When Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders first burst into my home nearly 8 years ago this month, the invisible twin of my first born daughter, I had no idea how difficult a journey I faced. I also had no idea how amazing it would be on the other side.

I don’t remember every day of my journey. But I remember snippets, things which I have held onto as I trudge forward on this road of mine. Some are hard, some are crippling, some are funny, but all of them, every single last one, has molded me into the woman I am today. I wouldn’t trade any of them for an easier time of things.

Why not?

All of the hard through which I have journeyed has led me to connect with some of the most amazing, beautiful, funny, and wonderful souls in the world. They are dedicated, feisty, gorgeous, and resilient. They refuse to hear the word no without it inciting a strong desire to fight back. Their voices, even choked with tears and anger, are some of the most powerful voices on the planet. They sing in a chorus rivaling even that of the most talented in the world. A chorus of mothers and families refusing to struggle alone or be brushed aside. Lives demanding change and equal treatment.

They are the change. We are the change.

The change refuses to let stigma have power over us. We refuse to let society dictate to us how motherhood must be. We rip the Johnson and Johnson facade from every wall and repaint it with reality. Then we yell that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to not be okay.

As I’m writing this, “Better than a Hallelujah” by Amy Grant started playing via Spotify. How very fitting. My favourite lyrics from this song are:

“God loves a lullaby in a mother’s tears in the dead of night, better than a hallelujah sometimes…. We pour out our miseries, God just hears a melody, beautiful the mess we are, the honest cries of breaking hearts, are better than a hallelujah…”

Even when we think we are completely falling apart, we are still beautiful in God’s eyes. We are still gorgeous even with the cracks in the facade. More beautiful, actually. Those cracks allow us to grow, to heal, to discover ourselves more intimately than those who never crack.

I fight every day to be the change. To provide for at least one other mother the help and comfort I did not have when I struggled the first (and sadly, second) time around. No mother, no family, deserves to fight this beast on their own. We, all of us, are stronger together. We are women. We are mothers. We are strong, even when we feel as if we are porcelain shattered on the floor.

We pick each other up, hand out super glue, chat, talk, support, love. We are the change. You are the change. I am the change. Together, we are amazing.

I picked the right playlist for this exercise, apparently, because now “There will be a day” by Jeremy Camp is playing. What a fitting note on which to end this post.

“But I hold onto this hope, and the promise that it brings, there will be a place with no more suffering – there will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, no more fears…”

Yes. There will be a day.

Be the change.