One way we do this is by naming and publicly honoring the top writers on antenatal and postpartum depression and anxiety in the blogosphere each year:

First, we want you to know that it is a myth that you must quit breastfeeding if you are going to be treated for postpartum depression. We are always saddened to hear of moms who refuse to seek treatment because they are afraid they will be made to quit, or whose doctors tell them they must because they’ll be on medication.  That’s just not true.

Certainly, if you feel that it is better for you to formula feed that is a perfectly acceptable choice.  Also, therapy alone is a good option for some mothers.  If you need to take medication, though, you still don’t have to quit.  There are certain medications that have been fairly well studied and, according to the MGH Center for Women’s Mental Health, are “… considered to be relatively safe for use during breastfeeding when clinically warranted …”

Here are some resources for those of you who plan to breastfeed but must also take an antidepressant or other psychiatric medication for the treatment of your postpartum depression or related illness:

Massachusetts General Hospital Center for Women’s Mental Health: Breastfeeding & Psychiatric Medications

MGH: Can Paxil Be Used While Breastfeeding?

MGH: Lamotrigine and Breastfeeding

MGH: Can Women Taking Lithium Breastfeed Their Infants?

KellyMom: These are notes from a speech by Dr. Thomas Hale, author of Medications & Mother’s Milk.

InfantRisk: Antidepressant Use During Pregnancy & Breastfeeding

OTIS: Fluoxetine

OTIS: Sertraline

OTIS: Venlafaxine

OTIS: Buproprion

OTIS: Citalopram and Escitalopram

Note: The OTIS fact sheets have primarily information on taking these medications during pregnancy, but they address their use during breastfeeding toward the end of each fact sheet.

Also, when you read resources written by clinicians, you may notice they do not use the marketing or brand name of the drug but the clinical name, so I’m giving you a little glossary here so you’ll know to which medication they are referring:

fluoxetine = Prozac

sertraline = Zoloft

citalopram = Celexa

paroxetine = Paxil

venlafexine = Effexor

buproprion = Wellbutrin

escitalopram = Lexapro

lamotrigine = Lamictal

According to the Crisis Nursery Coalition of Illinois, the goal of a crisis nursery is to “reduce risk, increase child safety and strengthen family functioning by providing respite, stress reduction, social support and basic resources to families in crisis.”  Crisis nurseries are generally open 24 hours per day, 7 days per week, 365 days a year, rather than just during business hours like traditional childcare.  Many provide both emergency daytime care and overnight stays for up to a specified number of days.

Here is a list of the crisis nursery locations of which we are aware in the United States, should you need to call upon them as a resource:

Arizona – Phoenix Crisis Nursery

California – Sacramento Crisis Nursery, KARE Crisis Nursery (Grass Valley), Bay Area Crisis Nursery (Concord)

Connecticut – Kids in Crisis (Fairfield)

Illinois – Bloomington and Rockford Crisis Nurseries, Maryville Academy Crisis Nursery (Chicago), Urbana Crisis Nursery, Mini O’Beirne Crisis Nursery (Springfield)

Indiana – Ark Crisis Childcare Center (Evansville)

Kentucky – Wee Care Nursery (Bowling Green)

Minnesota – Greater Minneapolis Crisis Nursery, New Horizons Crisis Nursery (Southwest MN), Lutheran Social Services Crisis Nurseries (Duluth, Mankato, St. Cloud), Path Crisis Nursery (Monticello), Bridges of Hope Crisis Nursery (Brainerd)

Missouri – St. Louis Crisis Nursery, Isabel’s House Crisis Nursery (Springfield)

Nebraska – Wesley Center Crisis Nursery (Norfolk)

New York – Maria Lucadamo/NY Foundling Crisis Nursery (NYC), Crisis Nursery of Greater Rochester, Prospect Family Support Center (Bronx)

Ohio – Providence House Crisis Nursery (Cleveland)

Oregon – Relief Nursery (Eugene)

Pennsylvania – Sally Watson Center & Baring House Crisis Nurseries (West Philadelphia & Germantown)

Utah – Family Support Center Crisis Nurseries (Midvale, Sugarhouse & West Valley)

Washington – Vanessa Behan Crisis Nursery (Spokane), Safe Harbor Crisis Nursery (Kennewick), Keystone Crisis Care (Olympia), Epic Crisis Nursery (Yakima)

Wisconsin – La Causa Crisis Nursery (Milwaukee)

To:  Postpartum Depression

From: Suzanne

You suck.  I mean, you really, really suck.

