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This woman's emotional postpartum depression story is actually incredibly common.

Postpartum depression is valid. It is real. And it can feel devastating.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

I gripped the wheel as I inched across the ice-caked road, my knuckles nearly the color of the falling snow. My thoughts bounced recklessly through my sleep-deprived brain.

What if I slide off the side of this bridge? How will I save them all? How can I get them all out? Who left me in charge of three children? How do I even have three kids? I don’t know how to do this. What if I am ruining them all?

Behind me, my 6-year-old son was chattering away about his day at kindergarten as his 5-week-old sister screamed like a baby velociraptor on one side of him and her twin brother slept serenely on the other. I barely heard him talking. The heat hissed through the vents, a steady wave of false comfort.

The boy could probably swim, but the water would be so cold it would be hard to move. Would we be trapped beneath the ice of the frozen Mississippi River that had seemingly slowed to a halt below us? And my babies. My teeny, tiny babies. They aren’t even close to 10 poundsyet, I recalled, as though that arbitrary weight would somehow keep them safer in the icy blackness of the churning river below. How quickly could I undo not just one car seat, but two, in the subzero swirl of stunning darkness?

I was terrified — barely breathing, tears rolling down my cheeks.

That late January afternoon, I wondered how I could possibly be responsible for three children.

I thought there was no way I could save them. I wondered if this was all some sort of mistake. And I deliberated the best possible ways to shield them from my anxiety-riddled mind.

Photo via iStock.

Was I ever concerned about hurting my children? Never.

But I was unsure of how I could attend to their needs and be the mother they all deserved. Every word and movement and thought felt like an affront. I was failing at the most important thing in my world — being a mom.

I won’t say I was overly surprised I had postpartum depression.

There were prior decades of burying pain and trying to ignore all of the demons who haunted my sleep. But now here I was, surrounded by love in its purest and most reverent form — two babies and a joyful, compassionate 6-year-old.

I thought my unending despondency was proof I did not deserve my children. I tried desperately to hold it together. To wish away the feelings of failure and emptiness and despair. I stared at the twins and breathed in their sweet sleepy skin and wished I could stop feeling so horribly sad in the midst of my little miracles. Not even my closest friends knew.

I smiled and carefully maintained a façade of stability as best I could until I was alone and able to collapse into myself. Acknowledging the hopelessness and melancholy that formed an edge around my every waking hour.

My constant companions were irritability, anxiety, an unending feeling of being overwhelmed, and sadness. Pure, shoulder-sobbing sadness. I cried a lot. Sometimes for hours on end — seemingly without reason.

I had struggled for almost four years to get pregnant.

Seemingly spreading my legs for every fertility doctor in a 30-mile radius. Broken and nonfunctional parts of my reproductive system were surgically removed. Medications were ingested. I willingly offered my then-taut abdomen as a pin-cushion to the hoards of needles that arrived at my home. A medical waste container assumed a position on top of my fridge.

For years the struggle was fruitless. And eventually, it became clear the IVF was our only option. And so it began in earnest. I ran, I ate healthy, I meditated, I wrote. And then it happened.

I was pregnant. Not just one, but two sesame-seed-sized hearts were beating inside of me. I was elated and terrified. For 37 weeks, I did every possible thing I could to protect the lives I was now nurturing and incubating. And then they were born. My babies were here. Tiny hands and soft skin and inviting eyes. My heart grew immeasurably, as did my sadness.

Photo via iStock.

It was a desolation that did not fit the attendant circumstances.

Yes, I was exhausted. Yes, I was anxious. Yes, I had the “baby blues” from the sudden surge of hormones (that were not administered by injection).

But this was more than that. This was postpartum depression.

I was ashamed. Embarrassed. Worried about what others would think or say.

Certain I was a horrible mother and my children would be better off without me. Unable to be away from my babies for any amount of time. Terrified of what would happen if I was not always vigilant.

I sat on my couch, in my car, in the shower, virtually anywhere — willing myself to feel better. I thought I could fix it. That I could try harder, smile more, eat healthier, get a little sleep.

I was certain I had to take care of this alone and that no one could know how horribly I was failing my children by being depressed. I thought since I was the one who was broken in the midst of so much perfection, I could not tell anyone.

