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Tag Archives: PPD

Don’t Call Them “Happy Pills”

It’s no secret that I take medication for my anxiety and OCD. It’s in my intro on the sidebar, for crying out loud.

Every morning, it’s 1 1/2 antidepressant pills and 2/3 of a long-acting anti-anxiety medication. And in the evening, another 2/3 of the anti-anxiety, along with my prenatal vitamin for lactating moms (yes, I’m still nursing), and lately some ibuprofen for my earache.

I don’t take them lightly. After all, these medications are altering my brain chemistry. I’ve worked closely with my doctors and therapist to find a medication combination that works for me while balancing the side effects. I’ve considered the risks and have researched their effects on breastfeeding. I’ve adjusted doses and schedules more times than I care to count. And this is all after spending a year fighting against taking anything at all because of the stigma and my misunderstanding of how psychotropic medications work.

My antidepressant works by soaking the nerve cells in my brain with seritonin. Seritonin is a neurotransmitter that is responsible in part for regulating the intensity of moods. See, a normal brain releases seritonin, exposing the nearby brain cells, and then reabsorbs it. My brain either does not produce enough seritonin or reabsorbs it too quickly. SSRI’s (selective seritonin reuptake inhibitors) work by blocking the reabsorption process, thereby allowing the nerve cells to bathe in the seritonin for longer. In my case, more is better.

The long-acting anti-anxiety medication increases dopamine levels and, along with melatonin, has been shown in studies to rebuild neurons. Dopamine is part of the “reward system” of the brain and is responsible for many functions, including mood, movement, working memory, learning, and motivation.

These medications work together to relieve the crippling anxiety and buzzing energy of my OCD and anxiety disorder, both of which have contributed to depression in the past. They allow me to strap my children into my mother’s car and watch as she safely drives them for a sleep over without slumping to the floor in paralyzing fear that they will crash during the ride. They help regulate my reaction to hormones like cortisol (the stress hormone; think fight or flight) during arguments with my 4-year-old. Without this regulation, I am susceptible to anxiety-induced rage. And most importantly to me, I couldn’t have slugged through the messy, emotional work of therapy had my seritonin and dopamine levels been unbalanced.

What they don’t do? Is make me happy. Instead, they allow me to feel the happiness that my unbalanced brain chemistry was robbing me of.

So do me a favor and don’t call them “happy pills.” It makes you sound ignorant and makes me feel stigmatized. It’s medication for a medical condition. Period.

** I don’t have to remind you that I’m not a doctor, right? I’m just one person sharing her story. Medication decisions are personal and are best made with your doctor’s supervision.**

Tags: anxiety, medication, mental health, OCD, PPD, rants

Comments 6 Comments
Categories Mental Illness, OpEd

So You Think I Shouldn’t Have Had Children

18 Mar

I’m an optimist. Optimistic about situations but mostly about people. I believe people are good. I believe we are are more alike than different. And I believe in the power of communication and connection.

So when I saw this tweet from Anderson Cooper’s @andersonlive two weeks ago, I hoped for the best.

The tweet was intended to foster controversy, but surely the general public doesn’t believe that moms are taking medications because it is “trendy.” My twitter tribe took to their computers and responded in force.

And then just when I was beginning to think that people would understand that mothers are treating their illnesses, I made the mistake of visiting the comments on the Anderson Live FaceBook page.

The PPD Blogger community responded in force there, too, with thousands of words about stigma, motherhood, and mental health. And there *were* comments that reasonably placed the responsibility to determine who genuinely needs medication on the shoulders of the medical community. But I was shocked at the large percentage of folks who believe that people suffering from mental illness just shouldn’t have children.

These folks believe that mental illness is a character flaw and possibly a death sentence – they believe that because I take medication for anxiety, I shouldn’t have had children. Because I am an optimist, I choose to think they are just uneducated, products of a culture awash in stigma and misinformation. I hope that with exposure to education and to individuals who thrive (yes, even as parents) despite their diagnosis of “mentally ill,” they might change their minds.

But if not – if they still believe that the mentally ill shouldn’t procreate because of a perceived burden on unborn children and society in general, let me ask this:

If an ideal life is the criteria on which a person’s right to reproduce is to be based, who among us would ever have children?

