Inside was 3 year old Julesy’s progress report from preschool. It was filled with all the projects he’d done for the year, along with very detailed notes from the teachers on how he was handling the environment and the curriculum. I really loved reading about him, and I was so proud when they said that he’s got an extremely descriptive imagination (this I knew) and that he speaks quite clearly for his age (knew that too.)

But the VERY first thing I saw when I opened the packet was this…

…Which clearly explained to me why HH was laughing as he handed me the papers.

Why is this hilarious? I don’t know. It just is. It was funny to me, it was funny to the family, and it was funny to a hundred random facebook fans when I posted it on my wall with a comment about my apple not falling far from my tree.

In fact, the general consensus on the facebook thread seemed to be along the lines of,

“I’m a Conservative Christian, I love Jesus, I go to church every day, my husband is a preacher, etc, etc, etc – and this is the funniest effing thing I’ve seen all month.”

So, many of us had a good natured laugh about the grading of spiritual participation in preschool, and how funny it is that my little boy already marches to the beat of his own pint-sized drum. Most everyone recognized that I wasn’t making fun of religion, or even this preschool program – it was just a hilariously worded statement. And as the great parenting philosopher Amber Dusick once said, “Being a parent without a sense of humor is like being an accountant who sucks at math.” Well said, Amber.

But some people took this as an opportunity to question why I send my son to a Lutheran preschool when HH and I are decidedly Non-Believers. I think it’s a fair question, and I don’t mind answering it. In fact, I’ll walk you through our painstaking decision-making process.

As soon as we moved into our new rental home last August (in a new town), I called around to find preschool options. I really wanted Jules to be in preschool so that he could have something all to himself for once. He lives in the shadow of his Cruise Director brother who takes up all the space in the room. I thought it would be good for Jules to make some little friends and do little projects without his controlling (yet loving!) older brother standing over him telling him he’s doing it all wrong all the time.

So after extensive research, here’s what I found:

• Wait-List at the Park District for $250 per month (if we ever got in.)
• Wait-List at Montessoris for $600-900 per month.
• Immediate opening at Kindercare for $580 per month.
• Immediate openings at Catholic preschools for $200 -$225 per month.
• Immediate opening at Lutheran preschool for $125 per month.

(there are no free preschools anywhere near me.)

Immediately, all but one of those options was completely out of the question. My husband was about to start his non-paid student teaching, and we’ve been living off savings from our tax return, student loans, and our cashed-out 401k to make it through school. We figured we could afford about $85 per month, but stretched it to $125 to consider the Lutheran preschool.

So, I had a very conflicted decision to make:

On one hand, I’m an Atheist, and Lutheran preschool hardly made sense to me. My husband went through 13 years of Catholic school and considers himself a “Recovering Catholic” now.

On the other hand, I have never minded my kids learning about religions and cultures. Heck, I was raised and baptized in the Southern Baptist church, and if you know anything about them, you know they love ‘ems some Jesus. But I devoured the stories then, and though I gave up my faith, I still love learning about religious history. In fact, listening to my History-Teacher-Husband recount these stories is one of the few ways he can keep my attention (but if he tries to explain basketball to me, lord, I look at him like I’m listening to a detuned radio.)

So, I asked around, and was assured by my friends with kids that parochial preschool is not indoctrination, and he’d surely only be learning colors and shapes and circle time.

I toured the school, interviewed the program director, and liked what I saw. I asked her if they were bothered by non-Lutherans using the preschool, and she said not at all, that most of the parents were not church parishioners.

Okay – SOLD!

And when people on yesterday’s facebook thread started asking me why I sent Jules to this preschool, I told them – “It was all we could afford.” That was the God’s honest truth (no pun intended.)

But instead of them responding with, “Oh, that makes sense,” many of them chose to respond with some classist, judgmental, intolerant attitude that sounded more like it was coming out of Newt Gingrich’s mouth than any of my supposedly progressive readers.

Essentially, I was told over and over again that I was just “making excuses,” and that I hadn’t looked hard enough to find a secular school. I was told I shouldn’t be using a Lutheran preschool unless I prescribe to Lutheran values, and that if I couldn’t afford to pay for a non-religious school, then I should be keeping my kid home. People (who aren’t from my area) flatly insisted that I could have used Head Start even though that was NOT an option for us. The closest HeadStart center is over a half hour away, and we would not have qualified for their program based on our income at the time. One person asked me why I didn’t think a half hour drive was worth saving $125 a month.

