Falling Far From The 'Happy Tree'

I'm the happiest person I know. I'm a radical optimist, lover of life. Even road-ragers. I love them too. So when postpartum psychosis hit me after my daughter's first birthday, I fell very far from my "happy tree".

It began with two words: What if? What if my sweet daughter fell out of her crib and broke her neck? What if I roll over onto her while we're taking a nap? What if she falls off the deck? So I took these "What if's" and make them into a sadistic slideshow in my head (welcome OCD...is that you knocking on my door?). I didn't just think or worry about things happening, I saw them happening in excruciating detail.

The terrifying images of what my mind produced rivaled Stephen King's mind and we all know he's fucking crazy. While driving, I envisioned my daughter's car seat falling out of the door and tumbling onto the freeway. One morning I sat on the bus, and out of nowhere, wondered if I walked in my sleep and killed someone. It was like being forced to watch gory horror films. And I can't even stand Chucky movies.

I didn't tell anyone because my facade of, "I-have-my-shit-together, happy mom" would be shattered. Who would I be if I wasn't the giggly mom that was on top of everything? I needed an identity and "suicidal woman with visions of death" wasn't quite what I shooting for in life.

But what I ended up getting was much better. My postpartum experience made me into a better person than I could have ever tried to be on my own. It ripped me apart forcing me to gently put myself back together. I threw out a lot of old parts I didn't need anymore...one of which was living a facade that everything is perfect. It's not and I wouldn't want it any other way.