I felt utterly and completely alone.

Photo via iStock.

And then one day, several months after the twins were born, my partner looked me straight in my bloodshot, swollen eyes and said: “You need to talk to someone about this.”

After much hesitation, I picked up the phone and carefully dialed the number. I hung up three times before I heard the entirety of the greeting on the other end. My voice was barely audible. The person on the other end was clearly not in the mood to accommodate or calm my fears. Her concern was only with scheduling an initial appointment, and she fought to understand what I was asking for with my cracking, shaky words. Alas, an appointment was confirmed and the wheels were set in motion.

Close to two weeks later, I met with a psychiatrist. She empathetically engaged me and offered the kindness and understanding I needed.

She heard me. She saw me. And she didn’t look away.

The psychiatrist mentioned medications that might help. After careful consideration and having my fears about antidepressants and breastfeeding assuaged, I elected to take a low-dose prescription.

It was an internal battle, and some days I hated myself for needing it. I thought I was weak. More proof I was incapable of being a good mother if I was not medicated. After a while, though, I came to see that nothing could be further from the truth. I had sought help. I was able to take a step back and understand that even if I was depressed and struggling, my children needed me to be at my best, and I too deserved to feel better. I was also referred to an incredible therapist who would become a proverbial hand to hold through the darkness.

Several weeks later, I carried my then-4-month-old babies into the waiting room of a clinic at a large public hospital.

Each child was carefully cradled in a bulky and protective infant car seat. I was nervous. Hesitant. Exhausted. Embarrassed. And desperate.

I checked and double checked to make sure I had not forgotten one of my babies — I never did, but I worried regardless. I made sure they were breathing and not overheating.

A bag full of accouterments that rarely needed to be used was slung over my shoulder. Diapers and wipes and hand sanitizer. Toys and clothes and burp cloths. A blanket or two. I tried to convince myself that if I brought the right things with me, I would be OK, they would be OK. We would all be OK. I was beyond tired.

My bones ached with exhaustion beyond what could be anticipated from caring for two infants simultaneously. My hands trembled from the constant barrage of being so overwhelmed. I gazed lovingly at my two tiny babies and hoped beyond hope I could do better for them.

What if the therapist thinks I am unfit? What if one of my babies starts crying and I can’t get them to stop it? What if I start crying and cannot stop either?

None of these things happened.

I hesitantly sat down in her office and desperately tried to hold it together. Until she told me I didn’t have to be strong all the time.

Until she explained that my frightening new normal was not abnormal. Until she said she understood — and I believed her. It was only then that I let loose a torrent of tears I was not certain would ever end.

I rambled on and on as she looked at me intently with an empathy that spoke volumes. She held my gaze and assured me what I was thinking and feeling and saying all made perfect sense. She seemed to genuinely understand the desolation I felt, and she never assigned any judgment to it.

For months we met biweekly and sometimes weekly. She provided a safe space where I could open up about my feelings of inadequacy and my concerns for the future. Some days, I just sat down heavily in the chair, my babies playing at my feet, and said: “This is really f*cking hard and I don’t feel like I am doing anything right.”

She had an endless amount of patience for my self-deprecation and was there to remind me it was entirely OK to feel simultaneously ecstatic and distraught. More than anything else, she listened and just let me speak — or cry — as needed.

Photo via iStock.

And after some time, the intense sadness did begin to dissipate.

I started to find my footing and not feel entirely leveled on a daily basis. It was hard-fought but well worth the effort.

Two years ago, a dear friend was pregnant with her first child, and she lamented her concerns about postpartum depression. When I mentioned I had experienced it and there were options available if it did happen, she was nearly flabbergasted.

“You did?! I had no idea.”

And that was entirely the point.

I hid my sadness and my despair and my tortured thinking from as many as I could.

I was ashamed. I was sad at such a seemingly happy time in my life. I wanted to let others know I needed help, but I also feared how weak and ungrateful I would seem if I articulated a need for assistance.

According to the American Psychological Association, up to 1 in 7 women experience postpartum depression in the weeks and months after giving birth, but not everyone seeks treatment. Many go through it alone in silence, wondering what is wrong with them.