Because of you I cry ALL THE TIME.  I’m afraid to leave my house.  Walking to the mailbox is a feat.  I’m also afraid of my baby, which is the worst torture of all.  I don’t want to be left alone with her.

My life is over.  I will never have time to read a book again, much less clip my toenails.

You have robbed me of hope, confidence and happiness.  Starting each new day takes all the energy I can muster.

When the baby cries, I want to dig a hole in the ground and crawl in.  And NEVER come out.

I can’t sleep, and I’ve dropped too much weight too quickly.  I hardly recognize myself when I catch a glimpse in the mirror.

All I want is to feel normal.  To be happy.  To truly love my baby.

Please GO AWAY.  Please.

*************

April 2008

Dear Dr. T,

How will I ever be able to thank you?

Thank you for inviting me into your office and sitting with me while I sobbed.  Thank you for listening to me without judgment.  For asking questions that no one else has asked.  For empathizing and telling me that I’m NOT crazy.

Thank you for helping me begin a treatment program.  For recommending an amazing support group.  For telling me — convincing me — that I am not alone in this struggle.

These things are helping SAVE me.

I simply cannot thank you enough.

Suzanne

*********

August 2008

Dear sweet baby of mine,

Today when we were playing you farted and it startled you.  I love when that happens!

I just can’t get enough of your smile, your curious nature, the way you look at me when you’re sleepy and want to be held.  And oh my goodness, the rolls.  I could nibble on those thighs all day!

I feel like we’re FINALLY bonding.  Thank God.

It sure helps that you’re sleeping more and eating better and you don’t scream ALL THE TIME.  But still.  I love you through all that.

This love is crushing.  New.  Exciting.

Thank you for waiting for me, sweet girl.

I love you,

Mama

*******

May 2010

Dear new mom,

This WILL get better.  You WILL feel better.

You are not a freak or a bad mother or a lunatic.

You are struggling with one of life’s most monumental experiences.  There is nothing easy about being pregnant, delivering a baby and raising that child.  You are doing the BEST YOU CAN.  And it is more than good enough.

Be easy on yourself.  Please, talk to your doctor.  To your partner, a friend, someone you love.  It’s okay to ask for help.  You deserve to feel better.  Please, ask for help.

And remember:  this WILL get better.

I’m living proof.

Suzanne

Suzanne started blogging at Pretty Swell in August 2009 with hope of connecting to a larger community, especially other new moms.  A postpartum depression survivor, she now volunteers with Postpartum Education and Supportin Raleigh, NC.

I am not generally a fearful person.  I worry maybe more than some, but way less than others.  That all changed when I took my son home from the hospital.  Well, let’s backtrack a little because now more than three years later my perspective has changed and I think it started earlier than that.  When I was pregnant with my son I bled.  Not a lot but as any woman who is pregnant will tell you, any blood is terrifying.  I ended up in the ER twice, my son was born, is healthy and the bleeding was minor in retrospect, but I spent much of my pregnancy worried.  Even now pregnant with number 2, who has given me no grief other than severe nausea in the first trimester, I still check to see if there is blood every. single, time. I wipe.  And I pee a lot.

So the anxiety started then.

The day I gave birth it got worse.  Much worse.

I am so in awe of women who enjoy childbirth, because I did not.  I was afraid.  Before I was admitted to labor and delivery I was sent to walk the halls.  While my husband and I walked through the industrial hospital hallways on Thanksgiving day we walked past a woman talking on her cell phone.  She was telling a family member that her granddaughter had been born but she was not alive.  Typing this three-and-a-half years later still makes me tear up.  I didn’t know her but I know the baby’s name was Madeline and I think of her often, she’d be exactly the same age as my son.  But she didn’t live.  The rest of the day I was scared, scared that my son would be born dead as well.