Would these same dissenters tell a paraplegic to refrain from starting a family because of the difficulties the children may encounter being raised by a parent with some special needs? Should my diabetic friend and advocate Melissa have not had children because her disease puts her at risk of disorienting low blood sugars? What about a parent suffering from a genetic disorder that may be passed onto their child?

I am just like any other person treating a medical condition. Make no mistake. Though they are invisible, my anxiety, PPD, and PPOCD are (or were) medical conditions. 20% of the US population suffers from mental illness, with the average age for onset of symptoms being 30. That’s one in five. Your neighbors. Your sisters and brothers. Your friends. And quite possibly your parents.

If you are a mother with a mood or anxiety disorder, I want you to hear that those trolls above? They are wrong. I know you. I know how hard you work to keep yourself healthy and happy. I know that despite your mood swings, you are a loving parent who lights up your child’s life. And though you may need the assistance of medication and therapy to combat your anxiety, you bring to their world your talents, your strengths, and there is no better parent for them.

Don’t let the ignorance of a few Facebook comments cloak you in shame. We are all flawed. It’s what makes us beautiful and real. As people and as parents.

Tags: anderson cooper, anxiety, medication for anxiety, mental health, mental illness, PPD, ppocd, stigma, truth

Comments 33 Comments
Categories Mental Illness, regular

Breastfeeding on Psychotropic Medication

24 Oct

Nearly four months ago, I wrote about meeting my goal of breastfeeding for six months. Now, No2 is almost 10 months old and we’re still going strong. In fact, we’ve moved past the awkward “I can’t be bothered to nurse when there are sights to see and sounds to hear and kitty ears to grab” and No2 actually wants to relax and nurse. It’s a sure-fire cure for the 5pm cranks and is a lovely way to wake up in the morning. She’s even mastered nursing discreetly in the ergo carrier, which has made getting No1 to ballet class and preschool field trips a bit less intimidating. I’m truly enjoying it.

It’s not without its costs, though. If I have even one cookie baked with any milk products, she cries all night with stomach cramps. So I’ve been completely dairy-free for 6 months now. She’s still nursing twice at night, I think mostly just for comfort. While I’d love to sleep for more than 5 hours at a time, it’s actually working for us (or maybe it’s just so much better than it was that the bar is absurdly low). And then there’s the impact on my mental illness.

Many medications are compatible with breastfeeding, but unfortunately the mood stabilizer I was on before getting pregnant with No2 is not one of them. It was a great med for me – low side effects, extremely effective at a low/medium dose, and I really felt like myself. It managed the anxiety and the PMDD and eliminated the roller coaster of hormone-induced emotions. When I discovered I was pregnant, I (with my doctors) made the choice to switch to a medication that was safer and better-researched during pregnancy: an SSRI combined with an as-needed anti-anxiety medication. I truly believe these medications have helped me to have a different postpartum experience with this baby, and contributed to my healing birth experience. Still, I am not 100% myself. The medication handles about 80% of the PPOCD and anxiety symptoms, and I (along with my husband) am left to cope with the remaining struggle. It’s not ideal and it is a decision that weighs heavily on me as I continue to nurse.

The bottom line is that I’ve chosen to stay on this medication regimen to facilitate breastfeeding. Here’s why:

1. Though I am not symptom-free, I am not experiencing the red-flag symptoms (rage, inability to sleep, intrusive thoughts) that would send me back to my doctors for re-evaluation. I feel like myself.

2. I have no hard evidence that the mood stabilizer would be the magic bullet this time. My situation, stresses, and life are so different now than they were before getting pregnant with No2. At that time, I was sleeping 10 hours straight each night, working out 4 times a week, and had only one child, and was working only 3 hours a week. Given the same factors now, the SSRI may work just as well.

3. Breastfeeding contributes to my happiness and is a time of meditation and relaxation for me. This wasn’t always true. I fought tooth and nail to get to this point, but now that I’ve made it, I don’t want to give it up. I also believe that breastfeeding is the best option for my daughter, who suffers from a milk-soy protein intolerance. And while she would absolutely be fine on formula, I’m thrilled she’s getting all the health benefits of being breastfed.

4. Changing medications is a long and sometimes difficult process. Weaning from my current SSRI and tapering up to an therapeutic dose of the mood stabilizer would mean weeks of side effects and emotional symptoms. I’m mostly stable these days and not exactly excited to sign up for that little adventure.

