I had an idea: I should publish my memoir on my blog. So that is what I am doing. If you want to start at the beginning, you have come to the right place! If you want the actual book, it’s available now on Amazon. I am planning to release it over the summer on other platforms but that’s aspirational. #MomLife.

If I raised my arms in the air and threw Pippa as hard as I could against the hardwood floor, her skull would crack open and her brains would splatter all over the floor.

I gasped and held Pippa closer to me, as if the very thought of throwing her could rip her from my arms. Why did this keep happening? I loved my daughter.

Didn’t I?

What a silly question. Of course I loved Pippa. I had loved her since the moment I learned I was pregnant.

Then why did I keep thinking about throwing her against the floor with all my strength? Why did I keep seeing images of her brains splattered across the room? And why was it getting harder and harder to push the dark thoughts away?

I collapsed on the pink glider in the nursery and patted Pippa’s back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby girl, it’s okay.”

Pippa continued wailing. Though it did no good, I kept patting. Maybe she just had an epic burp stuck in her little tummy. I could never tell when she was cranky and when she was just gassy. All her cries sounded the same: loud.

Maybe it wasn’t a burp. What if one of my hairs was wrapped around one of Pippa’s tiny toes and cutting off circulation? I had seen an article about that on Facebook. A baby cried and cried and her mother had no idea that one of her hairs had gotten tangled around a toe and by the time she noticed, it was too late. The toe had to be amputated.

I put Pippa on the changing table and bent over her hands. She was shrieking now, but I had to act quickly before it was too late. I checked her fingers and toes. No errant hairs. I checked them again. Still none. Pippa was wailing, but I could not stop. I checked her thighs, her forearms, her neck. Part of me felt like I was losing my mind, but the other part of me did not care.

I had to know.

I thought I was being extra-vigilant. My baby was only four months old. Anything could hurt her. Anything could kill her. Surely all new mothers took these sorts of precautions.

I was wrong, though. I was not being extra-vigilant to keep my baby safe. Of course, I wanted her to be safe and healthy, but that was not the reason I was checking for anything that might pose a threat to her safety.

I was checking to make myself feel better.

Most of the time, I vibrated and buzzed with anxiety. A ticker tape of worries constantly ran through my mind. My shoulders ached as if I were carrying around extra weight. My stomach twisted and groaned. The blood in my body seemed to be rushing faster than usual through my arteries and veins.

Except when I was checking. When I was examining Pippa’s body for stray hairs, or crouching down to check that the stovetop burners were lit, or unlocking and relocking the front door a dozen times in a row, I calmed down. For those brief moments that I was checking something, my body felt still and calm. I felt like myself.

Finally satisfied that a hair was not cutting off circulation to one of Pippa’s fingers or toes, I picked her up and tried to soothe her again. Her screams got louder. She was going to scream and scream forever and ever and nothing would make it stop unless I threw her as hard as I could—

No no no! I pushed the image out of my mind but too late. I had already glimpsed the horror of Pippa’s skull cracked open and felt the relief of imaginary silence.

I was a monster.

I blinked away tears and patted Pippa’s back, counting to one hundred and then back down to zero.

“It must be the insomnia. The insomnia had started a month ago. I could sleep only three hours at night. The rest of the night, I lay awake in bed, my skin crawling from the constant buzzing of nerves, my mind refusing to slow down. I wanted so desperately to sleep, but my body seemed to have lost the ability to perform that most basic of functions.

If I could stay strong for just a few more days, surely the insomnia would end and I would become the mom Pippa deserved.

Who was I kidding? The insomnia was never going to end. I had given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl but now my body was broken, shattered into a thousand pieces. No one could ever put me back together.

Thank God, I was wrong about that too.

***

A few days later, I finally made an appointment with my doctor. She told me that the dark thoughts, the compulsive checking and the sleepless nights was not something that all new mothers experienced. She gave me a diagnosis – postpartum depression – and asked me to admit myself to the hospital for psychiatric care. I agreed and in less than seventy-two hours, I felt like a new person, a phoenix risen from the ashes.