Depression tells you no one else will understand. It coerces you into believing you are alone and you should be alone. It silences you when all you want to do is ask for understanding and kindness. Postpartum depression offers the same delusions, with the added variable of a new baby (or babies) and all of the attendant duties, responsibilities, and expectations placed on mothers by themselves, their families, and society.

It is an equal opportunity offender, catching new mothers off guard in the midst of what they have been repeatedly told is “the happiest time in their lives.”

Was my childbirth experience the perfect storm for postpartum depression? Possibly.

After years of fertility treatments, the physical and emotional stress of a multiple pregnancy, an extremely difficult delivery with significant blood loss during an unanticipated cesarean section, issues with milk supply, and no family within nearly a thousand-mile radius, I was already running on close to empty.

Did all these factors contribute to the tidal wave of postpartum depression that left me struggling to breathe? Probably.

Was any one of them the tipping point? Perhaps.

Does it really matter? No. There doesn’t have to be a reason. Sometimes it just is. And that is OK.

Having postpartum depression does not make someone a bad mother. It does not make them broken or a failure. There should be no shame in talking about it, no harm in letting other women know it can and does happen.

Years later, I am still not sure if I am doing anything right. But now I also know that is OK.

Do I worry that my children were irreparably influenced by my postpartum depression? Of course. Were they? I will never know.

What I do hope is that they were more influenced by my decision to acknowledge that something was not right and to seek the help I needed to be a better mother to all of them.

Postpartum depression is valid. It is real. And it can feel devastating. Those who are struggling with it need and deserve to be recognized.

We can start the conversation. We can hold the hard truths. And we can offer support. Providing small reminders to let one another know there is no place for shame, and we don’t have to be alone.

Pop Culture

Parents who grew up in the '70s and '80s remember the experiences that blow their kids' minds

Kids were tougher then for a reason.

via Wikimedia Commons

Island School Class, circa 1970s.

Parents, do you think your child would be able to survive if they were transported back to the '70s or '80s? Could they live at a time before the digital revolution put a huge chunk of our lives online?

These days, everyone has a phone in their pocket, but before then, if you were in public and needed to call someone, you used a pay phone. Can you remember the last time you stuck 50 cents into one and grabbed the grubby handset?

According to the U.S. Federal Communications Commission, roughly 100,000 pay phones remain in the U.S., down from 2 million in 1999.

Do you think a 10-year-old kid would have any idea how to use a payphone in 2022? Would they be able to use a Thomas Guide map to find out how to get somewhere? If they stepped into a time warp and wound up in 1975, could they throw a Led Zeppelin album on the record player at a party?

Another big difference between now and life in the '70s and '80s has been public attitudes toward smoking cigarettes. In 1965, 42.4% of Americans smoked and now, it’s just 12.5%. This sea change in public opinion about smoking means there are fewer places where smoking is deemed acceptable.

But in the early '80s, you could smoke on a bus, on a plane, in a movie theater, in restaurants, in the classroom and even in hospitals. How would a child of today react if their third grade teacher lit up a heater in the middle of math class?

Dan Wuori, senior director of early learning at the Hunt Institute, tweeted that his high school had a smoking area “for the kids.” He then asked his followers to share “something you experienced as a kid that would blow your children’s minds.”


A lot of folks responded with stories of how ubiquitous smoking was when they were in school. While others explained that life was perilous for a kid, whether it was the school playground equipment or questionable car seats.

Here are a few responses that’ll show today’s kids just how crazy life used to be in the '70s and '80s.

First of all, let’s talk about smoking.

Want to call someone? Need to get picked up from baseball practice? You can’t text mom or dad, you’ll have to grab a quarter and use a pay phone.

People had little regard for their kids’ safety or health.

You could buy a soda in school.

Things were a lot different before the internet.

Remember pen pals?

A lot of people bemoan the fact that the children of today aren’t as tough as they were a few decades back. But that’s probably because the parents of today are better attuned to their kids’ needs so they don't have to cheat death to make it through the day.

But just imagine how easy parenting would be if all you had to do was throw your kids a bag of Doritos and a Coke for lunch and you never worried about strapping them into a car seat?


