I think this is great what you are doing to bring awareness to this subject! I myself suffer from panic and anxiety disorder and it’s very helpful to hear other people’s stories! I myself am writing a book about my experience with post partum ANXIETY—not depression, but anxiety. I feel most women don’t know what they are experiencing and feel helpless at such a vulnerable and important time … what helped me was to know I wasn’t alone!

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I guess my sense of stigma began as a child when I had trouble explaining why my mom couldn’t come to my kindergarten play because she was bedridden with depression and hearing voices. Or, when my friends who came over always played with me in the basement so they wouldn’t run into her. I guess it was stigma I felt when my mom died when I was 10 and I had to explain to my befuddled classmates that I felt sad but I hadn’t really been extremely close to her because she was mostly too incapacitated to hold a conversation. It was probably stigma when we didn’t ever talk about “mom’s problems” until my brother came home delusional and had to be hospitalized too. It was probably stigma when my first girlfriend in high school broke up with me because there was “something wrong with me”. Maybe it was stigma when some friends just didn’t call anymore and perhaps even gosipped about me behind my back. Maybe it was stigma when a professor said my problems were “just a matter of self discipline,” or when another girlfriend said I should “just read the Bible and trust Jesus.” Maybe it’s stigma when my mentally well siblings don’t want to hurt their careers by mentioning their family has “a history.” Maybe its stigma when I had an angry embittered boss who basically saw people as either strong or weak… and its just too bad if you are the latter. Maybe it was stigma when I couldn’t explain to my coworkers why I missed a couple of days of work because I was so scared after hearing “hidden messages” on the radio or another day when I had plans to jump from a building. Maybe it was stigma when people lectured me on my smoking when it was the only way I had at the time to slow down the terror I felt inside. Maybe it was stigma when a family member said I needed help when I was just expressing an opinion they don’t happen to agree with or when they say they went through the “same thing” (sorry, you didn’t).

However…maybe it wasn’t stigma when the store clerk greeted me with a smile and knew my name even though my hair was a mess and I felt little sick from my meds.

And, maybe it wasn’t stigma when someone said to me “I am hurting too” and I can honestly and truthfully tell them, “it’s hard to understand this now, but this really isn’t your fault.”

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My senior year of high school, I was severely depressed and anxious. I thought about killing myself. I was afraid to tell my mom because I knew the truth would have devastated her. She wouldn’t understand. She would be hurt and disappointed in me. I almost let stigma get in the way. The day I broke down and told my mom was the first step in finding peace. I still struggle with depression & anxiety, but I am no longer afraid to talk about. I am no longer ashamed.

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We noticed our daughter seemed anxious and some symptoms were starting to get more and more apparent. We talked to our pediatrician and she pointed us to a therapist. Our daughter learned some great coping mechanisms that she still uses today. We are proud of her and happy that we did not just ignore the signs.

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I have lived with anxiety for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I had a hard time going on class trips or having sleepovers with friends. As a teenager, my anxiety worsened and I felt depressed. My parents supported me when I asked to see a therapist; they told me they were proud of me for speaking up and prioritizing my mental health.

That pride is something I carry with me today in my mental health journey.

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