A Letter To My Mom
We’ve come a long way.
Do you remember what I was like when you were holding my new baby boy, your first grandson in this photo? You said it was as if a light suddenly went out in my eyes. That I looked like a ghost of my former self.
You also told me you would never let me stay that way. You said that one day my son would be my little buddy. You answered your phone every morning when I called you as I was walking circles around the neighborhood ugly crying to you that I would never get better. You promised me I would.
For Mother’s Day, I want to say, “Thank You.”
Thank you for holding my hand when I had postpartum depression.
Thank you for staying with me when you could.
Thank you for being my rock.
Thank you for always answering the phone.
Thank you for helping me find the right therapist and get on the right medication.
Thank you for reassuring me that I didn’t have to feel any guilt over quitting breastfeeding and choosing formula.
Thank you for coming with me to the lactation consultant to ask how to stop.
Thank you for being my voice when mine went quiet.
For Mother’s Day, I want to tell you what all moms long to hear. “You were right.”
You didn’t let me stay that way.
I did get better.
My now four-year old son is my little buddy.
Today, on Mother’s Day, I want to let you know, “I think you’re pretty amazing.”
Not only did you help me, but you went on to help other moms also suffering from postpartum depression.
After I got sick, you got trained with and got certified by Karen Kleinman, “postpartum depression guru” and went on to see many patients struggling like I did. You helped these new moms find themselves and their voices again, just like you did for me.
Thank you for taking this gut-wrenching experience we shared as a mother and daughter and use it to help others know they are normal, not alone, can get better, and have nothing to be ashamed of.
I’m proud that we can both do this, you with your counseling, and me with my writing.
For Mother’s Day, I want to tell you, “I love you.”
Jen (Your Medicated Daughter)