Maternal instinct

I'm not here to debate or defend what happened. The facts are that three innocent children died. The fact is that a mother has to live with what happened.
I cannot speak on postpartum psychosis. I can't tell you what was happening in her mind.
But I do know what it is like to be a mother whose mind was not okay—and for other people not to realize how bad things had gotten.
We need to talk about that.

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this is my story

As someone who has had postpartum rage and depression, I can tell you that I didn't know what I was doing in those moments. I can tell you that the days, weeks, and months following Ro's birth were a blur. I wish I could go back to that version of me, get her the help she needed sooner, and then enjoy all the moments and wonder of having a baby boy.​
Hindsight and growth later, I am glad someone saw a crack; a fragment just out of place enough to give the people who knew me, who knew my work ethic, pause.
Women suffer in silence because motherhood is seen as this mantle we're supposed to wear easily. It's ingrained. It's instinct. We're women; we're supposed to know how to do this. And when we shatter any part of that image, we're the ones left carrying the full weight of what went wrong.
Anxiety - we're fearful of doing all of this wrong, even though no one really knows what they're doing. Most of us are too exhausted to chase after picture perfect motherhood. We're in the trenches, smelling like pee, and wondering when will this end? 
At some point, the anxiety grows and morphs into something our brain hasn't named yet but our bodies are doubled over, screaming in silence.
Postpartum depression is a beast. I say that with the full weight of what it means.
​I cannot even wrap my mind around postpartum psychosis. I just know that in my darkest days, there was no hope. 

so where to go from here?

I only know the clips that I've seen. I'm not going to do a deep dive into what's happened; he said, she said. As much as I say I'm far removed from that time in my life, it's still there and I hate that regret is the first thing that comes to mind. I hate that I can see a woman and picture myself in her shoes. I hate that her children suffered so much in the home of people who were supposed to love them, care for them. 
If anything comes from this case, I hope it's a greater spotlight on maternal mental health.
​Women are suffering in their homes; more often than not, silently, waiting for someone to see a crack in their facade. 
Motherhood isn't close to sainthood, or however that saying goes. 
I love being a mom. I choose my children every time. 
But what does that say to them when they grow up? Suffer in silence until someone comes in to save the day. 
This is why if anyone asks, I answer. 
Short answer: I had pregnancy anxiety. I had a baby in the NICU for 43 days. She left with a heart monitor and I was a mess every day that alarm went off. 
I didn't want to go through that again. Surprise pregnancy. Hated every second of it. I thought I was going to die. 
Went into depression. Sometimes, I'd drive to work and wonder if I should just keep driving. 
Someone saw the crack. And I eventually got help. 
I started talking; advocating. 
And in all the years since, I still get emotional reliving some milestones. I think about women who aren't as fortunate. 
And then I think about my children. 
And the children who weren't as fortunate. 

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Ellie and I in the NICU (March 2012)

Ro and I in the NICU (April 2016)

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