This article originally appeared on 06.08.22

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Michael B. Jordan runs into his middle-school bully on the red carpet and calls her out

He didn't forget.

via Gage Skidmore/Wikimedia Commons

Michael B. Jordan speaking at the 2017 San Diego Comic Con International, for "Black Panther", at the San Diego Convention Center in San Diego, California.

As long as humans have endeavored to do anything great, there have been those who have tried to take them down. These are the opposite of the creators in life: the bullies, haters and naysayers who only want to bring people down to their level.

But when you have a dream and desire, its easy to tune out the voices of negativity. "It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better,” Theodore Roosevelt once said. “The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena."

Some folks use the naysayers as fuel to push them to work even harder. Basketball legend Michael Jordan was infamous for letting his thirst for revenge drive him to even greater heights on the court.

Another Michael Jordan, "Black Panther" star, Michael B. Jordan, came face to face with someone who doubted that he could reach his dreams, and he wasn’t shy about letting her know that he remembered. What's Upworthy about the encounter is that he did so with class and confidence.

In 2023, Jordan was on the red carpet for the premiere of "Creed III," a film he starred in and directed. He was interviewed by “The Morning Hustle” radio show host Lore’l, who had recently admitted on the “Undressing Room” podcast that she used to make fun of him in school.

“You know what’s so crazy? I went to school with Michael B. Jordan at a point in life,” Lore’l said. “And to be honest with you, we teased him all the damn time because his name was Michael Jordan. Let’s start there, and he was no Michael Jordan.”

“He also would come to school with a headshot,” she added. “We lived in Newark. That’s the hood. We would make fun of him like, ‘What you gonna do with your stupid headshot?’ And now look at him!”

In addition, her co-host, Eva Marcille, referred to Jordan as “corny.”

Jordan had no problem discussing their past on the red carpet. “We go way back, all the way back to Chad Science [Academy] in Newark,” Lore’l told the actor. Oh yeah, I was the corny kid, right?” Jordan responded with a smirk.

“No, you did not hear me say that! I said we used to make fun of the name,” Lore’l said.

“I heard it,” Jordan said. “I heard it. It’s all good. What’s up?” he responded. “But yeah, [you are] obviously killing things out here…you’re not corny anymore,” Lore’l clarified.

After the exchange went viral, Lore’l admitted that she teased Jordan in school, but they were only classmates for one year.

“So the narrative that I bullied him all throughout high school—this was 7th grade. We were like 12 years old, and everyone made fun of each other,” Lore’l said. “That was school, you know. That was one year. And, again, I’ve never bullied him. That just sounds so outrageous to me.”

Jordan later shared some advice on how to deal with bullies.

"Just stay focused, just stay locked in,” he told a reporter from Complex. “You know, just follow your heart, try to block out the noise and distractions as much as possible and run your race. Don't compare yourself to anybody else. Just keep going."

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Science

A juice company dumped orange peels in a national park. Here's what it looks like now.

12,000 tons of food waste and 21 years later, this forest looks totally different.


In 1997, ecologists Daniel Janzen and Winnie Hallwachs approached an orange juice company in Costa Rica with an off-the-wall idea.

In exchange for donating a portion of unspoiled, forested land to the Área de Conservación Guanacaste — a nature preserve in the country's northwest — the park would allow the company to dump its discarded orange peels and pulp, free of charge, in a heavily grazed, largely deforested area nearby.

One year later, one thousand trucks poured into the national park, offloading over 12,000 metric tons of sticky, mealy, orange compost onto the worn-out plot.


The site was left untouched and largely unexamined for over a decade. A sign was placed to ensure future researchers could locate and study it.

16 years later, Janzen dispatched graduate student Timothy Treuer to look for the site where the food waste was dumped.

Treuer initially set out to locate the large placard that marked the plot — and failed.

The first deposit of orange peels in 1996.

Photo by Dan Janzen.

"It's a huge sign, bright yellow lettering. We should have been able to see it," Treuer says. After wandering around for half an hour with no luck, he consulted Janzen, who gave him more detailed instructions on how to find the plot.

When he returned a week later and confirmed he was in the right place, Treuer was floored. Compared to the adjacent barren former pastureland, the site of the food waste deposit was "like night and day."

The site of the orange peel deposit (L) and adjacent pastureland (R).

