Yes, I’m Scared of the Dark. Terrified, Really.

I have a lot of fears.

Well, maybe not a lot, but at least two or three that seize my body with terror & fill my mind with awful images & scenarios whenever I think of them.

Like drowning.

The thought of not being able to draw in a breath without choking on water & being submerged in a body of water petrifies me.

And snakes…my toes curled up & my heart nearly flew out of my chest just typing that s-word…so I think it’s best we just move right along to my final fear:

I’m terrified of the dark.

Yes, I’m 29 years old and I’m afraid of the dark-have been since I was a kid. Even as grown woman & mother of two kids, a small part of me is always convinced something will emerge from it to “get me,” even though my rational mind knows this isn’t the case.

But that’s the thing about fears, right? They aren’t always rational, are they? (Follow me, I’m trying to go somewhere, I promise.)

I think what scares me the most about darkness is that it places everything it covers into The Land of the Unknown…what was sure & recognizable in the light becomes shadowy, fuzzy & unclear in the dark. For a control freak like myself, I’m sure you can imagine why this freaks me out. I wish I could tell you that I don’t stay awake some nights wondering if the shadow in the closet is really from the ironing board that I KNOW is there…or from some horrific figment of my imagination it’s put there to f– with me. Seriously, I wish I could but I can’t. I don’t do it much when I’m with someone else but if I’m by myself? Forget it. I’m cowering under the covers trying not to think about how unsafe I feel…Sometimes, just to shut up & shut down the fears screaming in my mind I have to actually get up, turn on a light, and go physically touch objects around the room I’m in…just for reassurance.

Crazy, right? Weird, right? Yes I know. Stupid? Probably…but as I lay here in my bed typing this and trying to tell myself I’m not going to wake up with some stranger laying next to or on me, and that the boys & I are VERY safe, I’m realizing that my fear of the dark is really just a fear of uncertainty. I hate not knowing. Ambiguity and I are not friends. Not being able to see & know everything around me leaves me in a very unsettled place emotionally…which disrupts me mentally, and manifests itself physically into agitation, irritability, paranoia, and crippling anxiety. I even get intrusive thoughts sometimes. My mind smells any hint of fear & just takes off in about 20 different directions, all of which lead to something horrific happening. If I can’t see or know everything there is about something, a person, or where I have to go, I’m a wreck and not too pleasant to be around. This is one of the reasons I hate getting lost. Can’t. Stand it.

And it’s one of the reasons why even though growing up a military brat acquainted me with change & taught me the importance of adjusting & adapting to it, I’m not very good at embracing it like I should be. I know, you’re thinking to yourself “The chick who changes her hair color every time she blinks is afraid of change? What the hell?” But seriously, while I may not be afraid of changing how I look, I am terrified of how change impacts my life in other areas.

I like change…There are times my restless and adventurous little soul yearns for it…but then when it shows up ready to deliver I promptly begin to freak the hell out. I know-I don’t get the contradiction either, trust me.

So even though I was dying to pack up & move across the country…am giddy at the thought of marrying the nerd of my life…am relieved to be taking a break from work & school and looking forward to just being MOM….here I am, laying in a hotel room in Austin, TX, (IN THE DARK!) absolutely paralyzed by my fear of the uncertain…of what’s unknown…imagine Usain Bolt running around at record speed inside my head waving 500 “what if?” flags stirring up a fear tornado. That’s my mind right now.

A fear tornado. I’m dead smack in the center staring wide eyed at all my fears & questions swirling furiously around me.

What happens if Bertski doesn’t come back from PA next week because his train derails and crashes and I’m forced to be here by myself? How would we survive & live without him?

What if someone breaks in here or attacks us while he’s gone? How would I defend us?

What if he changes his mind & doesn’t want to marry me?

What if he hates it here?

What if I hate it here? And the boys? What if this was a mistake?

We haven’t found a place yet-what if we don’t? How long can we stay here at the hotel? Will they kick us out? Where will we go?

What if by choosing to “just” be Mom, I lose the other parts of me that make me…ME? What will happen to my passions, my goals, my ambition? What if I don’t go back to school & I regret it? Will my children think less of me if I don’t have a degree? Will I be setting the bar too low for them if I don’t go back?

Can we survive off of just one income?

What if the boys get sick or need to go to the doctor? Or me? Or Bertski? We don’t have health insurance…

What if I’m not strong enough to handle all of this change & I sink into an episode or my illness rages out of control again?