So, here’s the math on driving the 20.6 miles and 30 minutes each way to the nearest “free” preschool option:

• 30 minutes there for drop off +  30 minutes back home + 30 minutes for pickup + 30 minutes back home: 2 full hours of driving time and 82.4 miles on the car.
• 82.4 miles X $3.70 per gallon = $14.80 PER DAY
• Tolls = 4.80 PER DAY
• GRAND TOTAL for 8 days per month = $156.80

It would cost us $156.80 to use the nearest FREE Head Start program for preschool. Do I need to explain how $156.80 and 2 hours of driving time costs a LOT more than $125 and a 2 minute drive?

And yet still, some commentors were insisting that I was just not trying hard enough to find free options. Things seem so much easier to judge when you’re sitting states (and worlds) away from someone. The fact that I was doing the best I could with what I had seems completely lost on those people who have the resources to get exactly what they want. This conversation made me realize how quick other people are to judge, and how unwilling they are to take what a mother says at face value.

If you’re interested in advancing women, take notice of how this conversation SHOULD have gone:

“Hey Gina, why are you sending him to this school?”

“Because it was all I could afford.”

“Oh, I get it. Thanks for answering me honestly. It can’t be comfortable to admit you’re broke to 10,400 followers. Peace.”

NOT

“Hey Gina, Why are you sending him to this school?

“Because it was all I could afford.”

“Ugh, WHATEVER. That is such an excuse. I live in Ohio, have NO idea where you live, but I’m absolutely certain that you are wrong about the options in your area. You could find something if you tried harder. It’s not a mystery. You are so annoying to be using a school that your son loves because your atheism is all that matters here, NOT the fact that he doesn’t even realize he’s getting bad marks for Jesus Time. I would suck it up and do better than you.”

Because if you’re doing that second one? Jesus wants to know what the fuck is wrong with you.

—————————————————-

(Sorry to my churchy-followers for my use of the fuck word and Jesus in the same sentence. But you’ll probably agree that he’d let me slide during this important lesson on human decency, tolerance, and parental humor.)

© thefeministbreeder.com

I’ve often noticed various moms around the internet complaining about women who complain about having an oversupply of breastmilk. These moms are under-producing, and feel that women who complain of oversupply are only doing it to rub their hyperlactation abilities in the low-producers’ faces. They equate it to a billionaire complaining about having too much money. To these under-producing moms, an oversupply would be a good problem to have.

But an oversupply is no laughing matter. It’s not just a matter of “engorgement and leaky boobs,” as I saw one mom put it. An oversupply and overactive let down can cause serious problems for your baby and your breasts.

Oversupply and Overactive Letdown Problems in Baby:

Choking and gagging, which can make them so uncomfortable that they may start to refuse the breast at feedings, and refuse to comfort nurse.

Baby may experience painful gas, reflux, and vomiting.

Baby may develop a bad latch, which can cause weight gain problems.

Thin foremilk passes through the bowels too quickly, which can swell and irritate the intestines causing intense pain and irregular bowel movements.

Oversupply and Overactive Letdown Problems in Mom:

Engorged breasts, which are a quick recipe for Mastitis, which is a serious and incredibly painful infection in the breast that requires treatment with antibiotics. Untreated Mastitis may lead to an abscess, which can require surgery to correct.

Trauma to the nipple when the baby develops a poor latch in response to the hyperlactation.

Milk blisters and milk blebs, which are painful and/or uncomfortable.

As you can see, none of these are “good problems to have.” Knowing that an Oversupply and Over-active let down often leads to major pain and breastfeeding problems for mothers and babies, women who suffer this problem need support and information to overcome this challenge.

In some cases, it may simply take time for the body to regulate lactation (often around 12 weeks postpartum.) In other cases, moms can use breast compression or infant positioning to regulate the flow of milk. If you suspect that you have an overactive supply or a forceful letdown, see a lactation consultant for help to make sure you and the baby don’t continue to suffer.

For more information on Oversupply and Overactive letdown, visit KellyMom.com.

© sippakorn

For a long time, for a whole lot of reasons, I kept my mental issues out of my internet spaces. Part of me just didn’t want to deal with my own feelings about it. Part of me knew I’d be judged and looked down upon. Part of me knew I’d get too much support (the kind that makes me more anxious.) And part of me was afraid I’d look like I was hopping on the postpartum depression bandwagon (not that there is such a thing, anyway, but it can feel that way.)