He wasn’t, but like so many other moms I didn’t feel that instant love.  It’s weird to write that now because I love my son so deeply, so intensely that it’s strange to think back to loving him generically.  I knew I loved him but I wasn’t connected, not at first.  Luckily I can act well.  I hugged.  I kissed.  I posed for pictures.

Then we had to get on the ferry to come home.  See, we live across Puget Sound from Seattle where I delivered.  I was terrified.  All I could see was my newborn sinking into the dark, cold water and me diving in after him, over and over and over again unable to save him.

Ferry rhymes with scary.

When we got home everything was a blur.  Nursing sucked at first, he took ages to latch then would fall asleep, and I’d look at him wondering when he’d really feel like my baby.  I was lucky that I knew it would happen but still felt guilty it hadn’t yet.  When my old employer called and said very bluntly, “Aren’t they like little aliens at first, all needy and not cute yet?” I teared up.  This was a woman I admired, a professor, a loving mom, and I needed to hear that.  I let go of that guilt.  I had confidence that I would bond with him instead of just hope.  I knew it was okay that I thought he looked a little like a skinned rat, a very, very demanding skinned rat.

Then the phone call came that threw me over the edge:

“Hey babe, the office wants to throw us a shower.”  It was my husband.  His office, as you may guess, is in Seattle.  I would have to take a ferry.

Hot sweats.  Cold sweats.  Terror.

What if I drop my baby over the side of the boat?  How will I save him?  I can’t go.

That night I didn’t sleep.  Not even between every 2-hour feeding.  My son was three weeks old and I knew something wasn’t right.  I am lucky.  I never wanted to hurt him, I never felt anger towards him, but I was obsessed with finding ways to save him.  We went for a walk the next day and I had an anxiety attack.  As we were walking by a wooded area I was sure a bear was there waiting to attack.  It was December.  Even if we get bears in the summer, they were hibernating, not plotting some ambush on a baby and stroller!

The next day I called my OB.  I new I needed too.  Even though my fear of the ferry and random violence from bears was real, I rationally knew that it wasn’t healthy.  I scheduled it the same day as the shower at my husband’s office.  I was on the verge of tears the whole appointment, feeling like asking for help was somehow admitting defeat.  Then seeing my 3-week-old sleeping in his car seat I knew it wasn’t defeat.  He needed a mom who could sleep at night, he needed a mom who could relax and bond with him.  He was my reason for asking for help.

I responded almost immediately to the medication, between talking myself down and a little Zoloft I was able to feel like myself again.  I was lucky that my postpartum anxiety was mild compared to many and i recognized it.  I also bonded with my son.  I am still anxious at times.  I used to love turbulence on airplanes, now I pray through it.  I still don’t like walking by the wooded areas by our house, but only in summer.  I still don’t like going out on the deck on the ferry, and a cruise vacation is not in our future but I am not terrified anymore.

I never felt shame for my feelings but I did feel guilty.  Guilty I didn’t love him the way I do now right away, guilty I worried I’d drop him into the water, guilty that I didn’t look like those moms in magazines — back to a size 3, hair coiffed and happily pushing their Bugaboo 2 days after delivery.  Guilty I wasn’t perfect.  But do you know what?  Today as I was strapping my now three-and-a-half year old into his car seat he said to me “Mama, you are so perfect and cuddly.”  I don’t need to be perfect for him to think I am.  I just need to be his mom.

Allison is the mother of a 3-year-old son and a baby girl.  Her blog No Time For Flash Cardsis a popular resource of fun and educational activities for kids and parents to enjoy together.  You can follow her on Twitter at @noflashcards.

Most are unaware that PPD is only one in a spectrum of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders that also includes antenatal depression, postpartum OCD, postpartum anxiety, postpartum panic disorder, postpartum post-traumatic stress disorder and postpartum psychosis.  Not everyone feels sadness or depression when they have a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder.

