Minds

The morning dread. The withdrawal from co-workers and loved ones. The point is: my job was no longer working for me. And it was time, debt or no debt, to set myself free.

My daughter was just reaching her first birthday before the dense fog of postpartum depression started to lift off of me. I didn’t realize it right away, though – and I certainly hadn’t even realized I was suffering from PPD at all.

When I’m in the company of family, my strongly held beliefs about positive body image, my carefully honed confidence that I am more than numbers on a scale, my uncompromising rebellion against the patriarchy and its arbitrary rules for women’s sexuality, crumbles into a fine dust that blows away with one heavy sigh.

When my husband and I began trying to conceive, I was anxious about how my antidepressant medication would affect a pregnancy, especially after reading terrifying pseudo-scientific articles and judgmental, paranoid commentary lurking in The Seventh Circle of Hell known as mommy boards.

The first step isn’t to admit I have a problem. I don’t.

Body-shaming exists, but we shouldn't accept it as just another sad and simple fact of life. Model Ashley Graham is on the front lines of this fight for body positivity.

The hypervigilance began in the last month of my pregnancy, when cars on the freeway started to feel a little closer than usual. By the time I was due, it felt like they were purposely heading for my car.

Trauma has a way of breaking people down. It's consumed almost every moment of the last 15 years of my life- from the mental health consequences, such as PTSD and years invested in therapy, to the trouble I have connecting with other people and opening up.