Mama’s Comfort Camp is free and open to moms of kids of any age, from moms of newborns to grandmothers and every stage in between.
We discuss many parenting choices and styles without judgment and  that mothers feel safe enough to talk about the darker sides of motherhood: the anxiety and worry, postpartum depression, guilt, perfectionism, PMS and menstrual woes, , relationship struggles…

There are over 800 moms at the Mama’s Comfort Camp. And there’s a website too, which is where I publish my new writings, .

Just a few more words about the transition from PPD to Joy to Mama’s Comfort Camp:

When I named this blog PPD to Joy, I thought I had a good name.
Short, catchy, and descriptive of my journey.
I didn’t realize the name was getting in the way, that it was problematic.
Turns out it was very problematic.
Twice.
The first problem was the PPD: so many mothers don’t want anything to do with the label.
This problem was not that hard to recognize.
The second problem was Joy. This was harder to recognize, but over time it became clear that some of the depressed mothers I was interacting with felt that joy was so completely out of their reach, it was so far behind, and they felt so guilty (and thus undeserving of joy) that they couldn’t identify with the name PPD to Joy, it contained a cognitive dissonance that prevented many moms from benefitting from my efforts.

I also felt that the blog was a bit lonely.
I’d write, and people were moved by my words, but most of the time I didn’t even know who was here. It became clear that it would be good to change the name, and the framework.

Then the and I dreamed up Mama’s Comfort Camp: the online refueling station for moms.
The name was inviting: what mama would object to getting comfort? And there’s no reason to avoid admitting if you don’t have enough of that. And the structure was better. We created a 24/7/365 interactive forum accessible from anywhere. And beautiful things have been happening there since.

Moms need all the support, community, and comfort we can get.
So I invite you to follow me to the facebook group for sharing, stomping, hugging, learning, and brainstorming with mothers from around the world. Because the hard stuff gets easier when we share.

Hugs,

Yael

If you are struggling today please remember this:

Depression hurts, but it doesn’t mean you are broken.
You are not damaged.
You are struggling.
Every struggle is an opportunity for growth.
(And if you are thinking, take this growth and shove it, I know exactly what you mean).

You donâ€t have to like this to survive this.
You donâ€t have to like this to learn and grow from this.
This sucks, so of course you donâ€t like this.
You have a right to be angry. How could you not be?
You have a right to be scared.

Trust turns caves into tunnels.
When you canâ€t find the light at the end of your tunnel,
dare to ask someone to light a candle and hold your hand.

Instead of hiding, please seek communities of people who “get it.”
Try finding , call your doctor or the , use #ppdchat on twitter, and join me on Facebook at the Whatever you do, please don’t let shame force you to do this alone.

This is adapted from my “This I Believe” Mommy-festo. , it’s  juicy and has more on motherhood and community.

I’m proud to know some of the lovely and amazing writers who are not afraid to talk about depression all year round:
Loads of gratitude to:
Katherine Stone at Postpartum Progress. If you missed last week’s Strong Start Day, it’s not too late to donate to her amazing cause: 
Kate Harding and her
  essay service.the founder of #PPDchat and  of Motherhood Unadorned for   and for all the rest…
, who by being is a huge inspiration
Ivy for her amazing , her and her friendship
Amber of Beyond Postpartum, especially for And Kathy Morelli of

And of course to every single one of my Den Mothers at the , whose blogs are shining examples of the magic that happens when you are willing to talk openly about the hard stuff:

Yuz of 
Melissa of Robin of 
Jen of 
Jaime of 
Jenna of 

When I was younger, I really wanted people to think I was beautiful,
then I wanted them to think of me as smart, then I wanted to be funny,
now I just want to bring people comfort.

I got some interesting responses to this statement, you can

Turns out it wasn’t just wishful thinking.
Back in September 2011, I didn’t know that in March I would start the , and I certainly didn’t know it was going to blossom into a space where hundreds of moms from around the world would share their deepest thoughts. And when I say hundreds I mean 300. As of today, my 41st birthday, we passed the 300 mark. Wow.
I’m totally floored by that. But it’s not just the numbers, it’s the quality of what’s being shared that really gets me. Mamas are taking the mask off and telling it like it is in the safest space possible: not visible to non-members, no unsolicited advice, lots of permission to have your feelings, and reminders that you are very good enough, no matter how imperfect you feel.

