A deeper look into my own PPD battle

The charities I plan to support with this project will all have motherhood as a common theme, but they will also have more specific connections for me personally.

My first charity, Postpartum Progress, helped me to find sources that led to me finally realizing that I was dealing with a real problem.

You see, even though I suffered from some "typical" PPD (postpartum depression) symptoms as well, my primary issue was my rage.
I didn't know that postpartum rage was a thing. When you see things about PPD you see a weeping  mother lying on the couch in three day old PJs, not attending to her child's needs... or simply going through the motions, completely unfeeling. You don't see the mom who slides back and forth daily from feeling unimaginable anger, directed at an infant no less, to sobbing with uncontrollable guilt.

That was my life for 14 months. Were there good days and moments? Of course. There were tons. Which was part of what made my realization that I truly had a problem all the more difficult: Again, my uneducated and stigmatized view of postpartum mood disorders had me believing that it had to be all or nothing, and since I wasn't in my dark place 100% of the time (I could go days and days without so much as a bad mood), I was convinced that I was fine.


Once I did realize my problem and began to seek out ways to help myself, I turned to creative ventures to try and get validate my experience and get my feelings out.

The following is a poem I wrote right around the time that I realized what I was going through; it is entitled "The Beast"

It crept up silently, slipping into the room between feedings and fits of sleep.

Or, maybe it had been there all along, lying in wait until it sensed weakness, my body's scent akin to that of a sick wildebeest.

It studied me from behind infatuated family, my vulnerability twitching its ears.

It pounced with its teeth bared, its jaws clamping down on my mind and my spirit; blissful thoughts bled from me, and it lapped up my happiness.

It stared at me as I fed my new daughter, snarling as if I cared for her only out of disdain for it, as if it was supposed to come first.

I didn't feel it brush up against me at night as it slowly drank more of me, my daughter at my leaking breast, it at my pounding heart, my racing mind.

I didn't notice its claws shredding my eyes, my vision skewed.

I never felt it mangle my ears, words forever twisted on their journey to my brain.

This beast gnawed, tore, ripped away every bit of me that should have glowed with all the maternal grace one could hold.

It fed on me, taking only just enough sustenance, never enough to leave me empty or aware.

Even now, wounds still shiny but healed, I sometimes feel hot breath down my neck; I don't know if the beast ever dies.


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If you, or someone you know, believes they may be suffering from a postpartum mood disorder, please seek help. You don't have to call a psychologist or psychiatrist right away if you aren't ready, but tell someone... let someone know what you are battling. No one should face this fight alone.  


If you want to help mothers get the support and resources they need for their postpartum mood disorders, visit the "Donate" page at the top. It contains links to either make a one time donation, or to pledge a donation amount based on my running mileage (for weekly or monthly totals).