After four days in the hospital, I was ready to reclaim my life. I worked with a cognitive behavioral psychologist to dismantle my anxiety and confront the traumatic parts of my illness. Within a few months of my hospitalization, my psychologist and I decided I had made a full recovery from postpartum depression.

But I was not done.

For almost my entire life, I had forced myself to live within narrow parameters that I thought would make me successful, like studying hard, going to law school, and working at big law firms, but the things that were supposed to make me feel happy made me miserable. Looking back, I know now that my sensitivity to hormonal fluctuations all but guaranteed that I would experience postpartum[…]”

“Looking back, I know now that my sensitivity to hormonal fluctuations all but guaranteed that I would experience postpartum depression. The way I had been living my life, however, turned an illness into a crisis.

During my recovery, I did some intensive soul-searching and discovered new ways to feel like my most authentic self. I stopped worrying about what everyone else thought and started listening to my intuition. I filled my life with joy, meaning and fulfillment.

This is the story of how postpartum depression was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Want to keep reading? Chapter One is posted for your reading pleasure. Would you rather read the actual book? Head over to Amazon for your copy of Adventures With Postpartum Depression: A Memoir.

This episode is also appearing as Episode 87 for my first podcast Adventures With Postpartum Depression.

The therapist I mentioned is Tiffany Roe. I love her work and highly recommend her podcast Therapy Thoughts, her newsletter, her IG feed… I’m obsessed, okay? Check her out!

In this week’s episode, I talk about maternal mental health because it’s Maternal Mental Health Week 2021. Woot woot! One week a year is not enough for maternal mental health. We should be talking about it all the time.

As I was brainstorming ideas for this episode, I thought about how in my own work as a mental health activist, I often focus on postpartum depression. I love talking about postpartum depression because there is still a stigma around that illness, but maternal mental health does not end there.

Mental health is not a destination. It’s a journey that lasts our entire lives. We sometimes reach way stations where we can relax and take in the view but there is always more to be done. New level, new devil. And that’s great! I love the work of becoming my most authentic self, and that work includes keeping my mental health as robust as possible.

Mental health matters and I’m excited to keep talking about it on my podcast.

Life Currently:

• Pippa is in week 2 of hybrid school. As of the time that I am writing these show notes, she has been to four whole days of in-person school as a second grader. Poor kid has to haul so much stuff to school that I got her a rolling backpack.
• I have to keep reminding myself that this is hard and I’m burned out.
• We got Mario Kart set up on our Nintendo Switch and it is so! much! fun! I might not watch television again in 2021. I’d rather be playing Mario Kart.

And now, mirrors!

I started thinking about mirrors while reading The Push by Ashley Audrain. The book is about a mother who becomes convinced that something is wrong with her daughter — she doesn’t behave like other children — but her husband insists it is all in her head. The more her husband dismisses her fears, the more Blythe questions her sanity. (By the way, I was only halfway done with the book at the time of recording this episode, but I finished it yesterday and I decided it merited five out of five stars on Goodreads.)   

As I listened to the audiobook, I found myself wondering if the main character had postpartum depression. Then I realized that I was inclined to think she had PPD because of my personal postpartum experiences. That got me to wondering about how other readers would interpret Blythe’s experience. A reader with marital issues might think The Push is a book about a marriage. A feminist reader might think this book exemplifies the way the patriarchy makes women think they are losing their minds. The book acts as a mirror for our personal experiences.

Art does this. I know, I know, I’m stating the obvious. But as a mom with a brain drained by distance learning, this feels like a revelation. When I am reading a book, or looking at a painting, or watching a television show, my reaction to that art clues me into the way I see the world. Then I can root out my biases and explore my beliefs and figure out more of the inner work I need to do. Pretty bitching!

