Category Archives: strong woman

YAWP!!!!! (a rant)

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(the following was inspired by The Daddy Yo Dude Unfiltered’s piece entitled: Bent, not broken)

In the deepest depth of the darkness, I had days unlike any days I had ever experienced.

Days on which life swirled around me, flowed up, down, backward, east, west, and pulled me in every direction. A thought? What was that? Thoughts were for other people, other humans who could engage in meaningful conversation with each other, meaningful multi-syllabic conversation. Other people who did things besides dishes, diapers, breastfeeding, feeding dogs, cooking, cleaning…. other people who did things like shower, leave the house because they weren’t afraid of everyone else knowing their secrets. Other people who could chop vegetables for their families without a zillion thoughts about how to use that knife for something besides chopping the vegetables.

Life was for other people.

Not for me.

Life requires you to hold it together. To not fall apart. To NEVER fall apart – not even behind closed doors.

We hide those who fall apart. We hide ourselves when we fall apart. Because we are not supposed to do this – we are, above all else, to stay together. “Keep it together man!” or “Just keep swimming” are a couple of recent quotes which come to mind here. (And yes, I realize that I am quoting Monsters, Inc. and Finding Nemo. I’m a parent with three kids six and under. I watch these films often therefore the dialogue is applicably stuck within my few remaining brain cells)

Legs break.

Arms break.

Hearts break.

Sympathy for all. No stigma or shame attached there.

But if your MIND breaks?

Holy effin’ robin eggs, batman.

If your MIND breaks …..

Society at large would have you believe:

It’s YOUR fault.

YOU can snap out of this.

And if you can’t snap out of this? YOU will never get better.

Once you get better, you are never ever allowed to break your MIND again.

(yanno, because YOU broke it to begin with and should now know how NOT to break it again)

Dear Society At Large:

My Mind broke. Twice. Or more. I wasn’t to blame. It happened. I sought help. I didn’t get help. I got worse. My mind broke even more. Shattered, dare I say. Decimated. Dust. I got help then. I wandered aimlessly about the hidden place – the hush hush ward of the hospital. The place where they say “You don’t have to tell anyone you were here.” (The first rule of Psych Ward is that there is NO Psych Ward!) The stigma? It starts THERE. It travels home. It spreads. In every direction, in every crook and corner of society it creeps and crawls. And it is there we, the ones with the broken minds, are expected to stay. We are sent home with this expectation, this order to hide ourselves away, to lie about what really happened to us. In the dark corners. The crooks and the crannies. Where NO ONE CAN SEE OR HEAR OUR BROKEN MINDS AND VOICES.

Guess what?

I’m in the middle of the room.

On a table.

Shouting out my story.

TO ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN.

(Not as sexy as a stripper but I’m there and I’m rockin’ the room)

Because you know what?

I was broken. But I’m not anymore.

I broke the old me. I broke the scared human. I broke her and I left her far behind, crumpled in your dark corner. I gave birth to the new me. I like the new me. She says things outloud. Things that shouldn’t be said and don’t want to be heard by you. But she says them anyway. At the top of her lungs to anyone who will listen.

She is healed. Scarred, but healed. New scars don’t scare her. New scars excite her because it gives her another avenue full of houses to which she can reach out.

I wish you the best of luck, dear society.

The best.

YOU may bend me. But YOU? May never ever break me again.

Love,

ME

Postpartum Voice of the Week: Allison from O My Family

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I did not have a clue Wednesday morning who/what to choose for my Postpartum Voice of the week today.

Then Allison from O My Family tweeted an amazing post, “Proof that I am in a better place.”

And I knew.

In her post, Allison thoroughly enjoys cuddling with her son as he sleeps on her chest.

Sure, it sounds innocent and as normal as could be for any mother and child. But for a mom with a Postpartum Mood Disorder, the ability to enjoy a “normal” moment with our babies is often beyond our reach. It fell beyond my own reach for the longest time. Then one day, as I sat watching all three of my children play together peacefully, normal slammed into me.

