On September 16, 2008, my head was lifted into a dark, pink cloud that gradually smothered me. It was a joyous moment that was a sequel to a complicated and emotionally-draining 9 months. As days went on, I waited for that instant connection with this beautiful baby that God had given me. Days turned into weeks, and at 2 months postpartum, I lost touch with reality. The dark, pink cloud that God had graced me with was smothering my being. I began to quit exercising, withdrawing from my social outlets and friends, was irritable, started having racing thoughts, terrible insomnia, and finally a full-blown anxiety attack in which I thought I was going to die. I finally felt sympathy towards Andrea Yates and Susan Smith! What was I thinking? The only thing keeping me from turning my baby over to my husband was the fact that I was breastfeeding. It was the only thing I felt connected me to her, and I looked forward to it every 2 hours. We immediately sought help and even though I feared I was one step away from being hospitalized (which I didn't have to be), I survived! I knew what I needed to do, received the help and put myself on a road to recovery, with no looking back. A few months later after it all began, I started to see light behind the dark, pink cloud that was born to me. It was my beautiful angel with whom I could finally feel that I was in love with. I wait for her smiles, giggles, and cries. They bring light into my life. I was blind to them for the first few months. The saying, "Pink sky at night, sailors' delight" was the farthest thing from the truth for me. The pink cloud, my child, was not the "delight" everyone assumes a mother should feel, which added to my guilt. I know now that my complicated and emotionally-draining pregnancy increased the likelihood of me developing postpartum depression. Why am I writing about this now, 7 months later? Because I have been able to help a couple of women already by sharing my story/experiences, and if I could help someone else, GREAT! I have nothing to hide. The stigma that is placed on motherhood is harsh, and I can wake up in the morning and thank God for my children, my supportive husband, and for bringing me to where I am today. One of my biggest fears is that my daughter would remember all the horrible stuff that went on, and that my son would also suffer, but as my mom reminded me, "they are only going to remember the love you have for them" and that got me through some of the darkest days of my life. So the journey of motherhood continues (of course it is never-ending!), and I am a little stronger than I was yesterday...