So I’m going to pat myself on the back for a moment: in this past year, I did manage to bring pople comfort, and to create a container, a refueling station, a safe room, an environment that promotes and extends comfort to many.
I am so grateful to the Den Mothers and to each and every one of the members in the group.
If you are not yet a member of this group, I hope you will join us:

The writing a paper within https://paperovernight.com not be very relevant here, so you may skip it.

And if you are one of the members of the group: A huge thank you to you, you make my everyday better.

.

Passing the mic to Jenny:

My anxiety if unchecked presents itself in rage. I can go from 0 to 60 in a matter of seconds. I feel like Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde when the rage takes over me. I explode and unleash on whoever is closest to me, usually my girls or my husband. I have never hit my girls in anger, but I shoved my husband in front of my oldest daughter. That was my lowest point of my struggle with postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety. I realized how out of control my rage was. I felt sick to my stomach realizing that
my actions spoke louder than my words to my preschooler. How could I expect her not to hit if I did it? I was wracked with guilt and worry that I was damaging my child. I have not hit anyone since that time. Now when I am in my rage, I throw things or slam doors. Again this is not an effective way to handle my rage. Especially as a homeowner, I need to take care of my home, not destroy it.

I have been working towards managing my anxiety and my rage. I am now sensing my physical symptoms that manifest prior to my explosion. My face becomes uncomfortably hot. I start to feel very itchy, like I want to crawl out of my skin. I have the sensation of wanting to literally run away from wherever I am. I feel like a pot that is ready to boil over. I start to have trouble concentrating.
I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. My breathing becomes very shallow. I feel like there is a flashing neon sign that is telling my brain that there is danger ahead. As Yael says, “Your feelings are valid, but the scary stories they tell are not the truth.”

Sometimes I can stop this explosion. I take a timeout if I am at home. Sometimes I need to get outside and go for a walk. If it is just anxiety, I can walk with someone. If the anxiety is manifesting as rage, I need to walk or run by myself. I also use music to help defuse my anxiety. Singing in full voice and taking those deep diaphragmatic breaths helps me physically. Another favorite way of infusing my being with calm is to listen to Yaelâ€s audio cookies from her (Not) Secret (Not) Weapon e-course, where Yael talks about Permission-Based Healing. I have learned to utilize this when I am in the midst of frustration. I gave myself permission to feel my frustration by stomping and shaking my fists. My girls thought that it was funny. I loved using this technique because it relieved my frustration in a healthy way. It allowed me to express how I felt.

It has taken me a long time to manage my anxiety and my rage. It was a combination of factors that helped me: therapy, medication, exercise, blogging, online support with the #PPDchat group on Twitter and Facebook and the and offline support from my husband, my family and my friends. I realized how critical it was to my emotional health and well-being to take some time every day for self-care. Some days all I can find is five or ten minutes. I also focused on my nutrition and sleep needs. I realize that a happy mom means a happy family. If I am depleting all my energy and resources, I cannot continue to give and give. My energy level or lack thereof can directly contribute to my anxiety and rage. I have also learned to communicate my needs directly to my husband, my family and my friends. It is okay for me to take a timeout in the bathroom. I am not being a bad mom. I am taking the time I need for myself to regain my perspective on a situation. It has taken
me a lot of work to manage my rage and my anxiety, but I am taking it day by day, hour by hour. I am so proud of the progress and the hard work that I have put into managing this rage and anxiety.  I have come so far.  By now I am much better equipped to deal with my anxiety and my rage than I was a year ago.

– – –
Comment magic: please tell Jenny what reading her story has brought up for you, and offer whatever encouragement you can. You are invited to share your own moments of anxiety and rage with us in this safe space.

This is my story (and I’m sticking to it): After my birth-mother lost her life to postpartum depression when I was 6, she went up to heaven and searched for the best step-mother ever. Mina found Mati. She sent Mati to us, and we all fell in love with her. I asked Mati to marry my dad before he did. They married shortly after I turned 7. I call her mom ever since.

