A Thief Ignored: Paternal Postpartum Depression

Click here to view an excerpt from Good Morning America on Paternal Postpartum Depression

It had been two weeks since I started medication and two months since I started therapy. The world was beginning to look a little less blurry, and my role as mother was beginning to become not only palpable, but enjoyable. It was as if I was experiencing the newborn fuzzy feelings people told me about, despite the fact that my baby was nearly 9 months old. I was grieving the loss of those 9 months, but I was so excited to be in a different place mentally.

Yet something still was not quite right.

Though everything else in my world seemed to be bouncing back to normal, one of the most precious parts of my world remained broken: My husband.

Continue reading “A Thief Ignored: Paternal Postpartum Depression”

Pulled to the Front: My PPD Journey


I backed out of my driveway onto the rainy road to make my way to Loveland, Colorado. This was my first alone, overnight trip away from both Ryan and Summer. I was excited and nervous.

As I prepare for this upcoming birth, I began to realize that I wanted a babymoon getaway for just me and Samuel (the baby boy in my belly). Up until this point, I did not realize that was the true craving of my soul, but it was.

I wanted a space to be with Samuel, alone. To bond. To ponder. To pray. To consider all the places I’ve been and the places I may go.

Continue reading “Pulled to the Front: My PPD Journey”

The Closet Incident: PPD Awareness

When I began to piece together arrangements for bringing my baby home in 2015, I worked to fill every gap I could possibly imagine. I planned to have my mother here to help with daily chores. I arranged meals to come in from the church. I organized dog walkers to help with Baylor. I wrote a list on my fridge of daily and weekly to-do’s. I washed, folded and organized all the baby clothes in advance and tucked them neatly into drawers. I put together “welcome” stockings for houseguests filled with lotions and other treats to sustain them while at our home. I carefully planned for every possible need that would arise.

I did not, however, plan my suicide.

Continue reading “The Closet Incident: PPD Awareness”

I’m Unfit for Motherhood

It’s been one year. A year that I will never forget. A year that is leaving deep imprints on my soul.

Moving into motherhood, I knew I had nothing figured out. I knew I was clueless and that it was going to be hard and that I was going to need friends and family to come alongside us on the journey. I remember questioning the basics: Do I really know how to change a diaper? Am I supposed to burp her if she falls asleep or just let her be? Do I heat the bottle up in the microwave or on the stovetop or under water? Does any of this matter?

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Peace in a Colicky storm: My Story

It all seemed so daunting and unfair. After several hours of labor my daughter was thrust onto my chest. I was exhausted. Her scream pierced the air. Of course, I was happy to hear her and see her. I was also beyond tired.

My body needed to recover – I desperately needed rest – and she continued to cry. For 7 months.

All newborns are hard. Let’s face it – hormones play a mean game. The fresh babies look so cute and cuddly!! Then we bring them home.



I have yet to meet a parent of a newborn that is glowing with pure excitement and happiness. For most parents, the first few weeks are far from dreamy. In fact, they can be downright miserable at times.

I’ve read so many articles recently by brave women who are being honest about how traumatizing these early days of motherhood can be. Admitting to the phases of regret and depression that wash over them in these initial days. Regardless of the amount of support offered from family and community members.

I’m so glad to see I’m not the only one who has struggled with those horrifying thoughts and feelings. My experience with my newborn daughter proved to settle us farther into a pit of despair than I knew possible.

My intent in sharing my story is to not stir fear in the hearts of those who are expecting babies. Children are a blessing from God! It is not His desire for us to sit in misery or fear as we await our little treasure to arrive.

So many people have not shared my experience, and that is noteworthy. I remember being so nervous to bring my baby home that any words outside of encouragement and affirmation were not only overwhelming, but downright annoying.

I want to express that motherhood has become joyful!! If you find yourself struggling with fear of what is to come, I’d challenge you to express your desire for encouragement and positivity to those around you!

I want to be transparent about my process…and I want to be clear that everyone’s story is different, and share tips that might help you enjoy the early days more than I did.

My story = She cried always.


And not just fussed.

I have been around my share of babies in my short life – I have always loved babies!! Many of my friends now have babies. I had some sort of gauge on what to expect in terms of behavior.