Yesterday, after a long, long journey, I finally visited the psychiatrist at the public health clinic. After her very thorough assessment, she told me very confidently that I have a “severe anxiety disorder.” She explained why she thought that, and I really believed her. Of course I have a clinical anxiety problem. I’ve known this all along, whether I would admit it to myself or not. She told me I needed to consider medication to begin the healing process, and in the long term, talk therapy could cure me of it. We talked for a long time about my present, my past, and the various times I was treated for mental health problems in my twenties. For example:

Did you know I was once treated for Bipolar Disorder? Of course you didn’t.

I don’t tell anyone about the year I spent on Depakote from ages 24-25, which damaged my liver, caused all my hair to fall out, and packed nearly 40 lbs on my small frame.  I don’t tell anyone about that year because A.) it was the wrong diagnosis – within a year another doctor declared I wasn’t Bipolar, and B.) that year was humiliating.

But I generally provide full disclosure on my blog and other social media outlets. I put my birth on YouTube, for crying out loud. I did that because I thought it might help someone else, and ultimately, that’s exactly why I decided to come out of the closet on my current mental health uncertainties. I hoped it might provide some support to the many other women suffering. I also think the stigma surrounding mental health is a feminist issue, and not talking about it would feel very inauthentic to me. I shouldn’t have to be ashamed of this, and neither should you.

When I posted a status update on my facebook page yesterday about having prescriptions for Zoloft and Lorazepam, I knew I was opening myself up to comments. I thought I’d get a few supportive comments (which I did), or that people would avoid the topic entirely. But I didn’t expect to also read a huge heap of condescending, judgmental comments from people who insisted that I was taking the easy way out, who didn’t think I’d done an ounce of research regarding alternative options, and even some who accused me of being a bad feminist for asking Big Pharma for help.

I heard,

“I wish you wouldn’t take those drugs.”

“You can cure this with raw cashews.”

“Pills are the easy way out.”

“Fish oil is a better solution.”

“You’re only putting a bandaid on the problems.”

“Have you even looked into natural remedies?”

“If you just quit going to school, you wouldn’t be so stressed.”

“Those drugs are going to hurt your baby.”

“All you need to do is eat better and exercise more.”

“Why haven’t you been treated by a naturopath?”

“Acupuncture cures everything.”

“A Feminist wouldn’t take pills.”

Some of those suggestions are insulting to my intelligence: Have I not made it clear that I’m an advocate for informed consent? Why wouldn’t I inform myself before consenting to anything?

Some comments are steeped in privilege: My last visit to a naturopath WHEN I HAD INSURANCE cost $500. And my husband has no job. Where the hell do people think I’d get money to pay for $500 visits to a naturopath?

And some are just insulting: “The easy way out?” When have I ever, EVER, taken the “easy” way out of anything? I have scraped and clawed my way out of poverty and suffered for years because I’ve been too proud to get help.

Of course, there were people who didn’t know why I even mentioned it, and who insisted that I deserved the criticism for openly discussing my diagnosis.

This is why people hide this stuff away. This is why so many women suffer in silence.

But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to keep talking about it. What I WON’T be doing is reading any comments that are anything less than supportive. I don’t mind if people have their own opinions, or if they believe something different worked for them – but I don’t have to hear about it. That’s no longer helpful to me at this point.

Last night, I started the Zoloft again. I was extremely apprehensive about taking any pills but so far, it’s been nothing at all like the last time. This time, I’m starting on just half the dosage, so that’s probably making all the difference.

I’m expecting there may be a few rough weeks as the pills start to take effect, but I hope that I can count on my readers to cut me some slack in the mean time. I don’t need to hear about how baked kale would have cured me. I don’t need anyone questioning whether I can take more time off or hire more help. I just want to be able to talk about this without having to dodge veiled insults or unhelpful suggestions.

If you have some support to lend, I’ll gladly take that off your hands.

Over the summer, a widely-read Lactivist made a spectacle of publicly unfollowing me after I posted a picture of my baby soundly sleeping with a pacifier in her mouth. Apparently, I had committed the highest of crimes by using a pacifier – since artificial nipples of any kind can sometimes interfere with breastfeeding – and this Lactivist felt that she could no longer tolerate hearing anything else I might have to say because of that choice I made.

