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Weve always clickedbut nearly nothing about our beginning was easy.
Stocksy
They were born into the water in 2013, when I was 30.
I spent the first four months postpartum in near-constant elation.
The electric magnetism I felt toward my child was indescribable.
There was nothing on the planet I loved or craved more deeply than them.
Getting the all-clear from her was easy.
And the chips kept stacking up.
It was a privilege to have them there.
But also it was too much.
Because Id deemed my struggle purely circumstantial, I never reached out or sought help.
All I knew aboutpostpartum depressionwas that I was positive I didnt have it.
I loved my child so deeply it was almost all I could do.
Id never hurt them.
So, I thought, this couldnt be PPD.
This was just my understandable reaction to the world falling apart around me.
And for nearly a year, I lived in that vacuum.
I wasnt blind to the notion that motherhood was a struggle for so many.
But nobody in my life ever really talked about it.
I didnt know anyone whod openly or overtly wrestled with it.
And because Id deemed my struggle purely circumstantial, I never reached out or sought help.
I now know I should have.
(Yes, same!)
If only I’d seen stories like theirs four years sooner.
That was my mistake.
I was never diagnosed with postpartum depression, and never received treatment for it.
And then it went away, and I was me again.
It felt like sorcery.
The trouble with postpartum depression isnt that nobody is talking about itluckily, we are.