I’m not advocating that everyone limit their medications in order to breastfeed. I did not nurse my first past a few months. There were some medical reasons, but honestly, when I stopped nursing her, I felt a huge sense of relief. Breastfeeding was an intense trigger for my PPA with No1 and I am still so glad I decided to formula-feed her. It was the best decision for both of us.

While I wish everyone could enjoy the benefits of nursing, it’s a personal decision that each mom (with her doctors and family) must make for herself. Hell, sometimes it’s not even a decision – may mothers cannot breastfeed. Instead of adding to the “you must breastfeed to be a good mom” lies, I simply want to tell my story in the hopes that it will help new mothers understand all their options. Because you do have options, and no matter what you choose, your physical and mental well-being need to factor in.

More information on breastfeeding, PPD, and medications can be found below. And as always, this blog is a memoir of sorts and is not intended to replace the advice of your doctor.

Dr. Hale’s Keynote Address to LLL in 2002 on treating PPD in breastfeeding mothers

Katherine Stone writes about why expectations to breastfeed can weigh PPD sufferers down

Mass General’s Center for Women’s Mental Health on Breastfeeding and Medications

Tags: anxiety, Breastfeeding, medications, PPD, ppocd

Comments 9 Comments
Categories Mental Illness

In Crisis

22 Oct

This past week, two of our Warrior Moms found themselves in crisis. I’m going to let them choose when and how to tell their own stories, but let me assure you they are both safe and on the path to recovery.

The news took me by surprise, as it did many other women in the PPD community. We’re all in different phases of PPD recovery. Some of us are just beginning the journey, while others have stayed around to mentor and support the newest moms. And because our mental illnesses are all individual, our reactions to the devastating news about our friends have been as well.

And that’s okay. Jaime and I found ourselves in need of some massive support on Tuesday evening. Phone calls and texts back and forth helped us both process our feelings of helplessness and fear. We needed to do something. Anything. And so we organized a flower fund. The PPDChat Facebook group contributed over $100 dollars and A’s roses should arrive on Tuesday. They look just like her, don’t they?

What I want you to know is, whatever your reaction to the news, you have to take care of yourself first. You know yourself best and what you can handle. So if you need to stay as far away from the crisis as possible, that’s alright. If you need to call a friend to cry and discuss your fears, do it. If you want to make a video or an inappropriate (and hilarious) card (I’m looking at you, @lilloveandluck), go for it.

The PPD community is a safe place where you don’t have to earn your spot. You already belong, just by being yourself and reaching out. We understand. Sometimes you’re the one who needs help and sometimes you’re the one who can help. Both are equally welcome. Truly.

Tags: anxiety, PPD, ppdchat, support

Comments 9 Comments
Categories Mental Illness

When Birthdays Aren’t So Happy

14 Oct

No1 turned 4 this week. Among the bittersweet celebration of her newest number floated tiny flashbacks. Bit and pieces of the horror kept snapping me out of my happiness. The 37-week induction for no reason, the 12 hours she spent in ICU because of fluid in her lungs, the second-degree cervical laceration, and the feeling of complete disconnect with my new baby girl. One of my most vivid memories of the day she was born is being wheeled into the ICU and realizing I had absolutely no idea which baby was mine.

Four years ago, early in October, I lost who I knew myself to be. It may be the anniversary of my baby’s birth, but it’s also the anniversary of the onset of my PPD.

Past birthdays haven’t been so hard. But my birth experience with No2 was so beautiful and peaceful and my bond so deep and immediate, that the anger over how bad round one was has resurfaced. It’s almost as if comparing experiences has highlighted how horrid the first one was. I realize it’s water under the bridge. . . that I have an amazing little girl who knows that she is loved and feels it ever day with me. Maybe it shouldn’t matter how I gave birth to her, but it does. Those early days were filled with emotional and physical trauma, both of which I suppose I’m still healing from.

Today, we celebrated with a party. A house full of preschool friends, yellow “happy car convertible” decorations, a Matchbox car race, crafts, and treats. It was joyful and a celebration of everything No1 is in this moment. She had an incredible time. Incredible. I’m choosing to focus on that. Choosing to live in the present.

But in these quiet moments when my heart reaches back to the past and aches for what might have been, or regrets all the time lost to denial and naiveté , I am trying to be kind to myself. I’m staying up late to play video games with my husband, imagining Velma’s face on each villain and alien creature. I’m taking long showers, freshening up the pink in my hair, and wearing my favorite makeup. I’m sleeping in on the weekends and going to bed early to listen to podcasts I know will send me off to dreamland. I’m sipping my coffee slowly and microwaving it as many times as it takes to finish the whole cup hot. I’m soaking in each “I love you,” from my now-four-year-old.