Dreams are also excellent mirrors. During my last therapy session way back in September 2020, my therapist told me, “Pay attention to your dreams!” I have been doing just that, and my dreams regularly reveal insights and thoughts that guide my inner work.

The night before I recorded this podcast episode, I dreamed that my family was on a road trip and we stopped at an ice skating rink. We had to wait for the rink to be serviced. We were so excited to go ice skating! When we were finally allowed on the ice, I found that it was melting and cracking. The ice on the far end of the rink was breaking and people were falling into water. I was separated from my family so I skated to the exit and I was so relieved when Nathan and the kids got off the rink, dry and safe. We were disappointed that the rink had collapsed but we decided to continue our road trip.

I wrote about this dream in my journal. What did it mean? What message was my subconscious sending? I decided the ice represented expectations and its cracking represented how my expectations often crack beneath the weight of reality. Is my interpretation of my dream right? Who cares! The point is that the interpretation resonated with me, and my dream successfully mirrored back work I need to do. I need to work on releasing my expectations and continue the road trip of life when reality crushes my expectations.

Other people also act as mirrors for my inner work, especially people who annoy me. Byron Katie talks about this extensively in her work. I highly recommend her books and podcast.

Finally, I mentioned at the end of the episode that signs can act as mirrors for our inner work. Pay attention to the things you notice. Your subconscious or the Universe (whatever floats your boat) is trying to get your attention. If you keep noticing something, ask yourself why. The answers might surprise you.

Wow, these show notes are grossly overdue! And you know what? That’s totally fine. I’m doing my best and my best is far from perfect. In this episode, I talk about the the thoughts, that are helping me stay sane as we finally – FINALLY – enter the hybrid hellscape.

Those thoughts (discussed at greater length in the episode) are:

• Surrender

• Releasing expectations

• Change is the only certainty, so embrace it

• Uncertainty is always there

• I can’t pour from an empty cup

• The butterfly has to struggle to get out of the cocoon or its wings won’t be strong enough to fly

Okay, now I’m going to make the Episode 25 show notes! Doing my best to stay sane! It’s not easy! But I’m doing it anyway!

A post from four years ago showed up in my Facebook Memories today. It still relevant and necessary, so I’m sharing it here:

Can I rant? Because I need to rant and I refuse to be the complacent, meek, well-mannered lady that some idiots expect me to be. Because when I feel violated, even if the violation seems small, I will still roar. I can be sweet and loving and compassionate and still fierce and strong and brave.

here’s what happened: after Zumba today at my gym, while I was naked and wet in the shower, a female janitor who spoke very little English told us that men were coming into the locker room. That was it, no more info.

Apparently the men — there were three of them — averted their eyes and did not look, nevermind the fact that there are mirrors everywhere. Apparently the manager – a man – asked some women who were fully clothed if it was okay for them to come in, and those women said yes. so why bother asking the naked women in the showers – there were many of us – if it’s okay to send three men into the locker room? Apparently they only went to check on the toilets. But hey, the toilets are in between the showers and the lockers, where our clean clothes were waiting. Apparently they just needed a few minutes, but no one told us how long it would be. how long we had to wait naked in the showers. apparently they hung a sign ten minutes before they went into the locker room — but I’m not an idiot, I can tell time, I know I entered the locker at 9:35 and the men were there before 9:45. That’s not ten minutes!

Was it rape? Was it assault? of course not. but it’s all the small little violations that make it easier for men to do the horrible things that still happen every day, every hour, every minute, to women all over the world.

And so what am I supposed to do? Join a less convenient gym? Or go back to this gym, in fear it will happen again? NO. I called corporate headquarters and I’m following up, and if this happens again, then I’ll decide what I’m doing next. because I should not feel scared away from the gym I love because a male manager does not get it. Does not get that this is my body, it is sacred, it is beautiful and I’m not rolling over and playing dead just because this is the way he has been inspecting lockers for years and no one has complained. i’m not taking his word on this. and even if no one has complained, that does not mean it is right.

