If life goes according to plan, I'll have one more when I'm 29 and, by 30, my husband and I will be selling car seats, hitting the tail end of diapers and settling into life as a minivan family.
I remember telling myself over and over that we had our own story, our own journey, and that was okay. Removing that comparison aspect from my life helped me in more ways than I will ever know.
It was as if I lived in a world of successive failure. Month after month, benchmarked by my inability to get pregnant. I would break down at every pregnancy announcement.
You are always with me. In those times when I lose my cool under frustration, like yesterday when Everett was whining and simultaneously the dog threw up all over the carpet, I can feel you witnessing it all. I can feel you helping me, calming me or laughing at the chaos and confusion you used to know so well.
Hello. I’m Hannah. I’m many things–a mum, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an HR professional. I have recently become the owner of a tech start-up. I have a degree in psychology. I’m a friend to so many beautiful people. I also have Bipolar Disorder.
When my oldest son would fall asleep in my arms, I wouldn't grab my phone for a
picture. Instead, I would start Googling. How long should newborns sleep? Should you wake
a sleeping baby? Can you spoil an infant? From the moment he shut his eyes, I would
worry about what I was doing wrong.
"How does a 30-year old mom of two with no previous history of mental illness get admitted to the psych ward? This is where my memory fails me, but the diagnosis: Postpartum Psychosis."