I wish this moment for every woman struggling with a Postpartum Mood Disorder. We fight so hard against the darkness which envelops us after we give birth. The sunshine is always so much sweeter once the fog has lifted.

As Allison so eloquently closes her post: “By the end I was in tears as the joy flowed over me and I was hit like a brick wall with the realization that this is who I am. This is me, this is my son, this is reality.

And it is so, so good.”

It IS good.

I wish you so many more moments like this in the months and years to come. You will certainly have earned them!

P.S. Allison, grab the graphic above and slap it up on your blog, linking back to this post. Brag about your status as the Postpartum Voice of the Week! You deserve it!

Just Talkin’ Tuesday: Defining Postpartum Mood Disorders

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Welcome to my blog if you’ve traveled here from 5 Minutes for Mom’s Ultimate Blog Party for 2010.

This is my second year of participating.

The following post is meant to spark discussion as well as explain why I blog.

Won’t you come on in, sit down, and have a cup of tea?

I’m so very glad you’re here.

And if you stick around, there’s a meaningful giveaway at the end.


Since my first brush with a Postpartum Mood Disorder, I have come to learn so very much about this world I consider myself fortunate enough to have stumbled into.

Fortunate? To have stumbled into a Postpartum Mood Disorder? What the hell is wrong with you?

Isn’t that a bit like being thrilled to pieces about stumbling into a briar patch?

While I certainly wouldn’t wish a Postpartum Mood Disorder on my worst enemy, I am eternally grateful for the growth it has brought to my life. For the changed relationships, the maturity, the amazingly strong women it has brought into my life. I am eternally grateful that because of my Postpartum Mood Disorders, I have rediscovered my passion for writing. For supporting new mamas as they navigate the very dark and frightening valley of Postpartumville.

For me, as a recovered two time fighter, I define Postpartum Mood Disorders as the source of my strength. As the fertilizer from which the bloom I am constantly reinventing each and every day relies upon. My Postpartum Mood Disorders do not define me anymore. They used to – they used to fill me with a deep sadness, shame, anxiety, fear, hopelessness. I feared sharing my story. The very thought of having to tell one more person what happened to me made me want to crawl into bed, pull up the covers, and never come up for air again. Until I realized I could turn and fight. Turn and kick my PMD’s ass. So I did. And I kicked it hard.

So many women out there deserve to know they are capable of the same strength. They need to know that deep within them lies a spring so full of strength they can’t even see it or sense it until they desperately need it. Then, and only then, will the waters filled with strength begin to flow. Once that flow is turned on, there’s no turning back. Some of us need help turning it on and will need to take medication or talk with a therapist. Some of us will find help and hope in exercise and natural approaches. But just as there is no one size fits all for women, there is no one size fits all for Postpartum Mood Disorder recovery. You have to do what is absolutely right for you, your situation, and your family. And you should NOT be made to feel guilty about that at all by anyone.

This is why I blog, why I wake with the goal of connecting at least one mom with the feeling that she is not alone as she decides to turn and fight her Postpartum Mood Disorder. I have not failed in my daily mission in over three years. That’s over 1000 women and counting! There are no plans to stop this train anytime in the near future either. In fact, there are blueprints on the way to expand this bad boy.

Postpartum Mood Disorders have made me incapable of taking any moment with my family for granted. Incapable of not grasping the deeper meaning of my life and the lives of those around me. My PMD experience has brought a silent clarity to my life. And for me, it’s been absolutely instrumental in bringing my relationship with God back to where it needs to be. And for that, I am certainly eternally grateful.

