Category Archives: Postpartum Anxiety

Media Sensationalism, AOL, and Postpartum Mood Disorders

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

Oh, hey.

You’re here. Excellent.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

Why am I counting? You’ll find out in a bit. For now, just go with it.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

In the United States, from October 2008 through October 2009, 4,148,000 live babies were born.

The statistical rate of Postpartum Mood Disorder is up to 20% of all new mothers. And by new, I mean just gave birth, not first time mom. Postpartum Mood Disorder is one of those fabulous non-discriminating kinda things which will walk up to anyone and cold cock them for no reason at all. Regardless of how well prepared said person may be. It’s kinda like getting mugged. Repeatedly.

This means that from October 2008 – October 2009, approximately 829,600 new mothers more than likely struggled with a Postpartum Mood Disorder at some level. This means 2 out of every 10 moms struggled with a Postpartum Mood Disorder (hence, the counting).

There is no data which tells us how many of those 829,600 mothers sought help.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

I have been in the trenches with Postpartum Mood Disorders since 2004. You see, I had a very horrible episode of Postpartum OCD after the birth of my first daughter. After her birth, vicious thoughts swirled about in my head. Visions too. Instead of enjoying my brand new baby’s time here, I was swallowed whole with anxiety, shoved into fight mode to protect her from myself, and left thinking the whole world was out to get me because they knew how much I sucked at this whole motherhood thing.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.

For the record? I did the right thing. I called my doctor and made an appointment. I had to take my daughter with me because my husband was unable to get off work. So off we went, into the wild blue yonder where this thing called Help lived. We arrived, waltzed through the front door and signed my name with a flourish because dammit, we were there to do the right thing.

Only my doctor was not there to do the right thing.

He was there to judge me. To inform me that all my hormones had slid magically back into their little slots at 4 weeks postpartum and there was nothing wrong with me.

Whaaaa????

Wait a second.

I JUST handed you a scale. On which I answered YES to having thoughts of harming myself AND my child. And YOU, a trained medical professional, are dismissing this? Did I miss something here? I am no professional but.. uh… um…. really?

THEN… oh then… the icing:

“How important is breastfeeding to you?” he asked, quite seriously as he peered at me from behind his large and imposing wooden desk as my daughter screamed her head off to be nursed beside me.

I should have gotten her out of her car seat and started to nurse right then and there. But I didn’t. Shock slacked my jaw and curled my mouth into a grin. This “professional” clearly did not have the capacity to help me. I smiled my way right out of the appointment and drove home with tears sliding down my face. You see, the Internet had told me just what to do – to go seek help. To make an appointment with my doctor. The Internet had said nothing about what to do when you are shot down by your doctor.

So there I was……driving baby, me, and my shattered heart all the way home. Alone. Isolated. Abandoned. Scared as hell.

Never before in my life had I experienced a hell quite like the one in which I now found myself mired. Never before had I, a perfectly normal person prior to giving birth to my daughter, given any thought to harming another person. NEVER. And the day on which I discovered my pregnancy? There was no way I would have ever thought that less than three months after giving birth I would want to go back in time so I would never get pregnant. I wanted to run, hide, make this new me go away.

In what state did all of this take place?

South.Frigging.Carolina.

Just a couple of hours away from Orangeburg and less than 45 minutes away from where Susan Smith, well, you know.

Let me tell you a bit about rural South Carolina.

There is nothing in rural South Carolina. Small towns there are devoid of much of anything. Residents in these towns are intent on keeping outsiders out and insiders in. We barely made any friends while there. The town in which we lived seemed to have some sort of an addiction problem as most wandered around mindlessly. The poverty level? Wow. We were on the high end of the scale for living because we: Rented a HOUSE instead of a trailer and owned TWO cars instead of one or none at all. The house we rented was tiny. But that didn’t matter. We were considered to be upper class in the town despite the fact that we were just squeaking by on my husband’s salary as a restaurant manager.

In this town, there lived a family everyone knew to avoid. They didn’t have running water so they never bathed which made them reek to high heaven. If you were fortunate enough to be at the local Wal-mart or Bi-Lo when they were, you learned to walk to the other side of the store if you saw them coming.

