“My ex-boyfriend walked back into my life. He didn’t look the same though. His big, strong build had dwindled down to a scrawny man. I could tell something was wrong. I went for it anyway. That turned out to be a decision I will not soon forget. It didn’t take long for me to become pregnant, with not one but TWO babies.”
“Me with my first baby: I will never buy my kids tacky character tees. Evvvvvvver. Mark my words. Me after 3 kids: Whatever. I wear the same clothes I slept in to the grocery store, so who am I to be picking out people’s clothes anyway?”
“I lived in terror after my daughter died. I had to turn on the light every 5 minutes to check on my kids, because I knew for certain one of them had stopped breathing. I didn’t realize I had PTSD. I just felt like I was losing my mind. I was so stressed, the panic just kept coming. Many people think PTSD only happens to soldiers. It doesn’t.”
“It intensified when I left my parents’ home and went to college. I drastically reduced my food intake. I hate thinking about the look of shock, disappointment, and concern on my mother’s face. She hadn’t seen me since Christmas, so when I came home for Spring Break, my mother was worried sick over my frail appearance. I felt guilty, but not guilty enough to change.”
“Within 24 hours I went from mothering toddlers, to a 7-year-old. I wasn’t sure what to do. We were walking on eggshells, wondering when the lid would blow. I was closing his bedroom door. He stopped me. ‘Mommy, you’re a really good Mom.’ I slid down the door in silent sobs. Those words, coming from that boy, meant more than any accolade I could ever receive.”
“She ran circles around the rest of us, volunteering, coordinating and simply ‘making things happen.’ I, like many, were surprised when her death announcement addressed her struggle with postpartum depression. Her social media portrayed happiness and perfection, never indicating she was suffering.”
“I realized trying to conceal the severity of my symptoms for the sake of ‘keeping my chin up’ was incredibly dangerous. I needed help. My precious baby needed help. My body is forced to keep my baby alive by slowly killing me in the process.”
“I had 3 months to figure out my escape. I stopped fighting back with my daughter’s father and kept calm. He was losing control, and it drove him crazy. ‘You’re not gonna take her from me,’ he’d say. I’d wake up to him pacing the kitchen talking to himself. I stayed quiet and texted a friend who said, ‘Wait 10 minutes, and then you call the cops. He could be lying.’”
“I dropped to one meal a day. Coffee for breakfast, Red Bull at 3 p.m., light dinner. They’d look and say, ‘Congrats! You look awesome!’ It made me feel REALLY good. But part of me wanted to shout in their faces. They might as well have said, ‘That not-eating thing you’re doing? Totally working. Keep it up!’ It fueled me.”
“I asked her, ‘How did you do it all with 4 children?’ I will never forget her answer. ‘You find a way to make it work.’ That next month, I got pregnant with our third son! My first class began the exact day I was in the hospital delivering Wyatt.”