Considering the situation, Mati is the best thing that could have happen to my family, and I am grateful beyond words for her in my life. I’m the luckiest girl because of her. I don’t even want to imagine what my life would look like without her. Let’s just say that I doubt that I would have grown to become someone who is able to help others if she hadn’t been my mother. She showed me trust, she showed me functional love.

She is still my best friend and biggest supporter.
Now that we live on different continents, I miss her like crazy. I’m going to see her next week. Wheeee!

Mom, I Love you.

I’m so glad you were born.

I’m so glad you found me.

Happy birthday to you.

For pictures of us together, .You can read more about me and my mothers in . And if you are new to me and my work, please read my More of my back story can be found  and .

Comment magic:
Well, you know what to do.

As always, oodles of love to all who read.
Whether you comment or not, may the joy be with you.

And despite my best efforts, so much of what was supposed to happen before I go, didn’t. In this case you have to look on your own for private accomodation. I wanted to get a haircut before I go. I wanted to make meals for my family to eat while I’m gone. I wanted to wax my legs. I wanted to read all of my friend’s latest blog posts before I meet them for the first time in real life. I needed to arrange for babysitters to pick up the kids from camp on the days I’m away so DH can stay at work past 3:30. Only the sitter happened, and not for all 4 days, so my friend Lesli will pick up the kids on Thursday (thank you sweetie!). I shaved my legs in the shower this morning, I put my hair up in a ponytail, and spent a big part of the morning looking for my keys. Which I was supposed to give to DH to give to the sitter. And now, as the bus pulls into Manhattan, I found in my handbag. Great.

I’m anxious and excited. I’m about to meet  some of my #ppdchat friends, friends from my , and some of the beloved members of my (hi sweeties!), and even one of my students from the (whoohoo! I can’t wait to squeeze you!). I’m anxious about meeting these women whom I know and love online, and somehow not meeting their expectations. I’m anxious about meeting some amazing new (to me) women, and then getting their name wrong. I’m anxious about not getting enough sleep, and about not having enough time to process and absorb what I learn in the sessions.
I’m anxious about this conference. Have been anxious for a couple of weeks. I’ve been using my coping skills so this anxiety is not debilitating. It’s there, I recognize it, I meet it with , I apply my bodymind tools, and I can breathe through it. I am anchored and safe even while I am anxious.
So I’m anxious. Of course I am anxious. How could I not be? The conference starts tomorrow.

So if I meet you at the conference and I look anxious, it’s because I am. This means that if you are anxious too, we have at least one thing in common. So say hello, will you?

(Are you new here? A Rainy Day Letter is a message you write to yourself when you are having a good day, so you can read it on your bad days. Itâ€s like a helping hand, but from yourself. Iâ€d love to add yours to this growing collection. The original post that started the Hope in an Envelope collection is here:  The Opportunity in Setbacks and Rainy Days Letters.)
– – – 

My sweet Andrea,

You had a mountain to climb over the last few years but you made it. You survived Postpartum Anxiety & OCD! Be kind to yourself. Life is full of ups & downs. We are not promised a life that we breeze through. And look at where you are now! You took a negative experience & made it into something positive. You are helping others. You are able to see all of the good that came out of this. I am so proud of you mama!

I know the intrusive thoughts were frightening. I know they terrorized you. I know they led you down a road that you never knew existed. But, you kicked their ass!!! This is something to be proud of!!

You may get intrusive thoughts from time to time. That is OK. You know what they are now. They canâ€t hurt you. Remember, the more you fight them the more power they will have. They want you to be terrified. Donâ€t give in. You are stronger than they are.

You may have days when anxiety storms into your life. Some days you may feel sad but not know why. At times, you may feel a little “off” or not like yourself. Some days will be harder than others. Know that this is all OK.

During these times, you may be told that what you are feeling is wrong, or this will lead to depression. You may be told that you are falling back into that dark, scary place again. You may even be told that you will never feel better.

But sweetie, you will feel better. I know how hard it can be to believe this when you are in those moments of panic, anxiety or intrusive thoughts. But trust me. I haven’t let you down yet! I have seen you in those moments before & you always come out on the other side. This is temporary.

I wish I could tell you that every day you would be happy. But no one lives this way. Apple refurb units are only available in limited units and for a limited period of time. We all struggle, have bad days & experience times where we just donâ€t feel like ourselves. Itâ€s a part of life & I hope that you can accept that & be kind to yourself when you have a bad day or feel “off”. I want you to remember that you cannot be happy every moment of every day. That is impossible.

