By Her View From Home 
Looking back, all the signs were there. But I truly felt like everything was fine. I was just living a new normal I told myself. This normal, was in fact, not normal at all.
My mother-in-law brought up her concerns with me. I was stressed, easy to anger, and just exhausted. She talked to me about how she got on medication and how much it helped her after she had had her kids. I took major offense to this. In retrospect, this just shows exactly how much I was struggling because if I had been coping well, I wouldn’t have seen the truth in it.
I blamed my support system. I blamed my lack of sleep. I wasn’t experiencing postpartum depression, I was just burnt out, I told myself.
If only I hadn’t been the one to have to get up with the baby every night for the last three nights. If only my husband wasn’t working so much overtime. If only someone could just give me a break I would be fine. But the truth was even after a break, I was still stressed, irritated, and just sad. I loved my baby, but I didn’t love the version of myself I had become.
At the doctor’s office, I filled out my postpartum depression screening, convincing myself this wasn’t me. I didn’t want to harm myself or others. I wasn’t crying every day, just a little more frequently. I told myself I was okay, and unfortunately, a diagnosis slipped through the cracks for me due to my own denial. I was struggling but didn’t want to admit it.
Months later, my baby is now a year old. After a recent big life event, I started counseling and an antidepressant. I feel like myself again, and I no longer feel like the stressed, easy-to-upset mom I used to be.
Nothing changed for me other than my decision to seek help. I just wish I had made that decision earlier, and I wish my loved ones knew how much their looking out for me meant to me—even if I didn’t want to hear it at the time.
by Jillian Edwards 
by Julie Anne Waterfield 
by Lauren Eberspacher 