Photo by Leland Werden.

"It was just hard to believe that the only difference between the two areas was a bunch of orange peels. They look like completely different ecosystems," he explains.

The area was so thick with vegetation he still could not find the sign.

Treuer and a team of researchers from Princeton University studied the site over the course of the following three years.

The results, published in the journal "Restoration Ecology," highlight just how completely the discarded fruit parts assisted the area's turnaround.

The ecologists measured various qualities of the site against an area of former pastureland immediately across the access road used to dump the orange peels two decades prior. Compared to the adjacent plot, which was dominated by a single species of tree, the site of the orange peel deposit featured two dozen species of vegetation, most thriving.

Lab technician Erik Schilling explores the newly overgrown orange peel plot.

Photo by Tim Treuer.

In addition to greater biodiversity, richer soil, and a better-developed canopy, researchers discovered a tayra (a dog-sized weasel) and a giant fig tree three feet in diameter, on the plot.

"You could have had 20 people climbing in that tree at once and it would have supported the weight no problem," says Jon Choi, co-author of the paper, who conducted much of the soil analysis. "That thing was massive."

Recent evidence suggests that secondary tropical forests — those that grow after the original inhabitants are torn down — are essential to helping slow climate change.

In a 2016 study published in Nature, researchers found that such forests absorb and store atmospheric carbon at roughly 11 times the rate of old-growth forests.

Treuer believes better management of discarded produce — like orange peels — could be key to helping these forests regrow.

In many parts of the world, rates of deforestation are increasing dramatically, sapping local soil of much-needed nutrients and, with them, the ability of ecosystems to restore themselves.

Meanwhile, much of the world is awash in nutrient-rich food waste. In the United States, up to half of all produce in the United States is discarded. Most currently ends up in landfills.

The site after a deposit of orange peels in 1998.

Photo by Dan Janzen.

"We don't want companies to go out there will-nilly just dumping their waste all over the place, but if it's scientifically driven and restorationists are involved in addition to companies, this is something I think has really high potential," Treuer says.

The next step, he believes, is to examine whether other ecosystems — dry forests, cloud forests, tropical savannas — react the same way to similar deposits.

Two years after his initial survey, Treuer returned to once again try to locate the sign marking the site.

Since his first scouting mission in 2013, Treuer had visited the plot more than 15 times. Choi had visited more than 50. Neither had spotted the original sign.

In 2015, when Treuer, with the help of the paper's senior author, David Wilcove, and Princeton Professor Rob Pringle, finally found it under a thicket of vines, the scope of the area's transformation became truly clear.

The sign after clearing away the vines.

Photo by Tim Treuer.

"It's a big honking sign," Choi emphasizes.

19 years of waiting with crossed fingers had buried it, thanks to two scientists, a flash of inspiration, and the rind of an unassuming fruit.


This article originally appeared on 08.23.17

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Parenting

Mom creates a stir after refusing to drop her child off at a parent free birthday party

"I loved drop off parties. I didn't want to sit at some kids party."

Photos by Ivan Samkov and Gustavo Fring|Canva

Mom refuses to let kid go to "drop-off" birthday party

There are many Millennial moms that were raised on "Unsolved Mysteries" and "America's Most Wanted" during formative years, which may or may not have influenced the way they parent. It can be hard to think clearly when Robert Stack's voice is echoing in your head every time your child is out of eyesight. The jokes about what is responsible for the average Millennial's parenting style resembling more like a helicopter are endless. But sometimes additional caution is warranted where others may find it unnecessary.

At least that's what many folks on the internet believe after one mom seemingly split parents into two camps with her revelation about children's parties. Liv, who goes by the TikTok handle Liv SAHM, takes to social media to explain that her seven-year-old son was invited to a birthday party but when she went to RSVP, she noticed the invitation said, "drop off only."

The mom explains, "It's at someone's house. I don't know these parents. I don't know that there's actually going to be other adults besides this child's parents."

Liv states that she would not be dropping her young child off alone with strangers. To many parents this seems like a reasonable response. If you don't know the parents or any other adults then how can you ensure your child will be safe. Other parents felt like Liv was completely overreacting with a helicopter parenting style.

"Little kids have been going to peoples birthday parties without clingy parents for decades," one person declares.