With that in mind, here is a list of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders we think you should know about:

1. Postpartum Depression can feature appetite and sleep problems, difficulty concentrating and making decisions, lack of interest in the baby, irritation or anger, withdrawal from interacting with others, sadness, the constant feeling of being overwhelmed, and/or possible thoughts of harming oneself or running away.
2. Antenatal Depression has symptoms similar to PPD but instead occurs during pregnancy.
3. Postpartum Anxiety is marked by excessive worries and fears, often centered on the baby, and sometimes physical symptoms like diarrhea, headaches or nausea.
4. Postpartum OCD is characterized by obsessions – persistent disturbing thoughts or mental images generally related to the baby – and compulsions – doing things over and over to reduce the fears and obsessions.
5. Postpartum Panic Disorder involves recurring panic attacks, which can include shortness of breath, chest pain, heart palpitations and numbness or tingling in the extremities.  Some women liken it to feeling like they’re having a heart attack.
6. Postpartum Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, usually brought on by a traumatic childbirth (or the perception of one), is similar to other forms of PTSD in that sufferers re-experience the trauma they experienced in thoughts and nightmares.
7. Postpartum Psychosis is a rare and dangerous illness that is considered a psychiatric emergency and features delusions and/or hallucinations and mania.

These organizations or individual practices are specifically geared toward women with perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.  They focus on reproductive psychiatry.  They are comprehensive programs, offering treatment, hosting support groups and/or conducting research into these illnesses.  Their clinicians are maternal mental health specialists.  If you think your hospital or university’s program should be included in this list, email us at postpartumprogress@gmail.com.

(Note: This list is in alphabetical order by state.  Specialized programs outside of the United States are listed at the bottom. This list does not serve to endorse any one program.)

UNITED STATES

California:  UCLA Women’s Life Center Los Angeles (LA), Lori Altshuler, MD and Vivien Burt, MD; El Camino Hospital Maternal Outreach Mood Services (Mountain View), Kristina Peterson, MFT; The Center for Postpartum Health (Tarzana), Diana Lynn Barnes, PsyD; Pec Indman, EdD, MFT (San Jose); UCSD Maternal Mental Health Clinic (San Diego), Katie Hurst, MD, 619-543-6932; Kaiser Permanente San Francisco (SF), Chris Eaton, MD and Kerry Savola-Levin, LCSW, 415-833-2292

Colorado:  Perinatal Mental Health Program at The Children’s Hospital (Denver), Brian Stafford, MD; Perinatal Mood Disorder Clinic at the University of Colorado Hospital’s Anschutz Medical Campus, Elizabeth Brass, MD, Cheryl Chessick, MD (Aurora)

Connecticut:  Yale Program for Women’s Reproductive Behavioral Health, Kimberly Yonkers, MD

Georgia: Emory Women’s Mental Health Program (Atlanta), Zachary Stowe, MD, Jeffrey Newport, MD, Toby Goldsmith, MD

Illinois:  University of Illinois at Chicago Perinatal Mental Health Project (Chicago); Advocate Good Samaritan Hospital Perinatal Depression Support Services (Oak Brook), Dr. Diane Semprevivo; Northwestern University Women’s Behavioral Health Services Program (Chicago), Sonya Rasminsky, MD, Jackie Gollan, PhD

Iowa: University of Iowa Women’s Wellness & Counseling Service, Scott Stuart, MD, Robin Kopelman, MD

Kansas:  Meeka Centimano, LCSW

Kentucky: University of Louisville Women’s Mental Health Program (Louisville), Dr. Joyce Spurgeon, Sheila Ward CNM

Massachusetts: Massachusetts General Hospital’s Center for Women’s Mental Health (Boston), Dr. Lee Cohen, Dr. Ruta Nonacs, Dr. Marlene Freeman, Dr. Adele Viguera; Brigham & Women’s Hospital Women’s Mental Health Program (Boston), Laura Miller, MD; University of Massachusetts Medical School Women’s Mental Health Program, Dr. Rebecca Lundquist, Dr. Nancy Byatt, Dr. Kristina Deligiannidis (Worcester)

Maryland: Johns Hopkins Women’s Mood Disorders Center, Baltimore, MD, Jennifer Payne, MD, Patricia Roy, MD, Jennifer Meuchel, MD