High School graduates were also hard to come by as well. Many young people had to go to work early to help support the family. They worked at whatever they could find – sometimes driving long distances for good jobs. Even then it was hard to get good work because the jobs in the city were very picky if you lived too far away. Understandable concern but it really does put a crimp on improving your life when you are living in the middle of nowhere and cannot afford a move into the city until you get a better job which of course, you can’t get because you live too far away. It is a very vicious cycle.

Oh, and the Klan had a central PUBLIC meeting location.

And yes, you read that right.

Bottom line here – South Carolina has problems. A lot of problems. Many states do but never before in my life had I witnessed a perfect storm – poverty, ignorance, and a lack of support for its residents.

Since I have left, there has been the development of a Postpartum Coalition there. I’ve been asked to speak at their annual conference in October 2011. I am really looking forward to coming full circle with my experience and helping to educate providers and citizens alike in a state which so desperately needs raised awareness of Postpartum Mood Disorders.

Why did I just walk you through all of that history?

Earlier this week, a mother in South Carolina was arrested for the deaths of her two toddler sons. According to news articles, she was unemployed, frustrated, and had some heated words with her mother the night before the incident. This mother has since confessed to her actions and is now in jail facing court and charges.

For some reason, various members of the media have dragged the idea of this mother having Postpartum Depression into the Speculation surrounding her case. Now, Dr. Arlene Huysman, author of The Postpartum Effect, an excellent book which examines why mothers kill, postulates that Susan Smith and others may struggle with something called Progressive Postpartum Depression.

Here’s how she describes it on page 43 (empasis mine):

“The mother with progressive postpartum depression (PPPD), however, does NOT recover without treatment. She merely experiences a hiatus until her next episode. Subsequent episodes are very often triggered by rejections, separations, and losses, and recur throughout the woman’s life. Usually the next episode is worse than the last. If this pattern goes unchecked, the mother will spiral into a cycle of illness that can destroy her life and her family.

When a mother is in the grip of this disease in its most serious form, she passes beyond reason. In the place of the capable woman is one full of dread, rage, and confusion. She feels unloved and unlovable and loses her ability to distinguish right from wrong. She may hear voices in her head and be listening to them rather than the voices of her family. This is not a symptom of schizophrenia, but rather a reflection of her own obsessive thinking. Death may become a preoccupation. She is in the throes of what feels like an unending despair.”

Yesterday, (Please do not click on the following link if you are still struggling as it may be triggering.) AOL News contributor, David Lohr, published an article about this South Carolina mother at AOL News. In the original version, he included a quote from criminal profiler Pat Brown. Ms. Brown, based out of Washington DC, has been featured in many outlets including CNN, Court TV, and various other sources. Makes perfect sense to get a quote from a criminal profiler for a case involving well, crime.

But David Lohr and AOL news made an egregious error in their publication of the quote by Ms. Brown. AOL news has since removed the quote from the story and appended the story with an editor’s note to this effect. Ms. Brown has gone on the defensive in regards to a very public and viral outburst by many of the women I am proud to blog and tweet with on a daily basis.

The offensive quote:

“Most women who suffer depression after their children are born are suffering from post-how-did-I-get-stuck-with-this-kid, this body, this life? They may be depressed, but it is their situation and their psychopathic personality that brings them to kill their children, and not some chemical malfunction.”

If most women were truly suffering from “post-how-did-I-get-stuck-with-this-kid, this body, this life” then all we would need is a personal trainer or plastic surgeon, a nanny, and a million dollars to effectively change our stars. Oh wait – speaking of stars, don’t celebs have this too? Bryce Dallas Howard had it. Miranda Kerr, Gwyneth Paltrow, Brooke Shields, Marie Osmond, and many others. Granted, they did not kill their children but they still struggled (even severely) with Postpartum Mood Disorders. And they had access to all the help in the world.

Postpartum Mood Disorders do not just strike poor down on their luck moms.

Postpartum Mood Disorders are NOT the only possible explanation for filicide.

Postpartum Mood Disorders may not be definitively caused by a hormonal or “chemical malfunction” but study after study shows there are differing rates of various hormones of women struggling with PMD’s. Researchers have not yet defined what this means yet but I suspect that with sustained research we will get closer to answers each and every day.