When you are faced with any illness, you have a choice. You can turn and fight or you can succumb. There are those who have succumbed to their Postpartum Mood Disorders. And for them, for their families, their loved ones, I mourn. But I understand. I know how they reached that point. Because I got dangerously close to it myself. And if you ever wondered what someone who has considered suicide or held suicidal ideations is like, that person is like me, like you, like the barista at Starbucks, the Judge at the courthouse, the Principal at your kid’s school, like the cashier who just smiled at you at the grocery store – the bottom line is that mental illness, just like cancer, can hit any of us at anytime. It’s unpredictable and extremely difficult to prevent even if we do everything right.In order to help prevent suicide, it is important for us to understand the warning signs. It’s important for us to be a friend to those who are struggling. To not judge them when they open up to us. It’s especially important to continue support as they are in the early stages of healing.

I bring up suicide because it ties in with my giveaway. Steve Krupnik over at NoBlu has graciously agreed to give away one of their gorgeous Sunstone Pendants. The design was settled on

“After countless hours of research, collaboration and design we created our organizations symbol, the noblu eclipse. The design is our interpretation of a solar eclipse created to inspire people to support others faced with the challenges of all form of depression and suicide prevention. If you think of the sun as the light within each one of us and the moon as the “visitor” that may block the light of inspiration you can see why we selected this glowing option. The eclipse is a reminder to look for help when we need it, to help others when they need it and inspire everyone to make a difference.”

Those of you who are regular readers know that I’ve never done a giveaway before. But I feel very strongly about the mission of NoBlu and want to share it with you. In order to be entered, leave a comment here. A winner will be chosen on April 19th at 8:00pm EST via Random.org.

So let’s get to just talking – how do YOU define Postpartum Mood Disorders? What has your experience meant to you? How have you grown?

Not had a Postpartum Mood Disorder? Have any questions about them? Want to know how to help a loved one? I’ll answer those too.

Prefer not to comment with either of those topics but want to be entered in the giveaway? Just visit NoBlu and post the first line of their mission statement as your comment.

One reader’s reaction to Crystal’s Video

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A close friend of mine, Marcie Ramirez,  a Co-Coordinator with Postpartum Support International in Tennessee, sent me the following piece last night. She wrote it to process her feelings after watching Joseph’s very poignant video about his daughter, Crystal. Marcie used to live in San Diego and was newly recovered from her own journey through postpartum when Crystal’s tragedy occurred. I immediately asked if I could post it as it was beyond fabulous. Sheer power and emotion are captured so magnificently here – I couldn’t let it just sit in my inbox. With no further fuss, here is the piece I received:

Today I was watching a montage that my friend had posted on her blog.  I had read the article which had the basic nuts and bolts…a story of yet another mom who didn’t survive the first year of her child’s life.  A mom, who just like me felt like her family would be better off without her and for whatever reason didn’t feel like she could ask for help.

As I watched the video I not only read the words but I noticed familiarities in the pictures.  It was a landscape common to San Diego, my home until not quite two years ago, where I gave birth to both my children and where I went through the most terrifying experience of my life.  I watched and my suspicions of this woman being from my home town grew when I saw the name of the cemetery.  My heart sank.  I clicked on a link in the blog that took me to the man’s original story and it turned out that he owns a restaurant my husband and I have been to on many occasions.  It was also the restaurant my family and I would go to every Christmas when we would look at the lights on Candy Cane Lane and Christmas Circle.  La Bella’s was one of the few perfect memories of my childhood.

As suspicion turned into reality I realized that I went through my Postpartum hell at the same time she was pregnant and when I was really starting to see a light at the end of my tunnel she saw nothing but darkness.  What if our paths had crossed?  What if I had been able to say something to her that would have allowed her the freedom to ask for help?  I never asked for help.  To this day I am still confident that if I hadn’t have been screened that I would be dead.

San Diego is on the forefront of Postpartum Mood Disorders.  I say this because I know first hand how incredible my access to maternal mental health services was.  I was screened through my pregnancy, before leaving the hospital and again at my six week postpartum checkup.  When I didn’t pass my screening there was a therapist onsite who saw me before I went home.  I saw posters, I had access to a psychiatrist who specialized in maternal mental health.  I wanted to kill myself many times but somehow was able to hold on because I knew if I could just make it to my next appointment that I would have a soft place to fall.  I spent close to two months in a mental hospital when I just couldn’t handle it anymore…but I survived and am thriving.  I am not only a better mom but a better and more empathetic person than I ever thought possible.

