I am struggling with postpartum depression in recovery, coupled with anxiety. I did not come to this conclusion on my own. I fought it TOOTH AND NAIL. I was convinced that “okay” was just around the corner. If… Read More
Seeing that photo of my infant son, my heart raced. It broke. It clawed at reality. My throat closed up. It choked.
The first time I guzzled alcohol, I was seven years old. My mom left me with her glass of sauvignon blanc when she went to use the restroom.
When we took my son home, it didn’t take long for my insides to shed quickly to my outsides. I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t want to shower, I didn’t want to clean, I just didn’t want to participate in life at all. I didn’t want to be a mom.