The ignorance of Ms. Pat Brown in making such a sweeping statement in regards to an entire population of struggling moms is highly irresponsible. With her reach and popularity as a commentator for several national shows including the Today Show, the CBS Early Show, Larry King, Inside Edition, Nancy Grace, Issues with Jane Velez-Mitchell, Joy Behar, and America’s Most Wanted as well as featured on the Court TV show I, Detective, it frightens me to hear her make such a grandiose and untrue statement. The possibility that a hurting mother somewhere may have read her statement and then dismissed her own issues scares the hell out of me.

We, mothers who have struggled with Postpartum Mood Disorders, have issue enough with gathering strength to make that first call for help. We become convinced we are bad mothers. That we have failed and will never get better. We talk ourselves down even further the rabbit hole into which we tripped after we gave birth to children we love more than life itself.

Moms with Postpartum Depression are NOT:

Bad Mothers

Mourning the loss of our previous supermodel body

Tragically sad because now we have a little person stuck with us

Moms with Postpartum Depression ARE:

Madly in love with their children

Good moms who want to heal

Desperate to find reliable help

I can’t even begin to fathom the damage this statement has made. I have had more mothers tell me they are a bad mom because they are sad. It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be happy. I don’t love my son, daughter, husband, etc. What is wrong with me? The confusion, angst, sorrow, frustration, guilt, all adds to their journey with a Postpartum Mood Disorder. Then if they are unable to find the help they need (like me), they are left to their own devices for recovery. Unfortunately, some of us never find the right help and are not surrounded by empowering people who can lift them up and guide them toward recovery.

If you are struggling with a Postpartum Mood Disorder or hurting, sad, upset, and thinking of harming yourself or others, PLEASE reach out for help. If it’s after the birth of a child, you can call Postpartum Support International at 1-800-944-4PPD. Volunteers check the messages on a daily basis (I’m one of them and these ladies are DEDICATED. We will get you in touch with someone in your area who can help you). If you need urgent help, please go to the nearest ER. If you’re feeling suicidal, you can call 1-800-273-TALK anytime of the day, even at 2am on a Sunday.

I remember that sense of isolation. The need to reach out and talk with someone who has been there and done that was overpowering. The desperation I felt in my incapacity to locate professional help. I tried for four days before I broke down to call my doctor. I hung up as soon as the automation came on the line. Have you ever tried to admit to someone that things are NOT okay when you are supposed to be at your happiest, especially according to Johnson & Johnson? It is one of the hardest things in the world to do. Hands down.

Fittingly, Jennifer Lopez’s Let’s Get Loud just came on Pandora as I’m wrapping this up.

I thank everyone out there who got LOUD yesterday to let AOL, Pat Brown, and David Lohr know how wrong they were.

AOL, you need to apologize. The quote should never have been published to begin with.

Pat? I challenge you to read Dr. Huysman’s book, The Postpartum Effect if you have not already. It’s available at Amazon. Hell, I might just mail you a copy. Anyone else want to flood her office with copies? It’s about $15 or so. If that wouldn’t get her attention…..

And David Lohr, the next time you need a quote about something related to Postpartum Depression? Try Postpartum Support International. I believe they know a thing or two about Postpartum Mood Disorders.

This week’s Postpartum Voice: Miranda of Not Super Just Mom

Miranda of Not Super Just Mom, is sharing as this week’s Postpartum Voice. She’s been hosting guest bloggers on the topic of  PPD/PPA over at her place this week as part of Mental Health Month and the D-Listed Blog Hop. Miranda and I met via #PPDChat at Twitter (I’ve been meeting SO many new moms there lately!) and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know her.

Miranda’s story starts out with disappointment after delivery didn’t quite go the way she had planned. I’ll let her tell her story in her voice now….

Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you one thing. I am an over-achiever. I expect my best from myself in all things. I do not settle. I never have. Slowly, however, I’m learning to accept that sometimes my “best” has to be “good enough.”

I began battling depression in late high school. I fought with anxiety and depression off and on for years.  Once I got to college, I had pressure to keep my scholarships, to not disappoint my parents, to make sure I paid my mortgage and car payments and insurance and utility bills on time. To maintain a social life and find the person with whom I was going to spend the rest of my life.

I finally got help during my junior year of college when I broke down and realized I couldn’t continue to live the way I’d been living. What I was facing was something bigger than me. The clinicians and psychiatrist who helped me were amazing and I owe them a debt of gratitude for teaching me how to “deal.” While I was in treatment, I met a wonderful guy, got married, and set out to suburbia. Eventually, we decided to expand our family.