Yes, using a pacifier too often might interfere with weight gain in babies, particularly in newborn period. Using a pacifier might cause problems with the baby’s latch, particularly in the newborn period. However, my baby was an 18 lb four month old (read: HUGE) and had zero problems latching on and effectively removing her milk from my breast. But my daughter, unlike her older brother, flatly refused to comfort nurse, which is quite common for babies who react poorly to a mom’s over supply or overactive letdown. Using pacifier when she wanted to suck, but not eat, was the right choice for her – and there was no reason not to let her sleep long stretches when she wanted.

But no matter my individual circumstances, the Lactivist still believed that my choice was wrong. I personally see this kind of dogmatic view as completely counterproductive to our movement, and has the potential to alienate the exact moms and babies we’re trying to help.

If I – a vocal and stubborn breastfeeder – could feel shamed and ousted by the Lactivist preaching the “right” way of being a breastfeeder, then what about the mothers who aren’t quite as tenacious as me? How does this make them feel? Does shaming, insulting, and humiliating them really help them achieve their breastfeeding goals? Will more babies be breastfed because this Lactivist decided to make a public spectacle about unfollowing me over my pacifier usage? I seriously doubt that a single mother saw that post and thought, “Wow, I hadn’t planned to breastfeed before, but knowing that there’s only ONE “right” way definitely makes me to try it now!”

And I’m not the only one who’s seen how counterproductive some of these comments can be. Many activists in the community have been discussing this issue for quite some time. That’s why I was thrilled when Melinda Olsen, owner of Earth Mama Angel Baby, told me she wanted to come up with a non-partisan way to unify breastfeeding moms and supporters toward one common goal: “To Facilitate Judgment-Free Breastfeeding.”

With input from me and a few others, Melinda and team created this amazing “Support With Integrity” pledge — which encourages signers to make a personal commitment to support breastfeeding mothers without all the ego, dogma, and judgment that can sometimes cloud the conversation.

Ultimately, the whole reason I do what I do is that I care about women, and I want to see them empowered to utilize their body’s amazing ability to autonomously provide food for their babies to grow strong and healthy. Sometimes I do this by raging against the machine, sometimes I feel like I have to call out the systematic threats to our effort, and sometimes I simply offer personal stories of my hard-won battles in an attempt to inspire and support others.

But at the end of the day, I will support anything that helps women reach their personal goal, no matter what that looks like to them. As the Support With Integrity Pledge says, “There isn’t a “wrong way” as long as the breast milk is flowin’ and the baby is growin’.”

Will you sign the pledge, and post it to your blog/facebook/web page?

THE BEST PART!?!?!

You could be over there right now, in your underwear (or your PJ’s, or your business suit, whatever you fancy) entering to win over a dozen amazing prizes from a dozen different sponsors like Earth Mama Angel Baby, EvyMama, FuzziBunz, and more!

Wait – what are you still doing here?

(For real, the prizes are off the chain, and I’m really proud of the work we’ve put into the site so far, so please, go make with the clicking and see what I’ve been fussing about.)

Let me know what you like about it!

(In a few days, when the shine has worn off, you can tell me what could be done better. For now, let me have my hard-earned moment.)

The contests will stay open until Saturday at Midnight, CST, so don’t fret if you can’t enter right away, but I’m allowing people to score points by tweeting it up to once a day, so the earlier you start, the more points you can earn.

NOTE: This guide is a living work in progress.

New articles are being published every single day, both by myself, and by dozens of expert guest contributors. You may find many categories that are bare or sparsely populated, but not to worry, more content is coming by the minute. And if you’re interested in contributing an article, we’d LOVE to hear from you! Is there simply a website you’d like to share? Please, send that to us here!

ENJOY!

So, I decided that I needed a more dedicated space to aggregate and organize all this information. Plus, I wanted to have a place where it made more sense to host regular guest contributors on a wide range of topics interesting to the breeding feminists. I’m connected to so many brilliant women and men, and I have the opportunity to bring their voices and wisdom to my unique space.

So now instead of just a blog, I’ve created an entirely new Resource Guide built especially for my audience: the thinking woman (and man, and everything in between.)

The TFB Resource Guide launches on Monday at 9 am CDT and we’re having a GREAT BIG OL’ LAUNCH PARTY with BIG giveaways from DivaCup, Earth Mama Angel Baby, Dandelion Earth Friendly Goods, Cezara Panty, Snugabell, EvyMama, Motherlove Herbal Co., Natural Urban Mama, and FuzziBunz Cloth Diapers!