Michigan: University of Michigan Perinatal Mood Disorders Team, Ann Arbor, MI, Sheila Marcus, MD, Heather Flynn, MD, Maria Muzik, MD, Juan Lopez, MD, Kate Bullard, LMSW

Minnesota: Hennepin Women’s Mental Health Program, Minneapolis, Helen Kim, MD

Missouri:  Women’s Healthcare Partnership (St. Louis), Diane Sanford, PhD

New Jersey: The Rocking Chair (Englewood), Naomi Greenblatt, MD; Blue Sky Consulting LLC, Susan Stone, MSW; Postpartum Stress Center (Vorhees), Karen Kleiman

New York: Payne Whitney Women’s Program at Weill Cornell, New York, Margaret Altemus, MD; New York University Reproductive Psychiatry, New York, Shari Lusskin, MD; the Women’s Mental Health Consortium, New York, Catherine Birndorff, MD; Columbia University Women’s Program, New York, Eileen Kavanagh, MD; Sparks Center

North Carolina:  University of North Carolina Center for Women’s Mood Disorders, Chapel Hill, NC, David Rubinow, MD, Samantha Meltzer-Brody, MD, Elizabeth Bullard, MD, Chris Raines RN; The Prenatal & Postpartum Center of the Carolinas

Ohio: Lindner Center of Hope Women’s Mental Health Program, Mason, OH

Oregon: Cedar Hills Hospital Mother Infant Outpatient Program, Beaverton, OR

Pennsylvania: Women’s Behavioral HealthCARE at the Western Psychiatric Institute & Clinic of the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, Pittsburgh, Katherine Wisner, MD; Penn Center for Women’s Behavioral Wellness, Deborah Kim, MD, Jessica Kovach, MD; The Postpartum Stress Center, Karen Kleiman, MSW

Rhode Island: Women & Infants Hospital Day Program, Providence, RI,Margaret Howard, PhD, Terri Pearlstein, MD

Texas: The Menninger Clinic/Baylor College of Medicine, Houston, Lucy Puryear, MD; UT Southwestern Women’s Mental Health Center, Dallas, Neysa Johnson, MD, Anna Brandon, MD, Geetha Shivakumar, MD; Texas Health Springwood Program for Mothers, Bedford

Utah: The Healing Group, Kristin Hodson LCSW

Washington DC: Georgetown University Women’s Mental Health Program, Dr. Barbara Byers, 202-687-0794

CANADA

Reproductive Mental Health Program at St. Paul’s Hospital and BC Women’s, Vancouver, Shaila Misri, MD

Perinatal Mental Health Program at Mt. Sinai Hospital, Toronto, Ariel Dalfen, MD

University of Toronto Women’s Mental Health Program, Toronto

Women’s Health Concerns Clinic, St. Joseph’s Healthcare Hamilton, Claudio Soares, MD

Royal Ottawa Women’s Mental Health Program, Ottawa

AUSTRALIA

Perth Clinic Mother Baby Program, Perth

Royal Women’s Hospital Centre for Women’s Mental Health, Victoria

The first round, in 2006, was long, winding and possessed many deep caverns.  It is like that Godfather movie quote, “Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in!”  That was PPD for me.  I found myself incredibly violent and not towards my child but towards complete strangers.  There was the time I checked a coworker into an office hallway wall.  Or how about the day i inexplicably yelled out the words, “Sh*t, F*CK! Mustang and whore!” during a meeting.  I still wonder what the hell that was about.

I saw my doctor.  I saw a counselor.  I journaled and had many conversations with my husband and mother, a PPD sufferer herself.  I took my meds and tried to keep from crying while brushing my teeth or drying my hair each morning.  It lasted almost a year.  There were many highs and lows.  It was pure unaltered misery and something I would never wish on anyone.  I still sometimes feel robbed of the first year of my daughter’s life because of PPD.  I got through it though and felt stronger than before.  I put it all behind me.

