Picture Day

Five years ago was my first "Picture Day" as a mom. I clearly remember what my oldest was wearing: an old Phineas and Ferb t-shirt with several stains and a ratty pair of brown sweat pants. I completely forgot that it was picture day until I was picking him up from school, noticing how nicely dressed several other children were as they walked to their cars.

Today was picture day, and my fourth child has the same teacher as my oldest did that year. She's been sending out reminders for the past week, and she made a point to hand me the sheet from the photography company. Maybe she remembers Picture Day five years ago, too.

My boy today on Picture Day!

Thinking back on that day makes me tear up. It takes me to a hard place in my life, a time when I felt overwhelmed and confused. I had a hard time keeping up with a 4 year old, 2 year old and 2 month old, and I couldn't quite tell why. I kept remembering what my mom had told me: after 3 kids, it wasn't so bad. But, right then, it was BAD!

My husband remembers that time, too. He remembers sitting at the dinner table wondering how long it would take until I burst into tears. Would it be a child refusing to eat that set me off? Or would it be a bill coming in the mail?

I was fortunate enough to have someone who cares about me step in. She gently suggested that maybe I had postpartum depression. At her urging, I went to my doctor and got the help I needed.

I'm writing today for two reasons. One is that I think many of us are afraid to talk about our mental health, fearful that it is a sign of weakness. After I was diagnosed and I garnered the courage to tell a few of my friends, I found out that some of them had also suffered with depression. Having someone to talk to who could understand what I was going through really helped me. I think it can help many of us. (This is NOT to take away from a trained counselor, though! Professional therapists have an important role and are trained to help in these times.)

I'm also writing today to help me remember. Some days I forget what it was like in that place I lived five years ago. When I forget, I also may forget to have compassion for someone else who forgot Picture Day or their husband's Work Dinner or to take their child to swimming lessons. I want to remember that day so I can be the friend who is there to listen and offer support.