"I'm a drop off kinda house. I want the parents to leave that is one less person I have to feed. I don't wanna have to make small talk with other parents," another says.

"That's a big no for me too! And I always try to take my kids to classmates parties because people never show up," someone writes.

"That's so worrisome. I completely agree with you mama bear, same with my son," a commenter says.

"Yeah, that would make me uncomfortable too! It's always a little interesting to me when parents drop off their kids at parties," someone else adds.

@livsahm

No thank you! I don’t feel comfortable with that. #mom #momsoftiktok #momlife #sahm #sahmlife #birthday #birthdayparty #celebration #controversial #parenting #parentingtips #parents #no

There's no right or wrong way to throw a party for a kid because there's no rulebook. Generally parents are accustomed to seeing invitations that say no siblings or the offer of parents staying or leaving. Many commenters pointed out that it seemed odd that the invitation was worded in a way that sounded like parents staying wasn't an option.

Some parents noted that the world has changed since they were children and wouldn't feel safe dropping their kids off either. Others found no issue with it and think fellow parents are overreacting. What do you say, odd or perfectly fine?

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Family

Dad shares what happens when you give your child books instead of a smartphone

The key to fostering healthy habits in children is to be wholly present and reject the “pressures of convenience”

via Armando Hart (used with permission)

Armando Hart and his son, Raya.

One of the most pressing dilemmas for parents these days is how much screen time they should allow their children. Research published by the Mayo Clinic shows that excessive screen time can lead to obesity, disrupted sleep, behavioral issues, poor academic performance, exposure to violence and a significant reduction in playtime.

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends limiting screen time to 1 to 2 hours daily for children over 2. But American children spend far more time in front of screens than that and the situation is only worsening.

Before the pandemic, kids between the ages of 4 and 12 spent an average of 4.4 hours a day looking at screens, but since 2020, the average child’s daily screen time has increased by 1.75 hours.

A father in Long Beach, California, is getting some love for his TikTok video sharing what happens when you give your kid books instead of an iPhone. Armando Hart posted a video showing his 10-year-old son, Raya, reading a book in the back of a car and it’s been seen over 8 million times.

"Give them books instead of phones when they are little and this is the result," the caption reads. "Thank me later."

We’re so blessed with our son Raya. I think he’s read more books than I have.

@lifeinmotion08

We’re so blessed with our son Raya. I think he’s read more books than I have. #Books #Read #Fyp

Hart and his wife started reading to their son every night before bedtime, hoping to instill a love for books. "It was all about leading by example and creating a nurturing environment where reading was celebrated," Hart told Newsweek. These days, Raya is an avid reader who enjoys just about anything.

“My son likes novels, fiction, nonfiction, and realistic fiction,” Hart told Upworthy. “He also likes informative content, such as reading the almanac and other informative magazines. He loves to build, cook from recipes, and make art.”

For Hart, reading is all about creating a sense of balance in his son’s life.

“It's not about being against technology but about fostering a balanced approach that prioritizes meaningful experiences and hands-on learning,” he told Upworthy. “By instilling a love for reading, creativity, and exploration early on, we're equipping Raya with the skills and mindset he needs to thrive in an ever-changing world.”

Hart believes that the screen time discussion isn’t just about technology but a trend that goes deeper. “It speaks to a broader societal problem: our youth's lack of self-esteem, confidence and fundamental values. While screen time may exacerbate these issues, it is not the sole cause,” he told Upworthy.

“In contrast, physical activity, such as exercise, promotes joy and well-being. Spending hours scrolling on a phone can detract from genuine moments of happiness and fulfillment,” he continued. “Therefore, we must address the deeper underlying issues affecting our youth's mental and emotional health rather than solely attributing them to screen time.”

Hart believes the key to fostering healthy habits in children is to be wholly present and reject the “pressures of convenience” that encourage parental complacency.

“We prioritize quality time together, whether exploring nature, sharing meals with the best available foods, or engaging in meaningful conversations. In today's rapidly advancing technological world, staying grounded in our humanity and embodying integrity in everything we do is crucial,” he continued. “This means staying connected to our authentic selves and teaching our son the importance of honesty, kindness, and respect.”

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