I don’t believe any mother wants to publicly admit that she’s hit her child out of frustration. No mother wants to share that she contemplated suicide, divorce, disappearing. No woman wants to admit that she can’t carry a child in her womb. Yet we are surrounded by these women every day, the majority of whom are suffering in silence, sinking under the weight of her own thoughts. Would it surprise you to know that I am the woman who hit her child out of frustration, who contemplated suicide, asked her husband for a divorce, and daydreamed of packing her bags, walking out the door and never looking back? Would it surprise you to know that I am the woman who is ashamed that she’s been unable to carry three children in her womb? I am that woman, my friends.
I’m not the type of person who overshares or humblebrags on Facebook, nor am I the type to air my dirty laundry on social media. In the social media-sphere, I was living a beautiful life while my reality was more akin to hell. Postpartum depression after miscarriage is very real, and the consequences can be devastating. I will forever be thankful for the help I received, before I could make a terrible decision with my mentally ill mind.
Honest Mom shared my story yesterday, as part of her Honest Moms Speak Out series; a series that provides a forum for women to share about mental illness, with the intent of helping other women struggling in similar circumstances. You need not be a blogger to share your story, you need only have a truth to tell, a story to share, or thoughts to present. I encourage you to share your stories with other women, you never know how many lives your shared experience can touch…or even save.
I shared my ugly and shameful truths so that other women would not have to feel alone. I felt incredibly alone when I was experiencing PPD after my miscarriages, but found that my experience was not so unique when I began blogging about them. I am forever grateful for the multitudes of women who took the time to reach out to me via email, or through blog comments, as those messages let me know that I was not alone. I was not (and am not) a horrible person because I did and thought the things I did; I was thinking and acting through the smoggy veil of depression and anxiety.