. The kind of rewards that have no measure.

Today I sent a request out over the Postpartum Progress Facebook page for more additions to the Surviving & Thriving Mothers Photo Album. I'd like to thank Sera, Tara D., Elizabeth H. and Emily B. for sending their beautiful pictures. These photos tell stories of survival and courage.

Update!!! Now I've also added Chris W., Anne W. and Lauren W. (what's with all the Ws?). Thanks so much ladies!!