The difference between Day 2 postpartum and Day 3 was dramatic for me. One day I was a bit withdrawn and anxious as the nurses assisted me with breastfeeding; the next day I actually could not stop crying. I also couldn’t sleep or eat. I paced in my hospital room with a horrific sense of doom, like something was wrong with the baby or something was wrong with me and certainly like life would be terrible as soon as they released us.
Read moreHow My Husband Helped Me Through Depression
Today, when people ask how I got through that dark period, I tell them Dustin, naturally nurturing and a born problem-solver, was smart. I don’t know how he knew exactly what to do. I’m not even sure he knew what he was doing at the time. But when I look back on those months, I realize there were steps Dustin took that led to the dark cloud lifting — because it truly is like a dark cloud that hovers.
Read morePresident Lincoln was Depressed, Too
During one of my first depressive episodes when I was younger, I clung to stories of Lincoln and his depression. They helped me understand, or at least accept, something that has always puzzled me about myself: most of my friends know me as an outgoing person. I make a living out of telling stories and writing books that are sometimes humorous. How could someone like me suffer from depression?
Read moreDepression Doesn't Play Favorites
This is a horrible flaw in the industry’s view of mental health. When someone is having a heart attack, they don’t call around first to see who their insurance will let them see. No, they get to the emergency room and sort it out later. Likewise, when someone is suffering from depression, they usually don’t have the clarity to wade through jargon and complicated phone trees to figure out which counselor they can see. If we’re lucky, these people pick up the phone, call a counselor and say, “I need to talk to someone.”
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