Dear Kendra Baskett,

I like you.  I really, really like you despite every fiber in my being not wanting to like you.  I love your really weird, awkward laugh.  I love that you bought a gold grill.  You & your husband are pure sugar together & I absolutely adore you for being upfront about your post-baby body & postpartum sex.  A big THANK YOU from all of us “normal” moms for being the voice of reason on weight gain, getting back in shape, & re-discovering who you are after birthing another life.

I did go through some depression, but I know I have my son and husband to live for.

After reading that, my initial reaction was to want to reach through the magazine & rub bosoms with you & eat ice cream.  But then I kept reading.  & while I’ve never seen you as a brainchild or scholar worthy of quoting, let’s discuss this part of an interview from US Weekly:

Right when I got the all clear to workout, about six weeks after having my C-section, I went straight to the gym and busted ass.  It felt great!  That was my turning point….so running and stuff made me feel like my old self.  I put up an old picture of myself looking good.  That same day, I got my hair done and colored and got my nails done.  It was like a mama’s day that got me back to being myself.

Really?  A day at the gym & spa & suddenly *poof!* your PPD went away?

Kendra, you have added so much encouragement to embracing our post-partum bodies that it is sad to see you do so little justice to such a serious topic.  I worked out.  I got a haircut.  I bought new clothes, lost weight, had sex.  I have an amazing husband, a great job, & a beautiful child.  & I did not feel better.  & whether it was you’re quote or a mistake by the US Weekly tabloid, that quote just swept PPD back under a trivial rug.  Where it does not belong.

smoochies,
Blair

Maybe articles like these are the reason women are ashamed.  Because they try so hard to act happy, to get a hair cut, to just feel like themselves again…& they can’t.  So they clam up, wondering what is so horribly wrong with them that unlike Kendra, a “girl’s day” didn’t fix their PPD?  & it paints an incorrect portrait of PPD for the rest of society.

Or maybe really supportive (unpublished) comments like these keep women quiet:

(some parts blacked-out because they were rambling & insignificant)

OTHER WOMEN that claim I am “klassy” for suffering a mental condition & receiving treatment for thoughts that are very common.  That I am devoid of human emotion when in fact, I am SCREAMING my human emotion out to you in hopes of educating even one person to the realities of the disease.  But sometimes, I want to clam up & shut up so I never have to receive a comment like this again.

I especially hate the ones that tell you to pray out of PPD because it is a separation from God.  Baptist guilt, meet self-righteous Bible Beater.  So I want to clam up around Christian friends who simply don’t. get. it.

Or, do you ever wonder if people hear the phrase “she has PPD” that they automatically think “baby killer?”  Like automatically assume that someone with PPD is moments from dumping her entire household & family members into a lake?  & then worry that everyone who looks at you wants to remove you from the baby just in case you’re one of “those women?”

I do.  So obviously, it really helps when I receive Tweets like these:

THESE are the reasons that other women keep their mouths shut about PPD.  Because as soon as we say we have postpartum depression, we are baby killers.  Or lacking maternal instinct.   Or publicity-hungry rabid money-making bloggers.  People act like you have the plague.  Or Satan in your back pocket.  Or they think you just want to wallow in sadness.

WE ARE AFRAID.  We’re afraid of ourselves, the person PPD makes us “become.”  We’re afraid of how we feel about ourselves, our families, our children, & life in general.  We’re terrified to make that first phone call to the OB, crying that something “isn’t right.”  We have panic attacks the night before our first therapy appointment, wondering if wearing a grey sweater with a black skirt is too cliche (this is actually a true story for yours truly).

We do not need your judgment, or minimizing opinions, or compartmentalizing us into shame.  We need your love, support, & a lot of strong hugs that don’t let go.

& more than likely, a few strong prescriptions.