It’s okay to celebrate her four astounding years on this earth and grieve for the joyful birth and postpartum experiences I was deprived of. And spooning chocolate frosting straight from the can into my face? Sure has helped with both.

Tags: birth, Birthday, No1, No2, PPD, therapy, truth

Comments 13 Comments
Categories regular

I Need Your Help

5 Oct

I was seven weeks pregnant when my brain was taken hostage by intrusive thoughts.

“You can’t do this.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

“Just make it go away.”

“What if you just fell down the stairs?”

And then my world came to a screeching halt. I made doctor appointments. I reached out to friends and family. I consulted experts and took two different psychiatric medications. I made therapy appointments. AND I GOT BETTER.

I tell you all of this because I want you to know that without Postpartum Progress, I don’t know what would have happened. I waited over six months to get help after No1 was born. I was in denial about my postpartum depression, but mostly I didn’t know enough about it, its prevalence, or where to turn for help. With No2, I ran for help at the first symptom. And because of my vigilance and planning, my pregnancy and birth experiences were healing. I bonded with this baby in a way I never got the chance to with No1. Though stressed, I am fortunate to feel like myself these days.

Postpartum Progress gave me the resources, the community, and the knowledge to seek treatment this time. Through Katherine’s blog, I found a perinatal psychiatrist to walk me though my treatment options. I found other moms who had struggled with antenatal depression and gave birth to babies that they loved. Most importantly, I found hope. . . and a sliver of hope is all it takes to break the cycle of shame and fear.

I’ve been lucky enough to meet Katherine in person twice. How do you say thank you to someone for giving you back your life? For teaching you that you are not a bad mother, merely a sick one? There are not enough words to explain that each moment you get to love your children was made possible by the tireless work they do.

So today, I’m asking you to help me thank her. I’m asking you to help her help moms just like me. Today is Start Strong Day over at Postpartum Progress. Please click over, read about the important work she is doing with her nonprofit organization, Postpartum Progress Inc., and considering donating. There are mothers and families out there who need our help.

Tags: antenatal depression, postpartum progress, PPD

Comments 3 Comments
Categories regular

Gifts of Imperfection – Exploring the Power of Love, Belonging, and Being Enough, Week 3

24 Sep

You can find previous chapters using the page navigation above. Brene’s book can be purchased HERE. It’s awesome.

Gifts of Imperfection – Exploring the Power of Love, Belonging, and Being Enough

When we spend a lifetime trying to distance ourselves from the parts of our lives that don’t fit with who we think we’re supposed to be, we stand outside of our story and hustle for our worthiness by constantly performing, perfecting, pleasing, and proving. Our sense of worthiness—that critically important piece that gives us access to love and belonging—lives inside of our story.

Brown, Brene (2010-09-20). The Gifts of Imperfection (p. 23). BookMobile. Kindle Edition.

I think back to my teens and twenties and feel like I wasted years and years attempting to “fit in.” Isn’t that what we all do in high school? Try to figure out who everyone wants us to be? I wish I could say that becoming a mother matured me beyond this behavior, but it only redirected my attention to who I was supposed to be “as a mother.” I looked everywhere for the answer. Parenting books. Friends. My own mother.

Brene calls this “hustling for worthiness.” That phrase hits me right in the gut because I know the pain of changing in an attempt to belong only to find belonging slip through my fingers. Worthiness was always just out of reach and clothed in self-doubt. I was supposed to love snuggling my baby all night. I was supposed to be happy staying at home. I was supposed to feel like my baby and I belonged together. Supposed to. If you’re ever wondering if you’re hustling for worthiness, listen for those words. They are my red flag.

The other portion in this chapter that resonates with me is about love.

To begin by always thinking of love as an action rather than a feeling is one way in which anyone using the word in this manner automatically assumes accountability and responsibility. — BELL HOOKS

Bell Hooks, All About Love: New Visions (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, Harper Paperbacks, 2001).

She shares the quote above and gives examples of times she’s struggled with practicing love in her own life.

I truly love Steve (and, oh man, I do), then how I behave every day is as important, if not more important, than saying “I love you” every day. When we don’t practice love with the people we claim to love, it takes a lot out of us. Incongruent living is exhausting.

