Notes from the other side of postpartum #1

A lot of what I write, those little moments of inspiration, encouragement, soft-life reminders, they’re not just for others. They’re for me. I write them because I need them. Because I’m trying to keep myself from slipping too deep into the sunken place. Because I need something to hold onto when the weight of postpartum depression makes it feel like I’m sinking.

This has been the worst postpartum depression I’ve ever experienced. When I had my third child, it felt like everyone I held close slowly disappeared the moment they realized I was struggling. Maybe they didn’t know what to say. Maybe they just didn’t want to deal with it. Maybe I’m simply overreacting. Either way, they vanished. And honestly, it’s not like I was being social anyway. I spent my whole pregnancy in the house, barely existing, because it was just too much.

So now, I write. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I don’t. Writing is how I remind myself to keep going. Because honestly some days, I want to open my eyes. Some days, I don’t. But this stupid little newsletter? It’s been a reason to show up, even when I don’t feel like it.

I try to push through. I push through the loneliness. I put on my “big girl panties” and do what’s expected of me. Because I’m a woman. Because that’s what we do. But honestly? I hate that expectation. I hate the way we’re supposed to suffer in silence, to keep moving no matter what, to hold it all together when we feel like we’re falling apart.

I don’t have a neat little bow to wrap this up with. No “it gets better” speech or grand revelation. Just this: I’m still here. Still writing. Still trying. And right now, that’s enough.