I could go on…but I’ll stop the list there. I know some of these fears are irrational, slightly silly & maybe even stupid-I know this, I do. But there are others that are valid & real and they’re the ones that cause me the most unease. I’m incredibly happy we moved. Grateful for the people we’ve met here & the connections we’ve made despite being states away from family & friends who have supported us for years. Thrilled that I’m doing this with the man I love dearly and my boys…

But I’m also scared shitless over the unknowns of this venture, of everything that sits in the dark, and restricts my vision of the future. We’ve executed a plan that brought us here, but large amounts of that plan have been rooted in uncertainty & our desire to just stick together & “make it happen”until we’re settled.

I’m afraid of the dark, because not being able to see what’s in front of me leaves me feeling very unsettled…uneasy…uncomfortable. I’m trying to take it all in stride & just learn to be okay with not knowing. I’m trying to embrace the nuances of change without trying to control it too much. It’s not easy, but I’m trying.

Well there you have it. I told you some of my fears, what are yours?

Secret Mommyhood Confession: I’m Getting Owned by My 2 year Old

You’ve seen it before…

You’re in the mall, at a restaurant, in line at Target,  at the grocery store, shopping or eating in peace when all of a sudden it sounds like an animal is being slaughtered. Ear piecing screams shatter the peaceful atmosphere as everyone stops wherever they’re at to ascertain the location of the disturbance. As the commotion gets louder, your eyes scan the area around you back & forth, you step out of the aisle, perhaps try to peer over at the next register, and then you zero in on a painful sight.

There’s no animal being sacrificed, no demon being exorcised…it’s just some kid going bat s*it crazy on their poor parent. Embarrassed and red in the face, the parent tries to calm their little terror down by employing all the SWAT team & verbal judo tactics they learned in those parenting books. This only seems to fan the flames of the meltdown as the child resorts to more animistic sounds and flailing about on the floor, face purple from the rage boiling over inside of them.

At this point I’ve only ever seen one of two things happen: either the parent scoops up the kid and flees the store while being pummeled by tiny fists of fury, crushed & mortified, OR the meltdown and failed attempts to squash it tip the parent over the edge of their sanity and they resort to either screaming right back at the child, or lowering their voice to just above a whisper and starting to issue threats that range from bodily harm to being left at the store.

I’ve witnessed this countless times. Before I had children, I used to be one of those people who just stare in disapproval, shaking their heads and whispering to the person next to them how THEY would handle the situation. Yea. I’m ashamed to say I was one of those people. The ones who just stare & cast judgement like they’ve got some kind of  f*cking degree in child rearing that you, the one who pushed the little barbarian out, don’t.  “Oh I wouldn’t have that. Nope. My child would know better than to embarrass me like that, shoooooot.” (Insert finger snapping & neck rolling here, if you’d like.) ” I wish they would. I’d snatch them up in a heartbeat! There’s no way I’d let my child get that out of control.”  (Yea, I was pretty stupid before I had kids, but in my defense I was young and childless-my middle name was Naive.)

Once I had Brennan though, my attitude changed of course. It went from thinking I knew how my child wouldn’t act, to asking God to get us in and out of public places without incident. For the most part, God heard my supplications & was merciful. Brennan was the model toddler. No public scream fests, I never had to exorcise any demons at Target, and thankfully, any tantrums he did have were easily subdued.

Then I had Alex. I knew within months he was going to be that kid, and I would become that mom… you know the one trying to desperately talk down a two year old who’s losing their s*it because he ran out of milk in his sippy cup? Yea, I knew that was going to be me.

How did I know, you ask?  Well, there were clues. As an infant, he cried all. the. time. He despised car rides and never let us get through one without unleashing his wrath. The older he’s gotten, the more independent he’s become. I mean fiercely independent. He has to do things his way, and in his time. You can’t feed him. Changing his diaper is a WWE match punctuated with screams. My boy is so picky he’s gone from eating whole Chic-Fil-A nuggets (no other nuggets will do) to only eating the corners of them.  If he’s not happy about something, trust and believe he’s going to vocalize his discontent over it. Change the channel? Tantrum. A commercial comes on? Ear piercing screams. Tell him he has to wait until after dinner for his daily PediaSure hit? You’re getting cussed out in toddler speak. Catch him dancing to the Fresh Beat Band and say “yay! Go Alex!” and he’s prostrate on the floor, hands covering eyes, face distorted in a scowl.  Tell him it’s time to go bye bye and take too long to get to the door? Tasmanian devil-sized meltdown.