Part of me is scared and, having complained to the manager, wants to avoid this gym because he won’t like me now. But you know what? I’m done with staying silent about little violations just to make sure some man in charge of my gym like me. I don’t care if he or anyone else likes me. You don’t get to trample over my right to privacy. And maybe this manager hates me now. Maybe he thinks I’m a pain in the ass because I called corporate hq and made a complaint. That’s fine. Why do I want him to like me anyway? I am braver than that. I will keep going to my gym, my favorite Zumba classes, and I will keep complaining if necessary, and I will roar even if the violation seems small, even if the male manager is ignorant as to what it means to be a woman, because though I may be sweet and loving, I am a fierce bad ass.

I get chills reading this. Go, me! What a bad ass. I feel inspired by Courtney From Four Years Ago to keep standing up for myself and being fierce. ROAR!

At the beginning of the year, I picked a bunch of 2021 projects, knowing that some would stick and others would not. One of those projects was The Great 2021 Blogging Experiment. I would try to blog every weekday of 2021 and see what happened.

From January 1, 2021 until March 20, 2021, I blogged every freaking weekday. I loved it.

This week, though, I dived into revisions for the third draft of my Room Mom Com. Blogging every weekday stopped feeling fun and started feeling forced, contrived, and stale. I felt guilty about this for a few days, and then I remembered: change is good and mysterious and magical. I started The Great 2021 Blogging Experiment and I have the authority to end it whenever I damn well want.

So that’s what I’m doing.

Breaking News

The Great 2021 Blogging Experiment has run it’s course. I am not going to blog every weekday simply for the sake of blogging every weekday when I feel called to do other work.

How often will I blog going forward? Beats the shit out of me! Maybe I’ll blog every other day. Maybe I’ll blog weekly. Maybe I’ll actually start sending a weekly newsletter and ditch blogging altogether. I will follow my intuition and see where it leads me.

1) Jen Sincero’s new book Badass Habits

2) Glorious California weather

3) Affirmations – I have embraced affirmations and I’m not turning back!

4) Daylight Savings

5) Reading A Series Of Unfortunate Events with Pippa (we are nearly done with the third book)

6) Expanding our vegetable garden for summer – hello, cherry tomatoes!

7) Eating lunch today INSIDE a restaurant with Pippa

8) Listening to Julian tell me all about salmon runs – the boy loves animals

9) Wireless headphones

10) Getting to see my 95 year old grandma on Sunday for the first time since before Thanksgiving

I have been doing a lot of work lately with my beliefs. I am taking inventory of my beliefs – the good, the bad, and the appallingly ugly. I am ushering out the ones that no longer serve me (goodbey, toxic beliefs inherited from the patriarchy!) and welcoming new radiant beliefs.

Here’s one belief I really want to embrace: I can improve myself and grow in my abilities if I put in the effort. This belief is called a “growth mindset.”

The opposite of a growth mindset is a “fixed mindset.” A person with a fixed mindset believes that she is born with set talents and no amount of effort will make them better.

I used to have a fixed mindset, but that belief no longer serves me. It holds me back from trying new things that I feel called to do. Also, it is just not true! I have seen, again and again, how I can improve myself and grow in my abilities when I put in the effort.

I put in the effort after I had postpartum depression and become a less anxious person.

I put in the effort when I wrote my memoir and learned how to write a book. Trust me, the first draft was really, really shitty. But I worked with an editor and learned how to transform the shitty draft into an actual book.

Now I am putting in the effort to change my relationship with food. Noom is helping me tremendously on that front. I have struggled with my weight for nearly thirty years. A fixed mindset tells me that I am doomed to be overweight for the rest of my life.

Fuck that.

I am embracing the growth mindset. I can change. I am changing. I am using my weight loss journey as an opportunity to learn how to love myself in the way the Universe wants me to love my sweet, glorious, magnificent self. So what if I have struggled for nearly thirty years? I know that with work and effort, I can change.