Remember that you have support now. I know how much you have needed this. You are not alone anymore. You wonâ€t have to go through an anxiety attack or intrusive thought alone ever again. Remember the advice that they gave you. “Going through a hard time does not mean that you are not recovering or havenâ€t recovered. It might simply mean you are going through a hard time. The point is not necessarily never to feel bad, but how to respond to those feelings.”

It has been almost 11 months since you spoke out & began your road to healing. 11 months darling!! The dark clouds have lifted & you get to enjoy the sun almost every day. Be proud of how far you have come & remember your good days most definitely outweigh “bad” days.

You can get through this. You can get through anything.

Lots of love,
Me

– – –
Please share any thoughts and feelings reading Andreas letter brought up for you in the comments.
If you’d like to write your own Rainy Day Letter and share it here, please email me at ppdtojoy (at) gmail (dot) com.
Much love,
Yael 

– – –
Of all the things I regret about my time with postpartum depression and anxiety, the anger is the one I have the hardest time not feeling guilty about.

I want to make sure I’m being precise.  It wasn’t just anger.  It was rage.  Blinding rage.  I don’t know if I can type what comes next, but I’m going to take a deep breath and try.

——

I can vividly recall standing at the edge of the brown patterned bassinet adjacent to the bed, looking down at my two week old daughter, and screaming while tears streamed down my face, “why won’t you just fucking go to sleep?”  Slumping to the floor, I felt my heart break into pieces.  What kind of mother screams at her newborn?

Fast forward seven months and I’m sitting on the floor attempting to change a dirty diaper while my daughter struggles to free herself from the clutches of cleanliness.  I grab both of her arms, pin her to the floor, and yell at her to be still.  “Oh my god!” I yell in her face, “just stay still for one second!”  Horrified, I jump off of her and sit, stunned… and thankful no one was there to see, frightened at my reaction.

She didn’t sleep until she was over a year old.  Getting her to nap required timing, coordination, and patience.  I would hold her body close to mine and bounce, humming to calm myself more than to put her to sleep.  At times I would suddenly notice that I have stopped bouncing gently and was now practically jumping up and down with her in my arms.  I pictured all of the signs from the hospital room.  “Never shake a baby,” they said.  And yet it took every ounce of self control I had to stop and gently rock her back ad forth.

My PPD and PPA went ineffectively treated for so long that I can only hope she has no memories of being almost two and cowering in the corner of my room as I rushed at her in anger.  The terror in her eyes stopped me in my tracks.  I sat on the floor next to her and we sobbed together, both of us out of fear.

——–

I wish the memories I hold so dear from the first two years of my daughter’s life weren’t punctuated by moments of such hatred and anger.  It felt like my body was taken over.  I wasn’t myself.  And I often acted in rage before I realized I was feeing it.  When the medication I took during my second pregnancy (and continue on now – the new baby is 6 months old) lifted the worst of the rage, I was honestly surprised at how automatic it had become.  A reflex almost.

When the postpartum OCD began around 5 months postpartum with this second baby, the rage was the first sign.  It started as irritability.  PMS on steroids.  And then one afternoon, as I was driving with both children to the store, I noticed how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel.  I was just just irritable anymore.  I was furious.  At nothing.  I called the doctor that afternoon.

I’ve discovered, through some intense therapy and honest self-reflection, that my rage is result of pent up anxiety.  It’s worst on days when I am expecting a triggering event to occur, like vaccinations or being alone with the kids in the evening.  If I pay close attention, I can feel the tension in my shoulders and stomach, and hear it in my tone of voice.  Vigilance allows me the opportunity to take measures to release the tension in a healthy way – asking for help, taking medication, taking a nap, or getting some exercise.  I liken it to my good friend’s experience with type 1 diabetes.  She has to monitor her BG levels *before* she is in crisis.  All refurbished units from apple come with cheap spyware 1-year of warranty and are tested thoroughly by the company.She’s constantly aware of how her body is feeing and how she needs to adjust her self care throughout the day.  I try to treat my anxiety and OCD similarly.  The rage isn’t me.  It’s a symptom.  That change of perspective has been key to my healing.