Screams. Scowls. Body flailing. Fists of fury. Anger. Aggression. He’s full of all of it, and I’m completely lost as to how to handle any of it. Do I fall out on the floor with him? Discipline him? How? Since he turned 2 in April we’ve been treated to shouts of “NOOOO!!!!!” while either hitting one of us, pushing Brennan, or launching something across the room. Sometimes it’s whatever’s next to him or in his hand, others it’s his actual body.

It was manageable when he was 1. It’s become hell now that he’s 2. His father and I have been trying everything to keep from resorting to how our parents dealt with us…you know, with a back hand. These days, if you were to eavesdrop outside our door, you’re sure to hear lots of “NOOOOOOOOO!” “Do you want timeout?!” “NO! NO! (more toddler gibberish) NO!” I’m buying a special “time out chair” next week. We’ll see how effective it is.

Yep. I’ve become that mom who has that kid. Maybe we’ll just become a family of recluses. Stay inside until he’s 10…or 30. Or maybe we’ll be the family the entire store is staring at as we try to navigate the Terrible Two’s without losing our sanity…or going to jail.

Just do me a favor: If you happen to see me fleeing Target with a screaming, purple-faced Alex, be a friend. Chase after me and tell me it’s going to be okay and he’ll grow out of it eventually. Also? Bring Tequila. Patron if you can swing it.

*Note: Alex is an awesome kid. Full of laughter and rambunctious energy. I love him to death, but I had to vent about this Terrible Two nonsense. It’s testing the limits of my sanity*

**This post is part of All Work & No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something’s Secret Mommyhood Confession link up. You can read the rest of these posts, add your own,  and more by clicking here**

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Being Black with Postpartum Depression

Postpartum Progress has a new series!

It’s called “Warrior Moms of Color.”

It was created by Katherine Stone to give women from various racial and ethnic backgrounds an opportunity to share their stories of living with and battling through perinatal mood disorders.

I was asked to be a guest contributor for this series and shared some of my experience there today. I’m grateful for the chance to do so, being as that Postpartum Progress was THE website that helped me find treatment and support for my PPD/PPA.

Please head on over and read what I had to say about my struggle with suffering with PPD as an African American woman, and as always feel free to share your thoughts and comments…..I’d love to hear your feedback on this one.

Stopping to Smell the Reality

Ever have one of those days where you question everything about yourself?

Ever wonder if the goals you’re pursuing are attainable…or even worth pursuing?

Ever have a day where you just need someone to look you squarely in the eyes and say, “You are more than your struggles and anxieties. You are going to make it.”

For me today is one of those days. So overwhelmed, I just feel beat up, you know?

Mother.
Clinical Social Worker.
Dance Therapist.
Speaker.
Advocate.
Writer.

Can I really become all of these and do them well?
Can I really help women?
Will I reach recovery?

Only time and continued commitment will tell…..

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She Said It: Kathryn Greene McCreight on PPD, Bipolar Disorder & Faith

image courtesy of goodreads.com

My friend Audrey lent me this book a couple of months ago and I’m just starting to read it this week. The second paragraph of the first chapter made me catch my breath as I read words that seemed to explain what parts of my experience with PPD was like.  As I continued to read the following paragraphs and discovered that the author is not just a mother, but a priest, and also bipolar, my eyes stung with heavy tears and I had to pause every now and then to process the emotions I was feeling.

When I was going through my experience with PPD I felt so alone, because it seemed no one around me had experienced it, or if they had, they didn’t speak up about it. I felt confused and misunderstood, mostly because I couldn’t even articulate what was going on with me, and when I tried, my words left the hearer with the impression that I either just needed to pray more, take more time, or “fix” my circumstances…as a Christian I was even told that I was experiencing the depression and turmoil because I had chosen to have a child out of wedlock…the hell and pain I was reeling from were just the byproducts of my “sin” and I needed to just endure it.

When I was diagnosed with rapid cycling bipolar disorder last July, I felt my faith shaken and my first question to God was, “Can I be a Christian and be bipolar?” How was I supposed to know what was real, how was I supposed to hold on to God in my lowest and darkest moments when all I wanted to do sometimes was just die? My next question was, “Are there other Christians who are bipolar? Where are they? Why don’t they talk about their experiences?”

I’ve ranted on Facebook and Twitter about how there’s a lack of open dialogue, awareness, education, and services in the Christian community for those living with severe or chronic mental illnesses. There are even far less in the African-American Christian community….I’ve yet to hear of mental illness addressed in a sermon or anyone in our culture openly discuss this subject…..