I knew I was meant to be a mother.  I knew that I would be good at this.  It was my destiny.  How could I not be a natural?

So imagine my shock when, two days after having my beautiful plans of a natural, vaginal, med-free delivery shot down due to “failure to progress,” I found myself crying into my meatloaf.  Apparently, someone having an “inappropriate response to meatloaf” has become code-language in my doctor’s office for “watch out for this one.  She’s on the fast-track to medication.” Or something like that.  But see, that wasn’t normal.  And I didn’t know it.

And when I wrote that post, the anger over my C-section was definitely present.  I was angry.  I am angry.  Even now, 14 months later.

And that’s how my PPD/PPA started.  With anger.  And bitterness.  And resentment.

And then the anger and bitterness and resentment turned into sadness over how things didn’t go the way I planned.

And then I heard the words “you’ll have to supplement” at my son’s first newborn visit after being discharged and that’s where the no-no “F” word started creeping in.

FAILURE.

I had only been a mom for five days and already I was a failure.  I’d failed to get him here the way I’d envisioned.  I’d failed to keep him from losing 10% of his birth weight because my stress and anxiety over the surgery (and the pain! Sweet baby Jesus in a manger the pain) kept my milk from coming in.

And I just KNEW that supplementing would be doom for breastfeeding for us.

And then I’d be failing at yet ANOTHER thing and I was BARELY EVEN A MOTHER YET AND HOW CAN I ALREADY BE SO BAD AT THIS?!?!?

When my one-week postpartum check-up came around, Peggy-the-PA and Dan and I discussed my “inappropriate response to meatloaf” in the hospital while Joshua, ever the little stinker he is, slept peacefully in his carseat.  A carseat that he HATED for the first four months of his life (which effectively trapped me in the house because the sound of him screaming would send me into what I now think were mild panic attacks…WHILE DRIVING).

While we were at that visit, Peggy wrote me a prescription for an anti-depressant.  She thought it’d be a good idea for me to go ahead and start taking them.

But I didn’t.  Because I wanted to believe that I was stronger than that.  I wanted to believe that this was just the “Baby Blues” and that they’d go away and I’d realize that I was a natural at this.  That I was a PERFECT mother.

But I wasn’t.  I’m still not.  And the “Baby Blues” didn’t just evaporate.

It didn’t help that a mere seven days after giving birth, I was flying solo with this tiny bundle of lungs and poop.  I couldn’t drive because it still hurt to sneeze, so I still needed to take pain medication. But I couldn’t take pain medication and be home all day with the baby because what if he needed me and the medication made me drowsy and I was sent a baby who wouldn’t sleep so there was no “sleep when baby is sleeping” in this house for at least three weeks.

I resented my husband.  I resented the fact that he got to leave every day and go to work.  He got to get out.  He got to see people.  If I tried to leave, even to go to Target, I’d have the baby screaming his tiny baby lungs out the whole way there.  The whole time we walked around the store.  The whole time we drove home.  It just wasn’t worth it.  So I didn’t leave.  And when Dan left for work, I’d cry.

And because I was so mired up in my own grief, I didn’t feel connected to my son.  I’d read blogs written by women who would gush and gush about how when they saw their baby it was love at first sight and they knew instinctively what to do and what their baby needed and part of me screamed “THAT IS BULLSHIT” and then part of me cried.

Because that’s what I wanted.  I wanted that instant bond.  That connection.  That look from my baby that said “You are my mommy and I know this because I have heard your heart for 40 weeks and 5 days and it is the greatest sound in the world and I love you, Mommy.  And I promise to sleep all night long and save all the poop-splosions for Daddy.”

And I didn’t get that.  Even close to a year out, I still didn’t feel that.  Even now, there are times where I look at my son and go “WHAT PLANET ARE YOU FROM!?!?” because he and I just don’t seem to understand each other very well.

The times that I felt most at peace were the times when my mother came down to spend the day with me.  She’d get here early in the morning and do a load of laundry or dishes or sweep my floor.  And then?  Then she’d hold Joshua while I napped in the bed.  It was glorious.  But it was brief.  My reprieves from the resentment were short-lived.  I knew she’d leave soon, so when it would be time for her to leave, I’d get all anxious in the pit of my stomach and I’d feel the lump forming in my throat.  And then she’d walk out the door and I’d be choking back tears and trying to hold it together.