Still, when I read the words of this courageous father I was left wondering why she didn’t get the same help?  Was it because she wasn’t screened?  Was it because she developed the PPD after her last screening?  I don’t know and will never know.  What I do know, though is that just as we call our medical professionals to screen new moms we have a responsibility to do our own screening.  We don’t necessarily have to whip out the Edinburgh every week but we can sincerely ask a new mom how she is REALLY doing.  We can learn the signs of PPD and ways that we can help minimize the stress on new moms.   We can offer to bring lunch over and then have a real heart to heart conversation.  We can talk about our own experiences so that the one in seven who are suffering realize that they are not alone.  We can offer to take them to their appointment or watch the baby so they can take an uninterrupted nap.  There are so many things we who have been there can do to make a difference.

Ironically maybe an hour after I read the articles and watched the heart wrenching video, I was at a restaurant with my two boys who are now seven and three.  For some reason my oldest son asked if we could sit at a particular table in a section we had never sat in before.  At the same time a family sat down at the next table.  Mom, dad and a beautiful little girl who was maybe a year old.  The little girl, however screamed over and over and over…and every time she screamed I saw the life draining from her mother’s face.  The mom would bury her head in her hands as if trying to escape.

I was instantly back into my first year postpartum.  I could see, smell, taste and hear the very things that were going on when I was in that place.  My heart sank and I just wanted to walk over, hug her and tell her that she would be able to get through this.  Normally when it’s just a mom and baby I can easily strike up a conversation and casually mention that I had PPD.  This was different, though because dad was there.  He seemed like a wonderful and supportive father from what I could tell from my few minutes watching the family.  He was trying to take over with the daughter so mom could eat in peace.  Eventually he got up to get a drink and I was able to speak briefly with the mom.  I gave her my card which had my contact info for the work I do with Postpartum Support International.

Hopefully this mom was just having a bad day.  But what if she wasn’t?  What if she felt completely hopeless and was ready to escape by any means necessary?  We don’t know.  That is why it is so important for each and every one of us to love new moms and be there for them.  Sometimes a kind word can be the beginning of changing someone’s forever.

The Power of the anniversary

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"A Floating Red Balloon" by jcarlosn @ flickr.com

Put the past behind you.

Move forward.

Be happy about how far you have come since (fill in the blank).

These are all common phrases people love to shoot off when they know someone is struggling to deal with something which happened in the past. While they are certainly lovely sentiments, the one thing people who give voice to these phrases do not know is that memory is very organic. Sure you can do your best to decide to deal with a tragic event in a positive way but then there are the memories which sneak up on us and scare us to death. The anniversary of the birth of my daughters and the anniversary of my time in a mental ward for Postpartum OCD are a few memories which did just that to me.

I am not alone in this experience.

Many women struggle when reaching their child’s first birthday, their hospitalization date, miscarriage date, or the date on which they lost a child. These are all events that leave more than a glancing blow. The fight to return to the “new normal” is an uphill battle. And once the “new normal” arrives and you’ve unpacked the last box, there’s a looming date trouncing your way ever so cheerfully. Sure you can bob and weave but even the best of us may find ourselves down for the count after a few sucker punches.

A fellow PPD warrior mom, Helen Crawford, shared with me that her 1yr anniversary was very traumatic. She could smell/hear the memories of the year before. “My fingers burned. I talked with my therapist. Surviving severe depression is like surviving extreme trauma. I took the finger burning as a reminder to ‘love myself more’ and say thank you to my body.”