It’s huge for me to be able to tell you that I have not once yelled at my 6 month old.  Though this time I struggle with intrusive thoughts, I have thankfully never found myself rocking her too hard or worried I would hurt her out of anger.  I still have tense moments (most likely triggered by the challenging almost four-year-old) but my physical reactions haven’t returned, and I am getting better and better at sensing the anxiety and reacting with curiosity and self-care.

It is my hope that my story helps other mothers feel less ashamed and less alone.  I hope I serve as proof that you can heal.  But most of all, I want you to know that the anger you are so ashamed of?  That you can’t bring yourself to tell your best friend, your husband, or your doctor about?  The anger you think makes you a bad mother?  Is a symptom.  A symptom you deserve to be free of.  I used to say about myself, “I have a temper.”  Now I say, “I suffer from a temper.”

If you are suffering, reach out.  Tell your partner.  Tell your mom, your doctor, your neighbor.  Tell anyone.  You are a good mom.  You deserve to feel better.

– – –
Comment Magic:
A post of this courage magnitude deserves our love, don’t you think? I hope that you can take a moment to let Susan know how she touched you.  

Go back 5 years and I had never had a panic attack before in my life. I had heard of them, but never experienced them shall we say first hand. I remember the first time I actually realized I was in the middle of a panic attack – it was December 2007, my postpartum depression was undiagnosed, I did not know what was wrong with me and I was shaking uncontrollably. However, you have up to 6 weeks after your arrival time to raise the money scholarship holders for example can wait until they receive their scholarship money. What was scarier though was the fact that I had no idea what to do. I was lost. And it scared me. It scared the living daylights out of me.

Over the last 4 years since that night, I have had my fair share of panic attacks, or a heightened feeling of anxiety. So I named my anxiety – itâ€s called the “Weasel”. Cause that is what anxiety is like. Here was this thing that would suddenly, out of the clear blue hit my body, hit my thoughts, hit me emotionally. I felt like something was taking over my life, my being. And it created fear.

But through these past years, I have learned how to manage, sometimes even prevent anxiety. And I have learned how to live through the episodes and become stronger for the next moment. That has given me the upper hand. And that is what I want to share – what I wish someone had told me years ago when I was so scared.

I have had to realize that I was and am stronger than the anxiety. But I am not a failure when it hits.

That does not mean that I donâ€t live with anxiety, or still have massive panic attacks. No, I do – I will be honest. I know my symptoms much better now though and I know the triggers that can easily set me off; I know that feeling inside when one is about to loom its ugly head. Sometimes I still feel fearful and scared, but then, my dear husband will remind me. I have done this before; I can do it again because I have the ammunition now to battle the anxiety. I have built up my tools to battle the Weasel. I try to take control versus the other way around and letting the anxiety rule my life. Some days my friends I succeed, other day, well, I donâ€t and I am OK with that. The point is I tried.

That list of ammunition and tools will look different for each person. What works for me might not work for you, but here is a short list of some of the things I do in the moment of anxiety and just general maintenance of it.

• I talk out loud when I am in the middle of a bad panic attack. And I get mad – mad at the anxiety. I talk to it, that I am going to win, that it will NOT win.
• Draw conclusions from the past – what happened? Did the fear in the moment of panic come true or was it ok? What was the ending and how did it work? I remind myself that I have done this before and that I did not die like I feel. I survived and I will again.
• Tell myself the truth – donâ€t believe the lie that the anxiety will win. Challenge the anxiety rather than letting it freeze you up. Donâ€t let the anxiety dictate your actions.
• I try different sensory things, like pacing and rubbing a cold cloth on my neck, arms and face. It distracts me from the shaking, and the time moving so slowly.
• I play solitaire on my Kindle – it keeps my mind active and still distracts me
• If itâ€s just a general feeling overtaking me of what I call a jittering feeling inside, I will do something around the house like bake
• If I know something is a trigger for me, I make sure I am in the right frame of mind before I do it. i.e. I donâ€t watch action adventure movies with frightening scenes at night.

This all takes time my friends. Patience is hard – I know. The above list is a short version of my master list – that list has over 40 things that I can do to battle and combat my anxiety at the time of it. That list took me a long time to compile, because I had to find what worked for me.

