I’m honored to be guest posting for Charity over at Giggles and Grimaces. I’d ramble on here about how wonderful she is, but that would spoil my post. Won’t you please click on over and show her some love?
I adore my #ppdchat mamas. ADORE. I haven’t met any of them in person (yet!), but our common struggle has become our bond. There’s a safety in the anonymity of the internet, and although I don’t post anonymously per say, these women aren’t involved in my daily life. They don’t know my friends and family, and because of that separation, I can say things to them I might not say to anyone else. Also? They get it. Really get it. As much as my IRL support network may try to understand, unless they have lived with a postpartum mood or anxiety disorder, there will always be a part of me those folks will have to wonder about.
Not only to these mamas know just what to say, their stories resonate with me, giving me a sense of belonging and worth. I admire them for who they are as mothers and women – their struggles do not diminish their worth in my eyes – so why should I allow myself to feel any differently about me?
Story’s Rainy Day Letter (posted on PPD to Joy) struck a chord with me. She asks only for Peace and Purpose, giving herself permission to be who she is and to have bad days, while making a point to remember her progress. What a beautiful idea, inspired by Yael’s post, The Opportunities in Setbacks, to write a letter to yourself to come back to when your truth is mangled by depression and anxiety rules your heart.
I hold so much hope that PPD will not take me away from myself and my family after baby girl #2 is born. I am beginning to feel more confident that the antenatal depression is managed and that I will continue to not just survive, but thrive, as I have been. But I don’t want to be naive. Depression is a sneaky SOB that warps your reality, twisting the truth until you aren’t sure who you are anymore.
My defense? Knowledge. Preparation. Medication. An army of doctors. Support of loved ones, on and off-line. And this: my rainy day letter. I’m honored to have Yael Saar add my letter to her collection of hope over at Postpartum Depression to Joy. I’d be honored if you’d click over and read it.
Yael Saar lost her mother to postpartum depression when she was 6.Years later, when she had kids, guess what? Yael struggled with PPD as well. She survived it and became a silly-side-up mama on a mission: to disarm postpartum depression and anxiety by removing guilt and shame from parenting. Yael shares her story (with coping skills on top) at www.ppdtojoy.com. She is @yaelsaar on twitter and www.facebook.com/ppdtojoy on facebook.
Yael hosts a monthly ppd support phone chat called the PPD SpeakEasy. It is free, confidential, and loving. This chat happens on the 2nd tuesday of each month at 8:30pm Eastern. In September, to celebrate her birthday, Yael will be holding 3 SpeakEasy chats. For more info and dates click here: http://www.ppdtojoy.com/support/speakeasy-call/
[Photo Credit: eikaiwa-blog.blogspot.com]
A’Driane from Butterfly Confessions and I met in the #ppdchat mamas group on Facebook. In the months we’ve gotten to know each other online, I’ve come to see her as an optimistic, caring woman who wants to be so much to so many. She’s honest, both with others and herself, which is a rare trait to find in a friend. And her outgoing personality explodes through my twitter stream every morning as I drink my decaf. I’m so excited to share what we’ve been cooking up. A’Driane asked me to guest post a while ago, so instead, we are swapping guest posts, each writing in response to a photo prompt – a picture I snapped in a garden next to Arlington City Hall. I’m honored she asked me to write for Butterfly Confessions and hope I can live up to the task.
A tree stands in a garden, nestled between stone buildings of importance and dignity. Reaching out from a small patch of green near a brick pathway, its branches twist and turn in a ragged, unrefined manner. The bark, speckled with spots of white, reveals its age.
This tree did not choose its lot in life. If it had, surely it would have chosen a larger pasture, one which isn’t hidden in shadow most of the day. A field, perhaps, filled with flowers and fed by sunlight and gentle rains. Instead it was planted where even basic needs would be a struggle to fulfill….