Lawdy, Lawdy, you’re going to swoon when you see what’s in my goodie bag. Check out just a couple of the aaaahhh-mazing gifts we’re giving away during the Launch Party!

Earth Mama Angel Baby© Birth & Baby Kit - full size

Babyette Double Layer Gauze Ring Sling from Natural Urban Mama

The DivaCup

Cezara Panty

Dandelion Canvas Tote FILLED with All Natural Baby Toys!

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. When the TFB Resource Guide launches, you’ll get to poke around and view some new articles, then you’ll have a chance to enter to win ALL of these prizes and so much more as my way of saying thanks for stopping by and checking out the new digs.

RSVP RIGHT HERE on Facebook so you get your reminder! See you then!

© Liz Hinz

Thanksgiving weekend, I got an email from a woman named Sheila. Her friend Liz was an avid reader of my blog, so when Liz nearly died in childbirth earlier that month, Sheila wanted me to know. Sheila hoped that I could say something to Liz to help give her hope, and keep her fighting for her life.

Liz suffered a massive hemorrhagic stroke during an induction for chronic hypertension, which led to an emergency cesarean. When Liz awoke, her entire left side was paralyzed and she could not speak correctly. She was so excited to start a new life with her child. Instead, Liz barely survived the birth, and now has to re-learn basic functions. I wasn’t sure what I could do to help her, but Sheila felt that just hearing from me could make Liz feel better.

So I’m doing one better.

To help give Liz hope and inspiration for recovery, I’m launching a greeting card campaign, and asking readers to send Liz a card with some message of support.

Yesterday, when I talked about our major family heartaches, so many of my readers piled in with messages of love, support, and encouragement for me and my husband. But my problems are nothing compared to Liz’s. She has to re-learn how to read, and write, and move – all with a brand new baby. She has started a blog to chronicle her journey and help her practice typing and writing. Knowing what Liz is suffering, I hope that my readers will direct this outpouring of support toward a mom who really, really needs it right now.

And Listen: I’m going to be totally, horribly honest when I tell you this — The incredible, heart-wrenching support I’ve received over the past few days is actually increasing my anxiety. I’m sorry if that sounds ungrateful, or hurtful. Please don’t take it that way. This is just how my dumb brain reacts to attention like this. Knowing that people are sad for me, while other people are suffering so much worse than my family, makes me feel guilty and even more anxious. I need everyone to redirect this incredible support to a family truly battling tragedy so that I can feel that this blog uses its power for GOOD. I’m sorry for however that sounds – I know I’m a basket case.

So if you really want to make me feel better, then please, help me help Liz.

Here’s all you have to do:

1. Grab a greeting card, or have your kid make one, or simply fold a piece of paper in half.
2. Write a note to Liz. Tell her you’re rooting for her. Tell her the story about your family member who suffered a stroke, and what helped them recover. Tell her that you’re glad she’s still here, and that Sheila told us about her. Tell her anything you think will brighten her day.
3. Slap a postage stamp on, and send it to the following address: 

   Liz Hinz
   C/O People’s Food Co-op of Kalamazoo
   507 Harrison St.
   Kalamazoo, MI 49007

THIS. This will make me feel great. This will hopefully make Liz feel great. And hopefully Sheila will feel like she accomplished her goal for finding Liz some comfort.

If you do this – please take a picture of the card you send and upload it to my facebook page. I would love to see it. This would make my week.

THANK YOU.

I went to the general practitioner (assigned to me by the state, since we’re on Medicaid right now) about my worsening anxiety issues. The office was small and smelly. The doctor spent three or four minutes with me before declaring that I couldn’t get any treatment for my anxiety if I insisted on continuing to breastfeed. That was that.

Oh Jesus. Please do not send me 64,892 links to Dr. Hale’s work with the Infant Risk Center. I know all about it. I know there are meds safe for breastfeeding, and I know this doctor was wrong. But that doesn’t help me. I can’t prescribe myself medication. And I’m a little too busy to mess around with filing complaints or going back to argue with her.

I left the office with nothing more than directions to the county health clinic, and numb arms from the 45-minute-long panic attack I had sitting in the smelly office. I didn’t even have so much as a referral.