When I became pregnant for the second time, something I was hesitant to do because of my postpartum diagnosis from my first pregnancy, I lived with a bit of fear that entire pregnancy.  It was like there was a monster under my bed or a phantom menace always lurking just out of my sight.  Would it resurface?  How would I care for a toddler and an infant if I had PPD again?  For a few weeks after the birth of my second daughter all seemed right with the world.  I was a more confident mother, had more of a support system and I knew what the signs of PPD were.  Both my husband and I were on the lookout for it.  Then, the minute we thought we were through the window it came crashing down in a sea of splintering glass.  PPD had struck again.

New meds, ones that would not make me homicidal (yes, really) and a new counselor was found.  I saw my doctors regularly, had even more support from friends and family and I sailed through it.  Looking back now, it was nothing like the first time.  It was as if my ship just hit a stormy patch instead of being hit by a typhoon.  I really believe it was because we knew the signs and I had so much support.  I never stopped communicating either.

I recently had my third child, and when I was pregnant I was worried that postpartum depression would strike again.  It is not just me that it hits either.  It affects my husband, my children and anyone else with whom I have a relationship.  I had numerous discussions with my midwife.  We were vigilant and we knew that sleep, support and proper nutrition would assist in making the post-birth easier.  I admit that I was still afraid.  A case of “what ifs” combined with fear is what it is really all about.  However, I had my support group already in check and by walking this through during the pregnancy and after the birth I knew that I would get through it if it struck again.

Knowing the symptoms of postpartum depression, knowing that no one will judge me and having support really do make all the difference.  Each and every time, if needed.

Brooklyn and I are not friends.

First, let me say that Brooklyn’s charm is not lost on me — it’s a friggin’ awesome city. I should have loved it, should have adopted America’s first suburb as my new homeland right off the bat, should have spent the next ten years adoring every rooftop garden, every corner bodega, every fresh-faced hipster carrying a baby wearing gender-neutral outerwear. But I didn’t.

The day we arrived at our fourth-floor walk-up in Greenwood Heights (south Park Slope) I cried — and didn’t stop for two days. It was a one-bedroom apartment, except the previous tenants had removed the wall separating the bedroom from the living room. It was tiny, and freezing and it had one door (the bathroom). And though Polly (my partner) slept next to me at night and Patrick (my friend & the father of my child) lived downstairs, I felt completely alone.

Childbirth sucked (I went in on the 6th and he was born on the 12th… enough said). Being a new mom and milk machine was perhaps the most exhausting thing I’d ever experienced. And I was completely removed from my support system, the freaks, geeks and fellow queers who got me through nine months of saltines and diet 7-up.

And so it set in, ever so slowly, until one day I woke up and I wasn’t me anymore. I was living with that wretched creep called postpartum depression — the kind where you worry all day long that you’ll do horrible things to your precious baby, the kind where sleep is your only relief from the intrusive thoughts (and I wasn’t getting more than three hours at a time), the kind where you fantasize about checking into a hotel and never coming back.

It was nine months of hell before I finally summoned up enough courage to tell my doctor what was going down (namely me). He told me I couldn’t take drugs if I wanted to keep nursing (okay, no drugs), suggested I join a gym (um, really?) and told me to be prepared, because “you could have this for two years” (holy shit).

I tried to go to the gym, but 12 minutes into my elliptical adventure I’d inevitably hear a frantic voice over the loudspeaker, “Will Jack’s mom please come to the nursery?” He never quit screaming, so the gym was out.

Sure, I could hustle back over to the gym by the time Polly or Patrick rolled in, but by then I was half-dead, and just wanted to hang with my buddies Ben and Jerry for the half hour Patrick fed him dinner and the 20 minutes Polly gave him a bath. I still had to nurse, try not to think bad thoughts, put him to bed, try not to think bad thoughts, hold his hand ’til he fell asleep, try not to think bad thoughts, wait two hours until I had enough milk and then sit on the toilet at 10:30 p.m. pumping milk (so Patrick could feed him dinner the next day), try not to think bad thoughts, go to bed before he got up at 1:00 to nurse again. And 3:00. And 6:00. And…

So I walked. Every day I walked and every day I said the same mantra, over and over again, sometimes 100 times in an hour: “God, keep him safe.”