Today my three year old daughter found pictures of herself as an infant. Awwwwww, you say. But these particular pictures included a feeding tube taped ever so gingerly to her less than 24 hour old cheek with cute teddy bear gauze tape. Classic symptoms consumed me – heart in throat, check, rapid shallow breathing, check, rapid pulse, check, dizzy, check. Oh.CRAP. She’s been flashing them here and there for the past week and I’ve been ever so nicely sidestepping the issue. But today, today she wanted to know WHAT that was on her cheek and why it was there. Oh boy. And I thought the hard question with kids was supposed to be “Mommy? Where do Babies come from?” (And for the record, I GOT that one today too from her 5 year old sister – what a day!)

Suddenly, there I was again. Curled up in the hospital bed, crying my heart out, aching, hurting, wanting to go back in time to BEFORE the birth, for someone to warn us about the rabbit hole into which we were about to trip. What.the.hell???

She knows about her cleft palate and knows doctors fixed it. She also knows which belly button came from mommy and which one belongs to the doctors. But we have never discussed the tubes. NEVER. As playfully as I could, I explained to her that because her mouth had a hole in it when she was born, she had to eat with a tube which went in through her mouth and went allllll the way down to her stomach. (I can still hear her laughing because I tickled her as I told her this.) Inside, I was dying. I smelled the NICU. I heard the sounds, the crying, saw the tense faces, the reserved mouths as they asked about worst case scenarios. I thought I was going to pass out when she said she wanted these pictures – the tube pictures – up on her bedroom wall. I softly replied that Mommy would have to think about it.

I thought about it all day. ALL day. Once she got home from her 2 hours of special needs pre-k for her speech, we talked. Honestly and age-appropriately. I told her that when she was born while I was very happy to meet her and get to know her, all of the medical stuff surrounding her birth like the tube feedings and surgeries were very difficult for Mommy to handle. And that it was very hard for Mommy to look at pictures of her with tubes and such attached to her. I promised her we would find some different baby pictures to put up on her wall. I also told her that it was ok she had to use a tube – and I was glad the nurses and doctors knew just what to do to help her grow strong so she could become the amazing silly little girl she is today. She was sad but seemed to take it in stride.

To top things off, 12 years ago today, my maternal grandfather passed away suddenly after experiencing congestive heart failure. Yay for anniversaries, right? (And in 19 days, I’ll be marking the anniversary of my paternal grandfather’s death which left me grandparentless. I was a real ball of joy 12 years ago, I tell you what!)

Grief is a tough thing to handle. 12 years ago I dealt with it in a very physical and raw manner. I remember crying, screaming, and punching my then boyfriend until I would literally black out. Healthy, right?

The thing is to give yourself PERMISSION to mourn/remember/accept whatever it is that your anniversary centers around. Celebrate how far you’ve come since said event. Honor the event but also do something to help propel yourself forward. One of the last things my maternal step grandmother said to me (in what I now know was her I know I’m dying soon so I better get this out while I can speech) was to always be the best that I could be no matter what stood in my way. Those words have stuck by me. And even in failure, I’ve always strived to do every single thing that I possibly could before giving up. It’s part of what got me through my PPD. I knew I was better than PPD. I KNEW I had to turn and fight. And every time I have an opportunity to help another mom through her struggles, I am celebrating my anniversary. I am celebrating no longer being alone. I am paying forward the help I received. I am choosing to walk the line between remembering the past yet striving for the future. I AM HERE to do that. And for that, I am grateful.

Remember to celebrate YOU on your child’s birthday too. It’s not just your child’s birthday – it’s YOUR own personal Mother’s Day. Don’t rush around for the kid without stopping to breathe for yourself too. Sure, Hallmark doesn’t make a card for this but that makes it all the more special, right? You’ve earned it. You’re worth it. And doggonnit, we like you. In addition, the more positives you make out of a negative, the less power it holds over you. Darkness cannot win when bathed in light. Choose to regain those reins as you approach your anniversary – whether it’s childbirth, miscarriage, hospitalization, recovery – it’s ok to cry. But it’s totally awesome to party too.