I came home crying, feeling defeated. Feeling despondent. The husband wanted to hug me and talk about it, but I told him I just wanted to be left alone. It took me years to work up the courage to get help, and the doctor took only five minutes to show me she didn’t care.

As I sat there fighting back tears, HH gets a call from the school district where he was set to start his new teaching job next week. The one he got hired for a month ago. He was waiting for the call from HR to have him go in to sign all his paperwork and get set up in his new classroom, so we assumed that’s what the call was about.

Instead, the woman on the other end of the line starts the call with, “John, I’m sorry, I have terrible news.” She then goes on to tell him that something went wrong — they didn’t understand it, but the District Bilingual Director would not approve him for the position. Her reason? He had gone to too many colleges early in his academic career (even though he graduated WITH HONORS and TWO certificates – a Type 09 (Secondary Ed, History) and a Type 29 (Bilingual Teaching.) The principal of the school fought for John, but the District Director wouldn’t budge. They were told that him attending a few different colleges 10 years ago made the director “uncomfortable.” That’s it. No other explanation. It didn’t even make sense to the school administration, but their hands were tied.

I was in the living room crying over the shitty doctor appointment when I heard John downstairs starting to hyperventilate on the phone, saying “Oh my god, this can’t be happening, please say this isn’t happening” to the hiring manager. I ran downstairs to find him white as a ghost with tears welling up in his eyes. I mouthed “They took back the job?!?!?” and he shook his head Yes.

I crumpled onto the stairs and just sobbed. He has – WE HAVE – been counting on this job for a month. There’s pretty much NIL chance of getting hired by another district now that school has already started. He probably won’t be able to find a full-time position until at least August now, so we don’t know how to pay rent for the next eight months. He’s set up with a district to sub, but the pay is crap (minimum wage) and there’s no guarantee he’ll even get called.

There really aren’t words for how much this sucks. My anxiety went from “Maybe I can cope if I try real hard” to “I’m falling apart at the seams and may not make it through the day alive.”

I called my mother-in-law and asked her to come over. I had to go to school and HH needed to start job hunting, so I needed someone to pay attention to the kids. Then I called my dad and asked him to come help, too. I needed my family to be here. I needed people who understood how much this sucked to be here in my house. They understood. They hugged us. They helped us survive the shared nuclear meltdown HH and I were having. Without them, I don’t know how my kids would have been spared watching the two of us lay in bed and cry.

When HH got in the shower, I called the county health department – the place the ignorant doctor had given me directions to. I thought I would be okay to talk to them, but I couldn’t stop crying, and ended up sobbing “I’m sorry” over and over to the person on the other end of the line before I could even say my name. They transferred me to a doctor who listened to some more of my unintelligible sobbing, and then began the interview process. He was amazing to me. At first he asked some really difficult questions, like “Are you going to hurt your baby? Are you going to hurt yourself?” to which the answers were “Absolutely not – nothing like that.” I’m not a danger to anyone – I just feel like I’m going to have a stroke and die every five minutes. When the doctor realized things weren’t emergent or dangerous, he started setting up an appointment for me to be seen Tuesday morning. He talked to me for 45 MINUTES. He made me feel cared for. He made me feel like I had a shot of getting help.

After that, I had to hang up and rush off to start my first night of my last semester of school. If I can survive the next 17 weeks, I will graduate Summa Cum Laude on May 12th.

I don’t know what’s next for Hyphenated Husband. He’s searching high and low for work. We’ll see if we can keep our house, but that doesn’t look good.

In the meantime, I am going to keep on truckin’. I’m taking my GRE this week, launching the new Resource Guide that I’ve been WORKING MY ASS OFF ON next week (details to come) and finishing my MPH applications.

And I’ll keep blogging about my mental breakdown – just in case it might make someone else feel less alone.

© cbenjasuwan

For the last dozen years, I’ve been suffering from on-again/off-again stress-induced anxiety problems. I’m high strung by nature, and after I landed in the ER a few times in my late-teens and early twenties thinking I was dying of a heart attack, some doctors figured out that my episodes were merely severe panic attacks. But I don’t like brain-altering drugs – they freak me out hardcore – so I didn’t stay on the medications they prescribed.