I put Jack in the stroller and walked all over Brooklyn. All. Over. Brooklyn. I nursed him under a tree near the koi pond at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens every Tuesday. I pushed him on the swing at the Third Street playground every afternoon. I picked my favorite streets, with the beautiful brownstones set back a bit, and told him we’d live someplace nice someday. But wherever I went, I couldn’t escape the fatigue, the worry or the thoughts.

Sometimes I had to grip the stroller because I was afraid I’d push it into the street. God, keep him safe. Sometimes I walked three, four, five miles just because I was afraid if I stopped to sit I’d get up and walk away from him… forever. God, keep him safe. Sometimes I held his hand and cried really quietly, so none of the nannies could hear me. God, keep him safe.

Right around Jack’s first birthday I walked enough to get real with myself, and started seeing a therapist. Therapy didn’t help me as much. For me, PPD was a freakin’ chemical ride from hell, and there’s no talking your way out of it. Still, it was 45 minutes I had all to myself, once a week, which felt like a vacation.

With Dr. J’s help (and www.postpartumprogress.com) I realized the bad thoughts were a form of OCD, that they came from this place of deep concern for my son, that I was never in danger of hurting him (though some people are, if they don’t get help) and that I would be okay. Not right away. But soon. (Maybe soon.)

Over time I started to feel a wee bit better, then better still, until one day I heard myself laugh and it sounded like the old me. The thoughts virtually disappeared (but I still said my silent prayers). I started to write again, slowly built up my career again, found my voice again, and came back to life.

It was right about the two year mark that we decided to leave Brooklyn for Nyack, our beloved little village on the Hudson. I went for one last walk in the Slope, toddler Jack bundled up in his stroller, to say goodbye to Brooklyn. I thought I’d feel a kinship with the city, like old war buddies feel for each other. But I didn’t. As I walked I saw blocks and blocks and miles and miles of pain, and I knew I would never feel nostalgia for this place.

So Brooklyn and I are not friends.

These days, when I mention the two years I spent in a chemically-imbalanced haze, I say something like, “I had a tough bout with postpartum depression,” and make sure to add, “But I’m totally fine now.” And even though I know it’s perfectly okay to talk about PPD, and that I should talk openly about PPD, sometimes I whisper the words, “Postpartum depression,” like those silver-haired ladies who served coffee in the church basement at St. Boniface Catholic School, lowering their voices every time they said “black” or “cancer” or “divorce.”

Life is so unbelievably awesome now, it’s hard to imagine myself like that, lost in Brooklyn. So last September, when I watched my guy get on the bus for his first day of school, it wasn’t so much his milestone that caused the lump in my throat, but my own. All of the loving, nurturing, cleaning, carrying, rocking, feeding, chasing, nursing, worrying, sacrificing, teaching, cuddling and laughing had brought us to this day. It was worth it. So worth it. Even the darkest days.

And as he waved to me from the window, even though it had been years since Brooklyn, I still said to myself, God keep him safe.

We thought you’d like to know where your money goes:

* A $25 donation helps us continue to provide one-on-one email support.

*  Your $50 donation pays for one month of Daily Hope, our unique daily email service used by hundreds of moms suffering from perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.   You can ensure this resource reaches the moms who need it.  We’re also interested in donations that will allow us to translate Daily Hope for Spanish speakers and other non-English speakers.

* Your $75 donation can help support an entire month of Postpartum Progress, our award-winning blog, assisting us with everything from our hosting costs to tech support.  This blog is a crucial source of information and support, and has already helped more than 430,000 women and healthcare providers.

* Your $100 donation can help stock a public library or community health department with books and materials that pregnant and new mothers need to learn more about postpartum depression.  If you have a location you’d like to support, let us know and we’ll direct your donation there.

* Your $250 donation allows us to provide an OB/GYN or pediatric office with our fantastic patient education materials.  We’re proud of our record of success with communicating to mothers in “plain mama English“, and we’re working to extend that into effective provider handouts, handy smartphone apps, and other materials that get the message across.

* Your $1000 sponsorship can help us produce our annual Mother’s Day Rally for Moms’ Mental Health.  We also welcome other sponsorships for projects we are working on, so please contact us for more details.

There are many other ways you can help, and if you have your own ideas for how we can support pregnant and new moms, let us know!