Our daughter was born near the very end of 2020, and we were overjoyed. But soon the warning bells of postpartum depression began gently ringing, and continued throughout most of 2021. It wasn’t until I was eight months postpartum that the dark and detached feelings started to lean on the doorbell—heavily. It was as if they were forcing their way in, saying “WE’RE HERE! It’s already too late!”

My third trimester was really tough. My right hip had dislocated, I had two bulging discs, and both wrists had severe carpal tunnel. The hormone produced during pregnancy—relaxin—paired with my unhelpful inflammatory genetics had caused the perfect storm.

I needed to understand why food and weight was such a problem for me. In my early 20s, I lost nearly 100 lbs. Then began the struggle to keep it off; I used fad diets, constantly feeling hungry and crashing back into snacking, overeating, and emotional eating.

The fear of an unplanned pregnancy was one of my earliest adult thoughts. I remember feeling grown up for having such a mature concern. Doctors, teachers, and family had been warning me and other girls for years that “it only takes one time to get pregnant!” We were taught that pregnancy was something that must be avoided until you were absolutely sure you were ready for a child. But years later, when I was absolutely sure, I struggled to get pregnant. Then, when I did, I was unable to keep the pregnancy.