And in the midst of all of this, Joshua was diagnosed with reflux and a milk protein allergy.  Which meant mixing up little packets of Zegerid twice a day and me cutting out all yummy dairy goodness for as long as I planned to breastfeed.  Me and Oreos became BFFs because they are totally, completely dairy free.  And some days, I’d eat Oreos.  All day long.  That’s almost all I’d have to eat.  Maybe I’d sneak in a graham cracker and some peanut butter.  But I didn’t have much of an appetite, despite the fact that I was a dairy-free dairy cow.

(I think the fact that we finally got breastfeeding worked out is the only thing that helped me keep it together.  It’s the only thing I knew I didn’t totally suck at, even though it had its own set of drawbacks…like growth spurts, and nursing every hour, on the hour, all.night.long. AND GIVING UP CHEESE AND COFFEE CREAMER.)

At my six week postpartum visit, I finally admitted to Peggy, and my husband, and my mom, and myself, that I needed to fill the prescription she’d written me six weeks earlier.  I knew that this was not something I could do alone.  So, I drove to the pharmacy, filled the prescription, and started taking them that night.

And I didn’t feel instantly better.  I still have days where I don’t feel better.  I have days where I just want to cry.  Or where it physically hurts to move my body because I’m just so weighed down with my thoughts.  And there are times when Joshua screams (um..hello…he’s a Tiny Terrorist.  That’s pretty much all he does is scream) and I feel my heart start to beat faster and I kind of lose my train of thought and I become robotic.  GET.DIAPER.ON.NOW.PICK.UP.BABY.NOW. And I just sort of “do” it.

One of the things I’ve come to realize through my battle with PPD/PPA is that I have to take every day as it comes.  I’ve also had to abandon the quest for “perfection.”  Nothing is perfect.  Especially not me.  Which is the purpose behind this blog.  I’m not perfect.  I’m never going to BE perfect.

I’ll have perfect moments, and moments where I go “Hey, I don’t suck at this!” but I’m not going to have those moments all the time.  The “perfect” world of mommyhood that I envisioned for myself prior to actually being a mom doesn’t exist.

And slowly…slowly, I’m becoming more and more okay with the lack of perfection in my life.  And I’m finding something kind of perfect in the imperfection.  I’m finding me.

Miranda can be found at Not Super…Just Mom. She’d like everyone to know that she is not, in fact, a Supermom. But with a cape and a tiara she could probably save the world.

Just Talkin’ Tuesday 10.27.09: What’s YOUR Postpartum Mood Disorder Story?

women talking in sunset

Original Photo taken by tranchis @ flickr

This site was started to help me re-frame an unexpected pregnancy after two rather nasty experiences with Postpartum OCD. Turns out that by doing so I not only helped myself but managed to help a lot of other women along the way.

There was a point during my suffering when I dreaded having to retell my story. Looking back I should have just typed the whole thing up and kept copies on hand – kind of like a resume. (Hey – not a bad idea if you end up having to hunt for a decent doctor!) But there came a turning point where my story began to foster a sense of strength and self. Finally I began to bloom.

We’re all at different points on our journey. Some of us are right in the thick of it, some of us a bit further out, others are fully recovered, some have relapsed and are struggling right back out thanks to the path we carved out the last time we fell down. But we are all in it together.

Rather than retype my entire story here (cuz that would take some time!), you can click here to read about “The Day” I was admitted to psych ward. And if you’re brave enough (ie, preferably not in the thick of it or relapsed) you can read another piece I’ve written here about some of the thoughts I had when things were so dark I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.

For me and for many others, telling our story or even venting has become a powerful source of personal therapy. It’s a way to just get some of the stress out of our body, our mind, and even possibly work through issues.

So let’s get to just talkin’ here. I want to hear your stories. I want to know what you’ve gone through/are going through. Speak up. We’re here to be supportive, compassionate, and lend our hearts.

I can’t wait to read what you have to share!

Speaking up across the blogosphere

I’d like to recognize the growing numbers of bloggers discussing Postpartum Depression here at Sharing the Journey. I’ll try to post a list like this each week. If you come across (or write) a great blog that includes a postpartum mood disorder experience and isn’t already on my blog roll, email it to me @ ppdacceptance at gmail dot com.

