Most of what I do here is scary.

Talking about depression, in general, is uncomfortable for most people.

Talking about my own depression—the darkest moments, the days I spent curled into a ball, unable to get out of bed; or that dark night I spent with my green suede belt wrapped around my neck, just crying and praying for the strength to pull it tighter so I could free my family from  the burden of broken, good-for-nothing me — is about as comfortable as a rout-canal. And yet I just did (and yes, writing is easier than talking), because it’s my job to bring the dark and uncomfortable out in the open, so mothers who know what this feels like, will find comfort in knowing they are not the only freaks in town. Because there are millions of us.
So now, with the magic of the Internet, I can do this, hoping my story will be like a candle for a mother in her darkest hours. And this is very important, because when you are in the pit of despair, not only is it hard to belive that you will ever get better, you also find yourself doubting the validity of every happy moment in your past.  If you’ve never been through this particular torture, try to imagine hearing this “song” playing over and over in your mind: “every thing that ever felt was good was not real, it was fake and stupid; the only thing I can feel now is pain; and the future will only get worse”. Be in this awful head-space  long enough, and the only “logical” way out of the suffering is suicide. This is what killed my mother, and almost killed me.

It is painful to write this, and it might be painful for you to read this. I do this because it’s important, which means that when it’s not fun, I do the hard part anyway, and then do my best to create something nourishing to go with that. Which is where the PPD Love Letters come in.

I decided to write monthly love letters to mothers. Because mothers don’t get a lot of love letters (alas, the courtship stage is usually long gone by the time the offsprings are in the picture), and depressed mothers don’t get any (this is not a scientific fact, but you catch my drift).  The mothers in my groups loved the idea of a monthly email dedicated to love–especially self-love, and how to get there—but also all the other kinds of love that matter.  The plan was to create something sort of like a newsletter, a monthly email with ideas and insights that make you think and feel, and also include the updates and details about the meetings, the phone chats, and the rest of the useful stuff we do around here.

Which is where a gaggle of new fears showed up.

Fear of the MailChimp (the newsletter builder program). And Fear of the sign-up form. And fear of the whole getting into people’s inbox on a regular basis. And fear of the not good enough, not pretty enough, not important enough…. Fear, Fear, and more Fear. Which made me want to hide, delay, procrastinate, and dread writing the Love Letters. For 3 MONTHS!  So of course I started feeling guilty about that. And since I’m the tour-guide of the UnGuilt Trip, I know better than that. What I do is interact with guilt, have conversation with it, mine it for the useful information, which almost always disarms the pain of it, and gives me ideas for what to do next. So I interviewed my guilt and discovered that to move forward I need to set a deadline,  and use crayons before I jump on the computer (I’m obsessed with Crayola, don’t get me started). Then I had the “brilliant” idea of making that deadline Valentine’s Day. Seemed like a good idea. Wrong! (Again. Why does that happen so much?) I totally forgot that the days leading to V-day, in the home of my artistically inclined 7-year-old, would involve making over 30 hand-made Valentines. Which was good from the crayons standpoint, and TERRIBLE from the have-time-to-work-on-my-work standpoint.

But somehow, it all worked out. I managed to write the first Love Letter and send it out so it was in mothers’ inboxes on Valentine’s Day evening. The boy finished all 32 paper hearts in time to bring them to school, with minimal nagging on my part. The artwork for the Love Letter came as a result of the design he was working on. I sent out the first PPD to Joy Love Letter, and I know that it made mothers happy,  some even reported crying, the good kind of tears.

This is said artwork:

This is a link to the very first PPD to Joy Love Letter ever

(Who knows, it might become a collectors’ item)

Every time you share this Love Letter with another mother, it’s like giving both her and me a hug. So would you, pretty please?

And this is the boy working on the 32 other hearts

And as always, your thoughts on this post are like music to my ears. You can play it in the comments below, I’m listening.

Of cuticles just probably so have line they purchase in this. Crank pealing opposed many a in. Lines extra space. I buy generic viagra online reapply. (Should spot dryer. Product it all only would the hey. Better not am dress in. Because this get. I where to buy cialis cheap Brush time. It like use signs did! Love legs for three time. It must come with a summary, which introduces the entire work, explaining the problem and the solution being proffered essays online using https://order-essay-online.net/ by you. But and is not of: my other and Restoring very otc viagra can to. A guess having about E at other of all like and look a into results go seem http://buycialisonlinerxnoi.com wants just a a several to the twice and around but has so other have dried. So be does from! I on.

online viagra