Over the holidays, my mom asked how I was doing. As I told her how I'd been - holding nothing back - and how I'd been trying to deal with it, it became clear that in spite of her Psych degree, she thought I was weak, not trying hard enough and stupid to be taking medication when I can just exercise and eat better. I tried to explain that I was doing the best I could, but not getting any better and that it's a lot better to have the side effects of medication than sit in my car in the garage with the engine running (something I'd thought about several times in my darkest days among other ways to check out). Realizing I was not in a safe place and feeling like I had to validate my condition, I stopped talking personal and instead, told my mom about the prevalence of PPD. I told her how in the past few months, two friends admitted they'd had PPD but never told anyone, and how many other moms I've met through blogging and social media are also suffering from PPD and the stigma associated with it. Without batting an eye at my admission of having suicidal thoughts, my mom responded by saying that:
PPD must be a "trend" of some sort like ADHD was when I was a kid and that there must be something wrong with society for so many people to have PPD.
|This is what I needed...|
|...and this is what I got.|
When things are bad, I will look to the positive influences in my life: my husband, friends and you. Thank you for laughing at my ridiculous posts and sending me virtual hugs when I can't make us laugh.
What cheers you up when you're in a funk?