My first pregnancy was pretty rough on me emotionally, and the induction-turned-cesarean birth was traumatic both emotionally and physically. A year later, when I told my OB’s new partner that I was planning to get pregnant again, she asked me not to – not until I would agree to be treated for the postpartum mental health issues she could see me suffering. Apparently my chart indicated that my OB thought I began showing depressive symptoms back during my pregnancy, but he failed to mention that at the time. Gee – I wonder why he thought that? I was only begging him to induce me at 28 weeks pregnant because I could not physically stand the thought of being pregnant for a single second longer. That’s not exactly healthy thinking. But he chuckled it off and offered me a 40-week induction instead which certainly didn’t cure my depression. It only made it ten times worse. I remember him casually offering me anti-depressants several times after my son was born, but I didn’t think I needed them.

But, at 12 months postpartum, when the new partner OB told me she thought I needed some help, I finally agreed to 25 mg of Zoloft. I was pregnant immediately, and stayed on the drugs until my second son was born. After that, I felt great, so I stopped them again. They were never supposed to be permanent anyway.

I was totally fine for a year and a half. During my son’s first year of life, I was working full-time, going to school full-time at night, running a side business, blogging, and maintaining my sanity through it all. In fact, I don’t remember struggling with my ridiculous schedule one bit. Life was incredibly hard, but I was coping surprisingly well.

But when my son began to nurse far less, I suddenly got very weepy and anxious again. I saw my new provider, who recommended more drugs, but I didn’t want to take anything while nursing. I know there are medications that are safer for breastfeeding, I just wasn’t willing to take the risk.

This was two years ago, and things have gotten progressively worse ever since.

I started feeling especially crappy again during my third pregnancy. The hormones wreaked havoc on my mood, so my midwife prescribed some more Zoloft again, but I had a horrible experience with it. Instead, I began taking handfuls of vitamins and supplements every day in an effort to stay sane. It worked on most days. On some days, the anxiety was palpable.

Then, I had a colicky daughter. I survived the first month (I think) by a combination of my intense high from my birth and those lovely little placenta pills that gave me more energy than I ever thought possible. But once those wore off, and my daughter’s fussiness had me worn down even farther, daily anxiety attacks became my new normal.

I’ve been refusing to deal with this for quite some time. My friends tell me to get help, but I don’t listen. I tell other moms to get help, but I won’t do the same for myself. On the occasions I think it’s time to seek medical treatment, I talk myself right back out of it.

Every day, I run through the following “good” reasons why I don’t really need help:

“I’m just taking on too much. Anyone would be stressed. Anxiety is a normal reaction to being this busy.”

“My grandma had seven boys, a birth-control-induced stroke, and a prolapsed uterus in one decade, AND she worked! I should be able to handle this.”

“If I only slept more, ate better, or got a break from the kids, I would feel better.”

“Doctors over-prescribe drugs, and I don’t want to let them do that to me (again.)”

“What if I feel WORSE? I don’t have time to feel worse. I cannot risk feeling worse right now.”

“I don’t want my baby on drugs.”

“What if they diagnose me wrong? I don’t have time to experiment with this.”

“If I admit I’m having problems, the trolls are right about me – I AM worthless/stupid/lazy/wrong.”

And that’s how it goes, every day. I sit down to study, or work, or take care of my kids, but my mind won’t stop racing and I feel sick to my stomach – and the whole time I’m telling myself it’s fine because I’m too afraid of what getting help MEANS. I hear my family in my ear telling me that mental health problems are “all in your head.” I know that’s wrong. I constantly tell other women to get help when they need it, but somehow I tell myself I don’t qualify.

Until now.

My blogger friend Liz* wrote me last week and said she was having a really hard time. She’s got kids the same age as mine, except she also has an older one as well, and she’s pregnant, and she was feeling “just so done,” as she said. So I told her I was coming over to bring some Rescue Remedy and lend an ear.

But when I walked in the house, I immediately felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Her kids were doing and saying the same things my kids were doing that day, and she was reacting with the same sense of anxiousness, sadness, and exasperation I usually feel. She was telling me about the unusual stresses the family is faced with now, and they all sounded exactly like the unavoidable stresses we’re dealing with at the present moment. The longer I sat there, the longer I felt like I was looking straight into a mirror. It was totally eery. And as I listened to her, I suddenly realized that the kids and the work and the stress aren’t going to vanish any time soon, and maybe we both need help coping. Maybe we can’t cope as well as other people because we’re simply not equipped?

So I told Liz what I was thinking, and I made her make me a promise: If she called her doctor, I’d call mine too.