I started doing some work with my inner child last summer. I was inspired to do this work by Tiffany Roe, a therapist with a fun and inspiring Instagram feed. I wrote out long conversations with my inner child in my journal. Sometimes, I hung out with my five year old inner child. Other times, I talked with my high school self. The conversations were very therapeutic.

Then I got sidetracked with that whole distance learning thing and my curiosity led me in other directions.

But last week, I was at Target when I spotted a green Lucky Charms t-shirt. My inner child screamed, Yes! Get that shirt!

I got the shirt.

Then I spotted an enormous display of Lucky Charms at the grocery store. My inner child screamed, Let’s have Lucky Charms for breakfast on St. Patty’s Day!

My inner critic/judge/asshole said, No no no, Lucky Charms are too sugary. You can’t have that shit for breakfast. You are too fat anyway. You can’t eat that.

I considered the Lucky Charms display. Should I listen to my inner child or my inner critic/judge/asshole?

I put a box of Lucky Charms in my cart. They were my favorite “forbidden” cereal as a child. My mom bought Cheerios and Cornflakes. When I got to college, I felt absolutely giddy when I was able to buy my first box of Lucky Charms. But at the age of 42, I have learned from Noom that no food is forbidden. If my inner child wants Lucky Charms for breakfast, by god, that is what she gets! Today I had a big bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast. My inner child was absolutely delighted.

I am going to try to pay better attention to my inner child this year. What does she want? What does she need? How does she want to play and have fun?

What does your inner child want and need from you?

Last week, I listened to the audiobook for Jen Sincero’s new book Badass Habits: Cultivate the Awareness, Boundaries, And Daily Upgrades You Need To Make Them Stick. The book includes a 21 day program to establish a new badass habit (or break up with a sucky habit like smoking). I ordered my physical copy of Badass Habits before I had even finished the audiobook because I knew I would be flipping through the book constantly while following the program.

Before I could start the Badass Habits program, I had to pick my new badass habit. At first, I thought, I want to get into the habit of eating frozen grapes at night for dessert instead of ice cream. This seemed like something I could do that would help me lose weight.

Except the habit of eating frozen grapes while eliminating ice cream from my life went against everything I have learned from Noom. If I make ice cream forbidden, then I am going to crave it more. And if I delay my craving, the ice cream is going to seem extra rewarding when I finally eat it (because trust me, I will eventually eat it). Then I’ll crave ice cream even more for that dopamine hit… and so the vicious cycle goes.

I do not want to eliminate any foods from my life because that is not sustainable. So I thought some more until I hit upon the perfect habit: I want to meet my daily Noom calorie budget.

When I meet my daily calorie budget, I lose weight – easily. I do not feel deprived or like I am suffering. I am able to enjoy treats like ice cream, cake and pie, and I do not go around hangry all the time. I also do not feel stuffed or gross from eating too much. Noom’s daily calorie budget is very realistic and doable for me.

But for the past few months, I have rarely met my daily calorie goal. I have logged my foods through dinner and then went into mindless eating mode after dinner. I also had a tendency to eat 500+ calories of afternoon snacks and not log any of those calories. I was not being honest with myself about the amount of food I was eating, and I knew I was lying to myself, but I also felt angry when the numbers on the scale refused to budge, which activated all sorts of shame and guilt gremlins, which made me eat more ice cream to numb the guilt and shame…

Before reading Badass Habits, I was thinking that maybe I should just be happy with weighing about 200 pounds in my 5’5″ frame. I felt called to lose weight, but maybe I was just being superficial. Shouldn’t I just love myself completely the way I am? But Sincero writes:

This habit you’ve chosen is going to become your obsession, your teacher, your muse for self-actualization.

Badass Habits, pg. 114.

My yearning to lose weight is not something superficial. It’s my soul’s way of leading me toward self-actualization. For me, losing weight will not simply be about numbers on the scale. It’s much bigger than that. It’s about my relationship with the world. It’s about my relationship with myself. It’s about self-actualization.

And that is pretty badass.