Some days, I canâ€t always find a reason for the anxiety. I wish I could always say, A = B and then just not do A and never have anxiety again. Sometimes, I just have a panic attack and I need to move on. Anxiety can be a challenge, even to the best of us. Challenge the fear to move beyond it and donâ€t let it win. Use it to motivate yourself to win. We grow when we do something hard and move beyond it. We also create new experiences to convert the old fears to truth. We can remember that truth the next time the anxiety comes. We gain confidence by DOING – even in the midst of a fear.

Remember – you can do this. You can take control of the anxiety and tell it to leave. You are stronger than you realize!

Climbing Out of the Pit of Pain

Have you ever had a moment that completely stopped you in your tracks and made you think, “What am I doing?”

My moment occurred one night during November 2011.  My seven-month-old son looked at me and cried.  He wanted me to actively entertain him at every moment, but I just didnâ€t have the energy for that anymore.  My energy was quickly being replaced with more rage and hopelessness every day.  He continued to cry, and a few sentences played over and over again in my mind.

Please stop crying.  I canâ€t.  I just canâ€t.  Iâ€m so tired.  All I want is for you to stop crying.

This personally written document includes up to 4000 characters and it gives students a great chance to say something about themselves and make a positive impression on their admission tutors.

The pleading in my mind became more urgent, and I burst into tears as an uncontrollable rage built up inside of me.  Suddenly, I repeatedly yelled, “Please stop!”

I was instantly flooded with guilt and confusion.  What am I doing?  Who is this person Iâ€ve become?  I couldnâ€t recognize myself anymore.  I was filled with anxiety and rage.  I was reeling out of control, and I had no power to stop it.

I called my OBGYN for help, and was diagnosed with postpartum depression in December 2011.

The diagnosis was confusing to me.  My doctor had asked me at my postpartum checkup if I was depressed; and when I said no, he had ruled out any postpartum depression.  The problem was that I had never felt depressed.  I learned that you donâ€t need to feel depressed in order to have depression!

In addition to the anger and rage that had taken a prominent role in my personality, I also experienced crippling anxiety and intrusive thoughts.  I was terrified to cook, because I was convinced that a knife would slip out of my hand and fly across the room to injure my son.  I started to avoid driving, because I would constantly think things like, “What if I drove us off of the road?” or, “What if I hit that oncoming car?”  I was afraid to keep attending the local moms†group because I felt like the freak in the room, alone with all of my scary thoughts and anger.  I didnâ€t know what to say to those other women anymore.  They seemed so happy and in control.

I certainly wasnâ€t in control.  I wasnâ€t happy anymore, either.  Generally, I had three emotions: exhausted, irritated and numb.

When my OBGYN wanted to put me on antidepressant medication, I obliged. I felt that if something didnâ€t change quickly, Iâ€d be lost in the pit of pain forever – too far down to reach for help.  It was difficult to believe this at the time, but postpartum depression truly is a treatable illness.

It took me many months to climb out of the pit. Iâ€ve lost my footing a few times, but have never fallen all the way back down.  For me, the road to recovery has involved several avenues of healing.  Medication, talk therapy, and online support in the form of and #PPDChat have helped pull me out of my pit of PPD.

As with all challenges in life, this experience has changed me.  I do find that I have a lot more anxiety and am more easily irritated, but Iâ€ve also discovered methods of coping with these new aspects of my personality.  A few deep, slow breaths can be enough to put things into perspective.  There are still hard days, but they are dwindling.  Iâ€m able to appreciate my husband and son in a way that I donâ€t think I ever could have without experiencing PPD.   Sometimes, there is beauty in the breakdown; and I recognize that every time I look at my son and well up with love, joy and motherly pride.

– – –

Kristing, may your recovery continue undisturbed, and if/when setbacks show up, remember that we are here for you. You are never alone. You can find Kristin  on her sweet and inspiring blog , on Facebook () and on Twitter (). 

Comment magic:
Talk to Kristin, talk to me, talk to you.  Tell us: what parts of her story touched you? Where are you on your motherhood journey? What would reassure you to know?

Few things touch my heart more than stories about recovery and hope after PPD. If you have a story to share, I’d love to publish it here. please email me at ppdtojoy at gmail.