Brown, Brene (2010-09-20). The Gifts of Imperfection (p. 28). BookMobile. Kindle Edition.

The stress of parenting small children (or even just the stress of everyday life) can make us forget that love is something you do. My husband likes to say that he told me he loves me the day we got married and if that changes, he will let me know. He practices love each day instead. This chapter reminded me that though I might tell him I love him every day, when I snap at him in an anxious moment, I am not practicing love. And when I lose my temper with No1, I needed to be more mindful of showing her the love I feel for her. It’s not easy, and not always possible. But being mindful of how important my everyday actions are to the people around me has helped me feel more connected to them. It makes me want to explicitly teach the language of worthiness to my children.

Let’s talk. Can you think of a time when you felt true belonging? How did you get there? How did it change your interactions with others or your perception of yourself?

How do you hustle for worthiness? I know I fall victim to believing that perfection will lead to worthiness for me. And pleasing. I am SUCH a people pleaser and am actively working on learning to say no, putting myself first. Is it performing, perfecting, pleasing, proving? Or something else?

Disclaimer: I purchased the book Gifts of Imperfection on my own and am not being compensated for my review of the book or for promoting it. I receive no kickback from any of the Amazon links provided above. I simply love the book and want to share.

Tags: book reviews, Gifts of Imperfection, love, marriage, mental health, PPD, truth

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Categories regular

PPD and Marriage

14 Sep

Marriage is hard. Marriage with children is challenging. Marriage with PPD is formidable.

Think back to your dating years. Now imagine you arrange a date with a guy who has everything. He’s handsome, smart, funny, caring. He loves cats and doing dishes. He washes his hands after using the restroom. He compulsively buys presents – can’t help himself. He picks you up, you drive to a restaurant on the beach, and find the perfect table for watching the sunset. And then a loud man drags a chair over to your table and plops down in-between you and your date. He blows cigarette smoke in your face as he introduces himself as Horace. He talks over you and your date all evening, spitting chunks of food as he complains about every possible detail. When you get up to use the restroom, he takes it as an insult and spends the rest of the evening sulking. You finally ask your date who this man is and he tells you that Horace goes everywhere with him – they are rarely apart. At times during dinner, your date seems to waver between being annoyed with Horace’s antics, trying to shut him up, and egging him on. One thing is for sure. . . if you see your date again, you’re going to be spending time with Horace, too.

Would you go on a second date? I mean, you really like this guy. But Horace? Who has time for him? He makes spending time with your man nearly impossible and even seems to change who he is entirely at times.

Sometimes I think that’s how my husband feels. I KNOW he loves me. I know he believes in me – in us – and the life we are creating together. But he’s fed up with Velma*. I used to take his frustration with my anxiety personally and felt like he was angry with me. In my defensive state, I would argue about how hard I was trying and tell him he wasn’t being supportive enough. But I’ve come to understand that he’s entitled to be angry. . . I’m angry. I hate having an anxiety disorder and on my worst days, I want to whine and scream like a child about it.

My husband just wants the partner he married. He wants me – just me – with no Velma standing at my side, whispering that I’m not good enough and tricking me into starting an argument over something silly. He wants to have fun with the woman he fell in love with over ten years ago. He wants me to be happy.

It’s relatively easy for me to say this and take responsibility for giving his feelings respect because he is the definition of support. He takes the kids on weekend mornings so I can catch up on sleep. He is standing behind my decision to postpone the mood stabilizer so I can continue to nurse the baby. He gently reminds me to take my medication if I’m feeling overwhelmed, and he adjusts plans to meet my needs. We are a team this time.

His anger? Isn’t AT me. It’s FOR me. For us. And thought it may hurt some days, I have to afford his feelings the same respect he gives mine, and support him as he processes them. After all, marriage is hard enough already with two kids. We don’t need Velma’s lies about his frustration to make it any more difficult.

*Velma is the nickname the online PPD community has give to depression and anxiety. We frequently tag our tweets about PPD with #velmasucks or #velmaisabitch or (my favorite) #velmaisalyingho. It’s a way to signal that we’re struggling and that we know that our mental illness is a separate entity from ourselves.