I expected her to cry 5-6 hours within a 24 hour period. I expected her to be loud and inconsolable at times and for my heart and head to hurt. I expected my life to be a series of naps for several months. I did not expect what I received…

She cried for 90% of her waking hours.

She would turn purple and tense up and shake as she became angry. I will never forget the first 6 nights she was with us (including in the hospital) – she screamed from midnight until 5AM straight.

She was evaluated by a pediatrician and people at the hospital and she was determined to be healthy. She was gaining weight, was not vomiting, her gut appeared healthy, diapers normal, temperature okay, passed all the tests, etc.

I still remember the pediatrician calling us from home to ensure we were okay – she had never seen a baby cry like this before. She said we had just “drawn the unlucky card.”

The other specialist we saw said our baby was “powerful” and that she “had never seen a child go from 0-60 so fast.”



Hah, a clever word to use. She was indeed a powerful baby. She took beautiful pictures because she was, and is, the most expressive person I have ever met! It just made it difficult for those furthest away from us to truly conceptualize how difficult her colicky nature was.

I remember holding her as my family left and husband returned to work. I lived in that glider in the corner of her nursery.

She screamed and screamed and I held her thrashing little body and cried with her. I remember the first time she walked up my stomach banging her fists against my chest and screaming with giant tears rolling down her face at just 8 weeks old. I was disillusioned and angry.

Why would God allow this? I loved babies! Why would he allow us to experience such disappointment?

I truly felt I was grieving a loss. A loss of enjoying my baby. A loss of my mommyhood dream.


4 Months into motherhood and she was still screaming 70-80% of her waking hours. We tried medication, various sleep experts, I read all the books, tried all the oils, did all the schedule changes, took everything out of my diet…all to no avail.

My disappointment and grief turned darker and PPD became my new reality.

As women, our bodies are created to soothe our babies, and we actually release a hormone as our baby is soothed by us (whether it’s breast or bottle feeding, rocking, singing, etc.) When we repeatedly experience rejection at the attempt of comfort, our bodies no longer release this hormone and we experience a disruption in the natural biological process of bonding and the “baby high” many new moms experience.

I hardly had glimpses of those highs or happy moments, especially after 4 long months of attempting to try and calm her without success.

I felt like a failure. I tried everything and moved into the place of accepting that my baby simply hated life most of the time.

I was sick of hearing that “it gets better” – and that my “baby seemed so happy.” It was the worst to hear people say, “she’s just a typical baby” in response to my description of her crying. Or worse, that I was “just tired.”

I was more than tired. I was exhausted from all the zillion rules issued by AAP and every other expert known to man. I was overwhelmed from sleep deprivation and the opposing advice I received from friends, family, and online resources. I was averaging 2-4 broken hours of sleep a night. My husband was working 10-12 hour days. My baby nursed and screamed all of the time, and rarely took a nap for more than 20-30 minutes, eliminating my ability to leave the house or sleep.

And when I did leave, I felt numb, tired, and miserable. Motherhood was isolating and awful, and the colicky storm felt too much to handle.

I felt ridden with shame for hating motherhood.

I rocked in that glider in the corner of that nursery for 6 months and met with the Lord. In that glider I contemplated the unspeakable – Adoption. Suicide. Running away…

My spirit groaned because I had no words. I clung to a small book of encouraging notes friends and family had given me at a shower. I read and re-read that book as I met with God and rocked and rocked and rocked.

Of course I asked Him to change our situation, but more than anything I begged Him to change my heart.

It was in the darkness of that corner – in that big, comfy rocking chair – that God taught me how to engage peace in this colicky storm.


Now, 8 months later, I sit with a new perspective. One that He continues to build on every day. I still struggle, but now I have given myself to the process of becoming a mom – recognizing that becoming a mom doesn’t happen in the 9-month span of pregnancy and hours of labor.

It is a process that involves those dark moments in the corner. It involves crying with your baby – but also laughing at the crazy things.

Mothering through colic engages more places of your heart than you know exist while in the midst of these turbulent waters.    

Becoming a mom in a colicky storm is the hardest thing I have ever done. But, let’s be honest, becoming a mom period is impossible. Literally impossible. Apart from the grace of God, we will simply stumble season-to-season opposing the various challenges that await while googling and worrying far too much. And, in the process, we will miss the gift of parenthood.

In another post, I will present some specific tricks I discovered to surviving the early days of (colicky) parenthood.