Today’s featured bloggers are:

Trying to find my way through Postpartum Depression (a newly diagnosed mom sharing her journey! Please go and say hi!)

Willis, Party of 6: Postpartum Depression (military mom shares her journey with four kids!)

Sisters from different Misters (Cassie) shares about “Things I’ve learned from my therapist,” a relationship which all started when she developed postpartum depression.

Jen from Tales of a Southern Yankee (a new favorite blog of mine) shares about her postpartum experience in a wonderful post entitled “Things we do not say”

And while the next link is not a blog, it’s a worthy read. An article from Wales which delves into the postnatal depression experience and encourages mothers not to suffer alone. You can read this article by clicking here.

TIME Magazine misfires debate on MOTHER’S Act

Awhile back, I was contacted by Catherine Elton regarding an article which was to examine Postpartum Depression and the Mother’s Act. The email somehow got buried and I did not get a chance to participate in the discussion.

It seems that it would not have mattered if I had been able to discuss my story with her.

Time published the story this week. While the online version has been modified to correct an error with Ms. Amy Philo’s story, you can still see the original version in the hard copy. (Which by the way, I am personally asking you to boycott – even asking if you can take the copy of TIME home from the doctor’s office in order to keep other moms from reading it! And make sure you ASK – because just taking it would be stealing and that’s illegal.)

The original version, entitled “The Melancholy of Motherhood” includes one quote from Carole Blocker, the mother of Melanie Blocker Stokes, a mother who tragically committed suicide after unsuccessful treatment for severe postpartum depression after the birth of her daughter. The quote reflects Ms. Blocker’s confusion as to how someone could oppose the MOTHER’S Act, a bill which is designed to increase public and professional education regarding Postpartum Mood & Anxiety Disorders. Frankly, I’m confused right along with Ms. Blocker.

The only survivor story featured in this article is that of Amy Philo, one of five recipients of an Outstanding Achievement for Mothers’ and Children’s Rights awards from the Citizens Commision on Human Rights or CCHR. CCHR was founded in 1969 by none other than the Church of Scientology, well-known to oppose the entire psychiatric field.

Amy has tirelessly worked against this bill for quite some time now but continues to be tragically misled. Few discussions with her have led to quite the round robin with Amy unable to come up with legitimate research to back up her claims. When asked for said research, Amy refers to her own websites instead of to specific research articles supporting her claims.

I happen to know that Ms. Elton did indeed interview fellow survivors who support the bill. One has to wonder then, why did their stories not make it into the article? Was it length? Was it editing? Or was it intentional? Regardless, the finished piece as published presents a very frightening and deceiptful picture of what new mothers face is this bill is passed. To begin with, the MOTHER’S Act no longer mandates screening. It requires a study to be completed by the Secretary of Health and Human Services (Kathleen Sebelius) as well as funds for an educational campaign for both caregivers and the general public.

I agree that just because a new mother shows emotion she should not immediately be diagnosed as having a PMAD. I also believe that a woman should have free choice when it comes to her treatment decisions and should NOT be judged for those choices. I chose to take Anti-depressants. My first prescription did not work out. But my second one did. Just as with any other medication, sometimes they don’t work so well with your system. So you try another one. You don’t suddenly take your own care into your hands – that’s ridiculous. Would you try to heal a broken leg or diabetes on your own? No? I didn’t think so. So why would you rely solely on self-care when it comes to mental illness? Self-care should be part of the picture but it shouldn’t be the ONLY part of the picture.

I am so tired of being judged and accused of not having informed consent. You know what? When I made my decision to go on Anti-Depressants, I had carried around an informational packet about AD’s & Breastfeeding given to me by the NICU Lactation Consultant with me for a week. I read that thing through and through. I was exclusively pumping for my daughter at the time and did not want to jeopardize her receiving my milk if I ended up having to take something. But I couldn’t function. I couldn’t take care of my family, I couldn’t take care of myself, and a lot of the same thoughts were coming back. Negative, scary thoughts about knives and hurting myself and my family. Yet I wasn’t on anti-depressants. I needed to be able to function. So I made a very informed decision to do so, one I do not regret to this day.

TIME – I am very disappointed in your lack of sharing both sides of this debate. Very very disappointed.