Letter to My Daughter: A Story of PPD


It wasn’t like a ton of bricks, it wasn’t a bus or a Mach truck, this feeling was my world falling apart, the walls crumbling, my oxygen dissipating.


I dreamed of meeting you, I imagined your face, your hair, your toes from the very moment that I knew you existed. I anxiously awaited your arrival, I washed, folded, and hung each item of clothing with the utmost care. I read every book, every article, and I never thought in a million years that it would happen to me. In all honesty, I truly believed that it didn’t even exist. Little did I know…


You were born after 14 hours of labor. After pushing and pushing the midwife looked at me finally and asked if I would like to pull you out. She guided my hands under your arms and I pulled you into this world and brought you to my chest. And there you were, staring at me, not crying, just peering into my soul. But I cried, I cried the hardest I have cried in my entire life. The feeling of love was so overwhelming I felt as though I was being crushed by it, the weight of your little body almost making it hard to breathe.


The days that followed were hard, as it is for any new mom with a brand new life that they are now responsible for. I spiraled, like an airplane falling out of the sky, propelling further and further into the darkness. After not being able to breastfeed, after you losing so much weight that we needed to supplement with formula, after nights and nights of not sleeping both from having a newborn but also from the company that my guilt kept in my head. What was wrong with me? Where were the warm fuzzy feelings of becoming a mother? Why was I so sad? Why was I so afraid of everything? Why couldn’t I be normal? How would this affect you?


I cried a lot, I paced the house, I reorganized my closet, the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator, anything to feel as though I could control something. I held you, I watched you breathe nervously as you slept, I overanalyzed and panicked over everything from boogers to coughs to the color of your poop. Your dad came down with the flu and for weeks I feared that you would contract it.

I sought help in support groups, in books, in articles and blogs. Your dad didn’t understand at first but he armed himself with knowledge and compassion and he became my biggest and fiercest advocate and supporter – you are so lucky to have him as your dad, a man who will ALWAYS fight for you, don’t ever forget that.


3 or 4 months went by and you blossomed into this happy, smiley baby. Your sweet demeanor and infectious smile and laugh intoxicated everyone that came to know you. You became my light at the end of the tunnel. You were always my reason why, why I fought through the anxiety, through the sadness, through the fear. You were always there in my head and my heart pushing me.


You, my darling girl, have made me the woman that I am today. We ventured through the darkness together and you saved me. I sit here writing this and a feeling of regret and sadness came over me as I began. I have always wanted to protect you and I thought “what if she reads this? what if this hurts her?” but this is our story, a story of strength and resilience and of the truest of loves.

I can never thank you enough for the lessons you have taught me, and that you continue to teach me. When I gave birth to your brother I feared that I would be submerged back into the darkness, but there you were my little beacon of hope who has shown me that I have beat this before, that if the darkness comes there is an end to it, that postpartum depression does not last forever.


When I became your mother, you gave me a new purpose in my life. But, going through this journey with you has given me a passion and strength that I never knew I had. So to the little tiny baby who peered at me from my chest to the little girl who spins in circles, to the little girl who calls me mama you are everything.


About Samantha Smith

Samantha was born and raised in Northern California and currently resides in Flagstaff with her husband Steve, stepdaughter Lexi, daughter Holiday, and son Wyatt.

She considers herself a “warrior mom” who battled through severe postpartum depression and anxiety and finds one of her passions to be helping new mamas who are faced with the same struggles.

Samantha is an avid blogger who enjoys writing about the adventures of being a working mom and stepmom with a pre-teen, toddler, and newborn.



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