Tags: anxiety, marriage, mental health, PPD, ppocd, relationships

Comments 10 Comments
Categories regular

A Happy Place

25 Aug

Sometimes I feel like I’ve broken up with my oldest daughter. We used to be an inseparable pair – quite the couple. But now any time I have alone with her is usually spent bribing and begging her to be quiet lest she wake the napping baby. And when the baby is awake, I play referee while protecting them from each other and attempt to balance their needs with mine. On top of all of that, she’s three. So. Very. Three. It’s exhausting and intense, and I know that No1 feels that emanating from my moods.

She thought she was really driving the car. It was so much fun to watch her concentrate on making each turn and avoiding the other “drivers.”

So two Saturdays ago, we spontaneously packed a day bag for each kid and told No1 we were going to a special surprise. One of my clients was kind enough to give me some comp tickets to a local amusement park (have I mentioned lately how much I love my job?) so we left the baby with the grandparents and took No1 on a date. I needed to remember what it was like to just have fun with her…with no baby to interrupt us or divert our attention from her. She spent the whole ride insisting we tell her where we were going and making both ridiculous and reasonable guesses, which was honestly half the fun.

She was shy at first; weary of all the noise and new sights. But within 10 minutes, she shocked me by going on a ride all on her own! We spent 4 hours playing games, eating cotton candy (which took quite a bit of

She got a lunch consisting of ice cream and cotton candy. Best. Mom. Ever.

convincing to get her to try at first), and taking her on rides. It was an amazing day. She held our hands and tugged us from ride to ride. She marveled at the carnival games and was thrilled by the two tiny prizes she won. And I remembered how much fun she is, how full of wonder and innocence.

It’s been hard feeling so connected to the baby after my PPD with No1 stole that bond from me. Sometimes I feel like I’m not being fair to either child – like there’s not enough of me to go around. But Saturday? We were enough for each other. And that’s enough for me.

Flying high on the Mini Dinos ride! I love her expression.

Tags: memories, No1, PPD

Comments 9 Comments
Categories photo, regular

PPD, the Second Time Around

2 Aug

“Every pregnancy is different,” you hear over and over while waiting for your second baby to arrive. And mine were like night and day.

My first pregnancy was punctuated by moments of overwhelming anxiety. I wondered if my husband would leave me; if he really wanted to have a child. I obsessed about every little detail of the nursery. I went to the hospital at 34 weeks having shortness of breath and heart palpitations. And my delivery was a terrifying combination of panic attack, induction with pitocin at 37 weeks, and a baby who had to spend 12 hours in intensive care and then receive antibiotic injections for days after delivery.

It took me 6 months to recognize and seek treatment for postpartum depression and anxiety, but both gripped me from the second day in the hospital.

My second pregnancy, I was prepared for the anxiety. So when I felt myself spiraling out of control and wishing I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I ran to the doctor and started a medication regimen. And though I had difficult days, for the most part, I enjoyed my pregnancy. I felt relaxed and confident. So I rubbed my belly, decorated a nursery, and wished and wished to be free from PPD the second time around.

The first two weeks were blissful. No2′s birth was healing. The first four months or so I was so glad that I continued on my antidepressant and anti-anxiety medications. They were working. I stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak.

And then five months in, the wheels came off.

This time, it’s not depression. I don’t feel hopeless, or worthless, or empty. I vibrate with nervous energy. I feel the need to control everything. When the baby eats, when the baby sleeps, what color diaper she’s wearing, what tv show the preschooler watches, what my husband does when he’s got the kids to himself, and on and on. Any variation on my plan results in tension and rage. The intrusive thoughts are agonizing. Now that she’s 7 months old and *still* not sleeping more than 4 hours at a time, the sleep deprivation has made all of this all the more overwhelming.

I’m adjusting my medication doses, supplementing with an additional “as needed” med. My husband and I are teaming up to find ways for me to avoid sleep deprivation. And I’m visiting my doctors. A lot.

It’s been bad, but this time? I haven’t once lost a sense of who I am. I’ve had to fight for my sanity. But I’ve been present enough to fight. This time I feel bonded to my new baby. I love my girls.

So if you’re expecting another child after a postpartum mood disorder, I want you to know that it’s possible you won’t have to suffer again. But if you do, you will be alright. Just like every pregnancy, every experience with PPD is different. And just like with the second baby, you aren’t a rookie anymore. And at the very least, now you have online communities like #ppdchat, Mama’s Comfort Camp, and Postpartum Progress to help you navigate your journey to health and happiness.

You will be whole again.