So when I started to read this book, the first few pages seemed to scream what my experience and thoughts motherhood and these illnesses have been like. Her words shook me, so much so that I had to put the book down a few times because my hands and arms couldn’t stop shaking, my body trembling from the force of the tears and emotions welling up inside of me.

So for today’s post, I thought I’d just share an excerpt, share the paragraphs I read yesterday that spoke so soundly to me and I found myself in. If you know of someone who is struggling with their mental illness, especially as a mother or even a Christian, please share this post with them as well. I hope it helps you and them the way it has already started to help me.

When I became a mother for the second time however, the hem of my mental health began to fray. Motherhood by nature challenges the mental, emotional, spiritual and physical endurance of any woman. It is a highly over-romanticized and underestimated pressure cooker, matched in potential not only for the creation of a new family but also for the destruction of both mother and child. Think-with horror-the Susan Smiths and Andrea Yateses of the world. ……of course not all postpartum suffers are this detached from reality.

…..Motherhood, I believe, was only the precipitant for an internal agony that I had been holding back for years. Maybe God had postponed my storm at sea until I could be buyoued by the hopefulness and joy that I derived from my children and husband.The experience as a whole and the experiences that constituted the eventual illness were at least bewildering and at most terrifying. The blue sky which normally fills my heart, stung my soul. Beautiful things like oriental rugs and good food like bean soup absolutely exhausted me. Noise was amplified in my ears, and I fled sound and conversation in search of silence. Small tasks became existential problems: how and why to fold the laundry, empty the diswasher, do grocery shopping. My memory failed me. I was unable to read or write (except for sermons, by the Holy Spirit’s providence, I believe.) And it went downhill from there. A back and forth in and out of darkness lasted for years. ……

….I have a chronic disease, a brain disorder that used to be called manic depression and is now, less offensively, called bipolar disorder. However one tries to soften the blow of the diagnosis, the fact remains that bipolar disorder is a subset of the larger category unhappily called “major mental illness.’ By the latter of my thirties, I had sought help from several psychiatrists, social workers, and mental health professionals, one a Christian, but mostly non-Christians. I had been in active therapy with a succession of therapists over several years and had been introduced to many psychiatric medications, most of which bought quite unpleasant side effects and only a few of which relieved my symptoms to some degree. Those medications that have in fact been helpful, I must say despite my own disinclination toward drugs, have been a strand in the cord that God has woven for me as the lifeline cast out in my free fall.  The medications have helped me rebuild some of “myself,” so that I can continue to be the kind of mother, priest, and writer that I believe God wants me to be. “A threefold cord is not quickly broken” (Ecclesiastes 4:12) The three cords to my rope were the religious (worship and prayer), the psychological, (psychotherapy) and the medical (medication, ECT, and hospitalization).

Yet while therapists and counselors, psychiatrists and medications abound, I found no one to help me make sense of my pain with regard to my life before the triune God. I write this book, then by way of an offering, as what I wish someone had written to help me make sense of the pain and apparent incongruity of that agony with the Christian life. Those Christians who have not faced the ravages of mental illness should not be quick with advice to those who do suffer. “Pray harder,” “Let Jesus in,” even “Cast your anxiety on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7), which of course are all valid pieces of advice in and of themselves, may only make the depressive person hurt more.

This is because depression is not just sadness or sorrow. Depression is not just negative thinking. Depression is not just being “down.” It is being cast the very end of your tether and, quite frankly being dropped. Mania is more than speeding mentally, more than euphoria, more than creative genius at work. The sick individual cannot simply shrug it off or pull out of it. While God certainly can pick up the pieces and put them together in a new way, this can happen only if the depressed brain makes it through to see again life among the living.

This is an excerpt from “Darkness is My Only Companion: A Christian Response to Mental Illness,” by Kathryn Greene-McCreight. You can read her brief bio on her church’s website here

On PPD & Mental Illness: What Would You Say?

This morning my Human Development professor asked me after class if I would like to speak to my classmates about Postpartum Depression.

Is my name A’Driane?

Did I spend all of 2010 and 2011 living with and battling PPD?

Yes. Yes it is, yes I did, and hell yes I will speak to my classmates about such an important topic.

As soon as she finished the question my ear worm immediately started playing the opening lines & notes to “Lose Yourself” by Eminem….

Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment
Would you capture it? Or just let it slip?

