When I see friends who are new moms with their appearance pulled together, enjoying a date alone with their husband/partner, going for a girls’ night, doing their old hobbies, relaxing with a glass of wine and a book after the baby has gone to sleep, etc, etc, I am painfully aware that I did indeed suffer from postpartum depression.
I could do none of these things. When I see these moms, I assume there is some lie behind it — that they are consumed with anxiety the whole time they’re away from home, that they read two paragraphs of that book before putting it back on the shelf. I want to say, “Let’s be real. Post the pictures of the milk leaking down your shirt and the eye circles without makeup.” But it’s condescending, isn’t it, to assume they’re lying when, in fact, they may be adjusting just fine. Some do. I didn’t. It’s all real.