Mental Health

Before I became a mom, I always had preconceived notions about moms, babies, and maternal relationships. When phrases such as "separation anxiety" arose, I had a general idea of the subject. Babies need their mom and it's natural given the nine months (give or take) of growth and bonding in the womb. Separation anxiety is defined as the fear or worry of being separated from a person or attachment figure or being. This term generally refers to the relationship of parents (usually the mother) and young children. So I eventually became a mom. Giving birth to my daughter released levels of vulnerability and strength I never knew existed. As she grew, I began to search and define my parenting style....

The day after I came home from the hospital with our first child, I lay in my bed crying uncontrollably, begging my mom to tell me how she could let us out of the house and let us out into the world. I wanted to stick my son in a bubble and never let him out. A few days later, I had a terrible panic attack when we had to leave the house to bring him to his first pediatrician’s appointment. Things only got worse. I didn't know it at the time, but this was the beginning of my postpartum anxiety. I know now that anxiety can manifest differently for everyone.  According to americanpregnancy.org, postpartum anxiety affects about 10% of all...

Dear My Thirties, First, let me just apologize. For my whole life leading up to this decade, I have been dreading this era. I vaguely remember a TV show called "Thirtysomething" that aired when I was younger, and I thought, "Geez, that's old." Those people looked like grown-ups. And in my youth, all grown-ups, from 20-something to 50-something, basically looked the same. It didn't help that when I was in my 20s, everything said about "Your Thirties" was always negative and in a daunting tone. Wrinkles. Vision problems. A hallmark year of aging and dread that would begin at just after 11:59 of my 29th year. I only now realize that I shouldn't have bought into all that crap. You deserved...

I’m not sad. I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time. My life feels complete, so why does my chest hurt? It hurts so bad, as though an elephant is sitting on it and I’m gasping for air. It’s kind of like that feeling you get when you spend a few too many seconds underwater. I’m not drowning. In fact, I feel as though I have everything under control. I’m so in control that I’m white knuckling my way through each day. I’m bending anyone who comes into my path to my will, and quickly becoming miffed with those who don’t meet my standard. That’s how postpartum anxiety manifests itself in my life. Control. The funny thing about control is the...

I wasn't the first in my group of friends to have a baby. I was the second. I had someone to go just before me on that narrow road, clearing all of the branches and making a wider trail, footsteps just deep enough for me to see the way forward. But our feet aren't the same size. My little girl arrived a year and two days after my friend's baby. For me, this situation was prime for comparison and I went to town. I compared EVERYTHING. Pregnancy, birth, feeding, baby, sleep ... and here's a shocker: I didn't measure up. My friend went into labor.  I was induced. My friend had a vaginal birth. They cut me open. My friend breastfed immediately. Like a champ. For over...