A chance. An opportunity. To own a part of my story. To speak openly and honestly about something that leaves most women feeling ashamed and reeling from the effects it has on their lives. A chance to educate and share the facts, not the myths, misconceptions or misleading information that perpetuates the stigma.

I’ve been given another chance to take what I know, what I’ve learned and what I’ve experienced and share it with others, and while I’m humbled and grateful for this opportunity, I don’t want to choke. I don’t want to back out of it. I don’t want my anxiety and fear to get the best of me and push the mute button on my voice. I know it’s just a class and not some big speaking event, but I still feel a huge responsibility to do it well and help people be informed.  I’m learning that when it comes to owning your story, recovery, and healing from pain, taking advantage of the opportunities to speak about what you went through is really important. I’m learning that doing so helps strip shame, pain, and what you’re battling of its power. So even though it’s small, I want to make sure I do that here.

So I’m reaching out to you all. I need your help. If you could say anything about PPD or mental illness to a group of 18-22 year olds, male and female, what would it be? What would you want them to know? What should they know that you didn’t? What do you wish someone had told you?  What has helped you get through it whether you’ve recovered or are still trying to recover?

If you would prefer to email me your response, feel free to do so: bconfessions (at) gmail (dot) com

Whether you’re battling PPD or are a survivor, please help me educate and inform. Your feedback is tremendously appreciated.

Thank you.

How I Learned to Play…the Fresh Beat Way

It’s no secret that I love 2 things: music and dance.
You know this about me, right?
Then it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that my children love the exact two things I do.
Oh sure, they love dinosaurs, trucks,  Super WHY, Thomas the (Incredibly Annoying) Train, Kung Fu Panda, Team Umizoomi and Dora the (ever questioning) Explorer, among others.

But they are just like their mama in the fact that they can’t resist a good groove and enjoy picking up guitars, drumsticks, and rocking out….or dancing til they’re pausing to catch their breaths. Why is this so awesome to me?

Because a year ago it was really difficult for me to sit down and play with my children and I was clueless as to how to connect with them. Not only was I battling PPD & anxiety that made me terrified of being alone with them and physically incapable of sitting still for very long, I was also struggling because I didn’t know how to play with my boys. You see, my dad didn’t play with me growing up. Aside from a stepbrother, I spent most of my childhood years as an only child and my head either buried in a book, doing homework or chores,  or alone in my room. Playing at home was something that just  wasn’t done…it almost wasn’t allowed at times.

So here I am, a parent to two boys, and although I’d always envisioned myself as a tomboyish, fun loving mother, one who played with her kids daily, I found it came unnaturally to me. Playtime was a foreign concept. Sure I bought my sons toys and games…but to actually get down on the floor and play with these toys was a struggle for me.

But….Things started to change once I received treatment for my PPD and started peeling back some layers in therapy. Now I can chase them around my apartment roaring like a Tickle Monster, or slap on a clown nose and encourage them to use their imaginations. I’ve learned how to let my inner goofball out and doing so has helped our bond grow stronger.

When I first started trying to have playtime with the boys, sitting down on the floor and just watching them as my therapist suggested was really tough. But once I realized that they liked to dance and play music, it became easier. I’d throw on our Laurie Berkner music, or sit down to watch the Fresh Beat Band, and before I knew it we’d all be grooving, singing, and rocking along, having a blast.

Ahhhh the Fresh Beat Band. They are hands down our favorite. Yes, they even super cede Yo Gabba Gabba these days, probably because they are less LSDish, and their songs are more danceable. I have to admit, I’m secretly addicted to the Fresh Beats…and I’m sorely disappointed that all of their shows in the surrounding area are sold out for their tour this spring. I’d give my left arm for my kids and I to be there, so we could “feel just like a rockstar, hey hey hey!” I just know they’d pick one of us to dance on stage. I just know it. (If you’re wondering if I have their album and know all of their dance moves, the answer is yes…Brennan taught me. )

So that’s why rocking out with my kids and dancing with them is awesome for me and something I don’t take for granted. Our music and dance times are my favorite times of the day.I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Did you find it hard to play with your kids at first? What helped you work through it? Do you have any kid show addictions? Do you have tickets to the Fresh Beat Band’s show in Philly or the surrounding area? (I’ll buy them off of you-I think I want to go more than my kids do. Seriously.)