I left her house and called Hyphenated Husband, who told me he’s been especially worried lately. He sees my anxiousness on 11 all day and night now, I haven’t been able to relax or sleep in weeks, and it’s not fixing itself. The Rescue Remedy and calming teas certainly take the edge off – but I need a 24/7 solution.

So while I was at a playdate the next day, HH called and made an appointment for me to see the doctor on Monday. I have no idea what she’ll say. I have no idea what (if anything) will be prescribed.

All I know is that I’m ready to tell someone who might be able to help. And that is a terrifying thing to admit to myself, and everyone else.

*Liz gave me permission to share all the details of our conversation here in case it could help somebody else. I hope it does.

But Jolene has always been different. Sure, I’m also a different mom now than I was to the first two babies. I’m more relaxed about bedsharing. I know the safe co-sleeping rules, and I know how beneficial it is for my milk supply. But Jolene wouldn’t sleep in her crib at night even if I tried to force her. From the time she was tiny, she needed to be worn or held constantly. Unlike my boys, Jolene simply could not sleep alone – except for short naps during the day. She is a high needs baby. The only way I could get any sleep was to have her in bed with me, otherwise I’d be up all night sitting by the side of her crib nursing her. No thanks! So she shared my bed at night, and that was fine by me, because I felt she was safest right next to me anyway.

That sleeping arrangement worked wonderfully for many months. Jolene would go to sleep around midnight and stay in bed all night until the morning. But in November, something changed. It was so sudden and intense it nearly gave us whiplash. Suddenly she started going to sleep later, then later, then even later. She became more inconsolable at all hours of the day, and wanted to be up all night. During the month of December, Jolene began a habit of not going to sleep until 7 or 8 am after crying nearly all night long.

During this time, she was doing a lot of teething, and learning to be mobile, so I never could quite pinpoint exactly what was bothering her. Was it sore gums? Was she just frustrated because she couldn’t physically move herself where she wanted to be? Was all of it just too overstimulating? I never knew.

It all finally came to a head on New Year’s Eve when she broke out into a rash all over her face. At first, we thought it was a food allergy, but then we quickly realized that the rash was from Fifths Disease – a common childhood virus. We knew this because exactly one week earlier, on Christmas Eve, we had her in the ER with a fever of 103 after she’d spent a solid day screaming bloody murder. The ER couldn’t find anything wrong – but when the rash showed up a week later, it was obvious then what she’d been suffering. The night of the rash, she finally seemed happy and content again, and she slept several straight hours for the first time in a month.

But unfortunately, she couldn’t sleep in bed with us anymore. Her newly developed crawling skills were getting her into quite a bit of trouble, and she became obsessed with crawling off the bed as soon as we dozed off. After the second time we caught her by her face as she nearly went tumbling over the side, we knew she needed a safer sleep environment. I briefly considered putting our mattress on the floor, but I didn’t want her crawling off the bed and exploring our bedroom while we unknowingly slept.

So we decided she needed to sleep in her crib – but I wasn’t sure how she was going to react to that. She had always patently refused to sleep in her crib before, so we didn’t expect much.

But to our shock, Jolene has slept in her crib ALL NIGHT LONG for two straight nights now – from 8 pm to 6 am. I’m not even kidding. She’s only woken up once to dream feed, but stayed asleep the whole time, and went right back into her crib without protesting.

I can’t believe it. The Baby-Who-Refused-to-Sleep-Anywhere-Except-My-Armpit transitioned into The-Baby-Who-Refused-to-Sleep-Anywhere-AT-ALL, and then finally into The-Baby-Who-Actually-Sleeps-In-Her-Crib-ALL-Night. Of course, it’s only been two nights, and she could certainly turn back into a non-sleeper, but I think she’s officially out of our bed, and I’m actually okay with that. I wouldn’t have been ready a few months ago. I needed her with me, and was scared for her to sleep alone. But now, as long as I can stare at her in the video monitor and listen to her breathe, I’m happy to have my side of the bed all to myself again.

Of course, now I have to figure out how to sleep again. Her months of restlessness have aggravated my anxiety issues, flaring up my life-long insomnia to the point that I’m wired all night now. I’ve tried all the homeopathic and natural solutions I can think of, so I might need to bring in the big guns soon.

But I’m not going to complain. My baby has given me my sleep space back, and it’s up to me now to use it.