A Love Letter to Mamas With Postpartum Mood Disorders


Beautiful, hurting mama, you have more love in your heart than it can hold. It’s why you feel like you’re coming apart at the seams. You are doing the hardest thing anyone has ever done, and you are conquering it with no experience, no preparation, no control. It may leave you battered and bruised and questioning the very meaning of your own life, but you are doing it. Each breath you take, you are overcoming.

That baby you hold, or have laid in her crib, or have sent to his aunt’s house, or put in daycare, or even the one you cannot hold, you are his or her perfect, best mother. Even when you are crying, or trembling, or fighting yourself over nursing or formula, even if someone else needs to care for them while you care for yourself. Your baby knows and loves you, yes, even that tiny one. And though you may not be able to see or feel it through the fear and the guilt and the blinding pain of living right now, you love your baby. You love.

Every moment hurts right now. It hurts to live. But it won’t always be that way. Though these moments in terrible agony may seem like their own eternity, the pain will ease. The suffering will give way to joy again. There is an end to this grey, blank space. There will be color again. You are becoming one of the strongest, most vital creatures known to humankind. You will be a survivor.

But right now, find comfort where you can. Demand help when you need it. Reach out. Don’t be afraid to tell others what you need, and what you don’t. For some it will be coloring books and long walks with baby. For others it will be medication and hospital stays. Still more will benefit from exercise and extra sleep. But everyone will benefit from being gentle with herself, patient and kind. Take care of yourself; you deserve it, but even more, you need it. You are the best mama when you feel good.

Lean into the wind, wrap your arms tight around yourself and hold on. Hold on. We’re walking with you. We are all around you. Feel our hope and our desperation and our need; it’s your need and desperation and hope, too. We are with you. Whatever path you take, you will reach your destination, your little one safe in your arms. Those seams that strain with promise and fear and guilt right now, they will hold, because you were made for this, precious mama.

Beverly's newborn baby son rests his head on her chest.
Beverly and her son.

The Mighty is asking the following: Write a love letter to another person with your disability, disease or mental illness. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.


Find this story helpful? Share it with someone you care about.


Related to Postpartum Disorders

22 Ways to Support a Mom With Postpartum Depression, From Moms Who’ve Been There

A new baby can be the beginning of an exciting chapter in a mother’s life. And while loved ones are often ready with baby blankets, clothes and plenty of toys, they may not be prepared for a mother who is suddenly living with depression. Although, many women experience mild mood changes during or after the birth of [...]

Dear Son: Mommy Has a Mental Illness

Dear Son, I love you. I know I tell you that a lot, but if there’s one thing I want you to know above all else, it’s that I love you. I want you to know it effortlessly, the way one knows there is oxygen in the air, allowing us to draw breath without hesitation. There’s something [...]

A Letter to My Wife After We Lost Our Son

To my wife, Kelly, David and his wife, Kelly. The last two months have been difficult for me as I’ve watched you fall apart and suffer. Not only have you experienced postpartum depression, but you’ve also had to endure the incredible grief and loss of our son, Mateo Aslan Wise, who was born stillborn at [...]

What I Wish I Could Tell My Doctors After Experiencing Postpartum Depression

On June 18, 2015, I gave birth to my daughter. Nine days later, I was home breastfeeding when my brain began to bleed. I was rushed to the hospital; I was suffering a stroke. I woke later in the ICU without my newborn, without the ability to breastfeed and without any hope of a normal life after this event.  [...]