 

Wordless Wednsday: Random Snaps

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Circle of Moms Top 25 Blogs on Postpartum Depression: Why I Want to Be Listed Among the Awesome

 I was winding up a relaxing catch up session with my cousin Addye D. late yesterday afternoon, when I happened to check my email and received the shock of a lifetime:

Your blog Butterfly Confessions has been nominated to the Top 25 Postpartum Depression Blogs by Moms – 2012 list on Circle of Moms!

The parts I highlighted in bold were the only words I initially saw and the overwhelming shock that came with understanding what they meant led me to immediately close the email. After a few moments I passed the phone to my cousin and friend Stephanie and just sat there with my hand over my mouth in stupefied gratitude and shock.

When the shock had ebbed enough away for me to recover I re-opened the email, read it through, followed the links  attached and was blown away when I saw the other moms who’d also been nominated…moms I knew. Mamas I had met only a year ago through their courage and transparent words on my computer screen…mamas who embraced me, encouraged me, talked with me, and walked with me through one of the darkest periods of my life. Mamas who became friends, confidants and some of my biggest supporters, mamas who comprise a fabulous army known as the #PPDChat Army on Twitter & Facebook.  I was listed among these incredible women?! Again, I was overwhelmed with emotion and had to back away from the computer to process it all.

I couldn’t sleep last night because after my initial shock and emotions about being nominated subsided, there came the desire to want to be listed, to indeed be one of the 25 who make the list. After that came guilt and the thoughts that tried to rob me of the joy of this accomplishment: “Should I want to win?” “What is this some kind of popularity contest? Is this why you write? To win things, to make lists, to be recognized and applauded? A’Driane get a grip, girl! Stop being so vain,” the guilt laced thoughts screamed at me.

But this morning when I woke up, I didn’t feel anymore guilt because I understand why I want to be listed among these incredible women and I don’t think my reasons and desire make me a shallow, glory seeking hound.

I want to be listed because number one, it help me remember on the rough days that  my transparency means something, that it’s more than just me sitting here spilling my guts on the internet. Practicing transparency is no easy task and it is by no means for the faint at heart. It takes courage to own your story, out loud, in black and white for the world to read and think what they may of it. You know how many people disparagingly told me I shouldn’t do this? That I shouldn’t share these kinds of details about my life? Do you know that no one in my family openly talks about depression or mental illness though it has affected several of us? I don’t do this solely for awards or to be applauded, or even to try and get thousands of page views. I do it because I want to change the dialogue about mental illness, especially among women and mothers. I do it because I want to be a voice, a person who helps others embrace their humanity by vocalizing mine.

I also want to be listed because black women suffer from postpartum depression too, as well as other minorities. It’s no secret that mental illness is a taboo subject among the black community and that the stigmas surrounding it are deeply entrenched, almost impermeable. But I’m trying to change that, and while you may think I’m pulling a race card here, I’m really not. Facts are facts. Blacks, Latinos, Asians and other races & cultures don’t talk about mental health and perinatal mood disorders. And if they aren’t talking about it, that means they aren’t seeking treatment if they are suffering. There needs to be more awareness, more open, shame-free dialogue and more healthy, strong starts for mothers of color and their children. Part of why I’m fighting my way through college right now is so I can become a licensed clinical social worker & therapist to make this happen on a professional level, advocating and pushing for effectual change. Women of color need better resources both online and in their communities. I want to be an online resource they can come to for support and an encouraging virtual bear hug when they need it. I just want to do my part, and being listed in a community that boasts over 6 million moms can maybe help these women of color find what they need.

So do I want to be listed among the awesome? Do I want you to vote for me? Do I feel guilty or shameful about asking you to? Yes, yes, and no, I don’t. Don’t think of it as voting for me, a person. When you cast your vote for me and the other mamas listed think of it as helping to erase the shame and stigma surrounding mental illness. Think of it as helping to give mamas and their kiddos a strong, healthy start. Don’t we all deserve that?

Speaking of the awesome, DUDE-PLEASE check out all the blogs listed and VOTE for them! I’ve been voting for everyone :) Why?  Every single one of these mamas has shown so much courage and strength by giving in to vulnerability and letting you see their struggles and triumphs. Reward their wholeheartedness and leave them encouraging comments, let them know you support what they’re doing and that it’s not in vain.  To see the list of blogs nominated and to vote you can click on the badge to the right under “Honored!” or click this link: http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/top-postpartum-depression-mom-blogs-2012 Voting lasts until February 21, 2012 and you can vote for your favorites once a day every day :)

Congrats to all the mamas who have been nominated!!!!!!!!!

And God…you continue to amaze me. Thank you for being so faithful and just plain AWESOME.