Four years ago I moved from New York City to Toronto with my Canadian husband. We had met at a bar on the Upper East Side; we fell quickly in love and wanted to spend our lives together. We were both nearing thirty, wanted a family, and knew that having one in New York City would prove a challenge. We decided to move to Toronto and bought a house in the Danforth area, close to where his grandparents first lived when they moved here from Greece. In Manhattan, I had a wonderful job teaching at a small private school and thought that getting a teaching job in Toronto would be feasible. I ended up unable to work in part because of the teacher surplus, and in part because I couldn’t get a work visa. Not exactly the career I had hoped for when I moved to Toronto.
We got pregnant sooner than we planned, but we were thrilled none the less. However, I didn’t have OHIP at the time and quickly learned the high out of pocket cost to have a baby in Ontario. Thankfully, about halfway through my preg...
Thanks to Megan Daley for sharing her story with us!
Becoming a mother, postpartum depression was not something I ever thought I would have to worry about. Little did I know that it would be an epic struggle for me…twice. Now, in my third pregnancy I’m faced with bigger worries than what color to paint the nursery. I have to consider the very real possibility of having to struggle through hell all over again. I remember clearly the intensity of those days and it’s something I want to avoid at all costs. I want to do everything I can to put as many supports in place as possible and be honest about what I went through.
Support Resource: Friends & Family
I need my friends and family to know the truth so they can be on the lookout for warning signs and help me get the support I need if I find myself going down that dark path again.
Postpartum depression is different for every woman. For me, I had an instant bond with both of my babies and during the first several months everything went w...
Today is the day. The day I was supposed to be stepping back on to the unit at work. The day that was "supposed" to mark the end of a happy year of bonding with my new baby. The day I return to the person I was before; changed, tired, fuller, nostalgic, worried, relieved, but still me.
Instead, I'm home. Looking at myself; a stranger. Longing to be in charge of my own mind again. Instead, I'm "graduating" from 18 weeks of group therapy (extended from their usual 10 week max). Instead, I feel broken, wounded, changed, exhausted, depleted. And it's actually an ok day. 🙄Today I continue with a sick leave that is dauntingly short, and long somehow at the same time.
Today I continue my battle (as a pacifist, I don't chose that word lightly). I fight to stay above water. I fight not to let my postpartum depression and PTSD rule my world, my mind, my core, and drag me under the waves of anxiety, sadness, resentment, incredible stress.
There was a time when I was under the water, drowning, reach...