I remember sitting in my doctor’s office when our firstborn was 10 weeks old. Tears and snot streaming down my face, I was desperately trying to describe the crushing anxiety I felt when I tried to leave the house
. I was worried that he’d cry, need to be breastfed
, get hit by a train or that someone would try to take him from me. I hadn’t showered in a week and only the day before had gone to a walk-in hair salon and asked for my dirty and tangled long hair to be lopped of into a pixie cut. Despite working with my doctor and OB/GYN throughout my pregnancy
to keep my clinical depression
and anxiety in check, here I was — a nearly bald, puffy-faced wreck. Sleeplessness and hormonal changes had sent me over the edge and had me questioning whether or not I was even fit to be a parent.