Postpartum can be both boundless love and breathtaking sadness. It shouldn’t mean silence

It was hard to admit that a mental health crisis had crept up on me, just weeks after one of the happiest days of my life. I told myself that I was exaggerating my own symptoms, that I was just overtired. Many women have it worse, I thought. I could make it work. And yet, even as I was “making it work,” I was pierced by moments of breathtaking sadness. I was underwater before I saw the tide coming in.

I loved my baby more than it was possible to describe. I also had postpartum depression and anxiety. It was hard to square those facts.

Worry was a constant companion. It was especially present at certain times — when hooked up to a pump in the “mother’s room” at the office, typing out work emails while fretting that I was not producing enough milk. At night, I watched the baby asleep in the bassinet next to me, my brain too electrified to sleep. During my commute, I thought about how for nine months she had traveled with me on the train, in me, and how now leaving her felt like having a limb removed, only to be reattached each night when I returned home.Read the entire article on Stat News