I am the epitome of a “people person.” All through my single years, I felt enlivened after spending an evening at a party or dinner with friends. I ate up the laughter and applause from audiences any time I’d perform in community theater shows. I loved seeing new places and meeting new people. I was energetic, goofy, and thoroughly enjoyed making people laugh.
Fast forward to my first son’s 1st birthday: my husband and I bought a birthday cake and a pregnancy test at the grocery store. It was positive. We were elated!
But with the birth of my second son came a dark cloud. I wasn’t adjusting to two kids like I’d hoped. I wasn’t bonding with the baby like I wanted. Nothing was right. I was so, so, so stressed trying to juggle a newborn and a one-year-old. If I wasn’t stressing over them while they were awake, I was sobbing to myself in the middle of the night, hounded by the intrusive thoughts of their death or my husband’s death. But I didn’t feel depressed. I wasn’t sad or full of despair. So this couldn’t be post partum depression, right? All I knew was I used to be such a happy person. I was a happy person, so what was this???
Because now I was always livid. My emotions constantly hovered just below boiling point. I was angry. I was screaming. I wanted so badly to punch a hole in every wall. This compounded with insomnia and a newborn who would not. stop. crying. I was losing it almost daily and freaking out and literally screaming at my 22 month-old toddler who could barely talk in sentences, let alone comprehend that Mommy was upset. Inevitably I’d crumble into a heap of guilty tears, hugging him and saying “I’m sorry,” over and over. When my baby was four months old, I finally texted my husband, saying I didn’t recognize myself and needed to go to therapy. After doing some research, I chose a therapist who specialized in maternal mental health. She knew exactly what was happening.
It was postpartum rage, and I was drowning in it. Considered to be under the umbrella of postpartum depression, but more rare, articles addressing the disorder only just started popping up online within the last few years (I know because they weren’t there four years ago when I was googling like crazy why I felt crazy). Over the next 10 months of therapy, I started to gain crucial insight, including how to recognize triggers, how to cope and deal with rage outbursts, the value of self care, and how to maintain my identity outside of Mother as a “people-person.” As much as I loved my healthy bright boys, I felt so lonely. For some reason it was so much harder to make friends, close friends now that I was a mom. I needed people.
My husband was incredibly supportive and said we should set up our schedules and finances so I could take weekend trips here and there to re-energize myself. I also desperately ached for a creative outlet since performing wasn’t really doable at the time, and signed up for a Beginning Photography night class at a local college.
I began taking short trips to visit old friends who lived in other states and on one occasion, I scored killer plane tickets and enjoyed a whirlwind “Mama Spring Break” trip to Greece with an old friend from college. (I highly don’t suggest a quick turn around trip to the other side of the world but also, it was wild and amazing and exhauuuusting and incredible and I cherish it dearly). Traveling had been a deep passion of mine and it felt so good to be doing it again! Most of all to be traveling with a friend. Both of us were mamas. But for those few days in Greece, we were wide-eyed, excited college kids again, ready to tackle the map and see it all!
Nothing bonds two people like experiencing a foreign country together. You could end up having the worst time or an awful Airbnb, or get lost in a city and not know the language or run out of money ooooor you stumble on the most amazing, charming, cobblestoned seaside town in the history of ever and there’s just no explaining it to anyone else. Either way, doing it alongside a dear friend makes it pure adventure and you’re forever connected in that experience. In between site seeing and over meals, we poured our hearts out to each other about our frustrations and excitements, about our business dreams, about how surreal and amazing it was to be there, about how much fun we had way back when when we were roommates in London, about how amazing our babies are, about how amazing our husbands are, what it’s like to be older with so many more responsibilities and unknowns. We were connecting as mothers and friends. And it was so very healing.
Inevitably, each time I’m away, I always have a very definitive moment where something happens, a feeling strikes my heart, and I always have the thought, “I’m ready to go back now. I miss my kids so much it hurts.” That short time away where I’m able to connect with another woman who totally gets it is therapeutic in every way and I’m so much better prepared to tackle motherhood once I return. I’m literally aching for it. But most importantly, when I’m in the throes of day to day life, I realize simple connections like a phone call or a Marco Polo message buoy me up and help me to keep going and stay sane.
The rage still flairs from time to time to be honest. It But I know how to cope with it now, and know it’s ok to step away for a moment. Remember: Momming is hard! Do it with a friend, take breaks, and look at the scenery when you can!
Lee Ann has become one of my heroes. She is honest and vulnerable about her journey and she is a light to everyone around her. She is supportive and kind and an amazing friend. When you find a woman like Lee Ann you hold on tight and make her a big part of your life. Thanks for being you Lee Ann!
Lee Ann’s Story:
My children have brought me more joy than I could have ever imagined. Giving birth to them also brought me the deepest and darkest times of my life through postpartum depression. Each time I had a baby the depression increased to a new level of sadness and inner darkness. When I had my son in 2011, I fought the hardest and longest battle of them all. Even with medicine, exercise, diet and every other technique that I tried, it took nearly two years to heal. It was worth every terrifying and suicidal moment. I will admit though, knowing I was done having children offered me a lot of relief simply because I knew I didn’t have to go to those dark places ever again. I was wrong, I went there again in 2019. It began after having a hysterectomy to combat my ever increasing physical pain and other complications due to the effects of PCOS. I had no idea what that surgery would do to me. I didn’t know that one week after I would feel exactly the same way I had after giving birth. It was terrifying because I felt that I couldn’t do it all again. I couldn’t fight that same battle of wanting to live but not having the will to. I had survived before but this time I didn’t have two toddlers and a newborn to keep my body and mind busy or fill my heart with hope. So, I hid. That is what I always did when the darkness came into my life. I couldn’t control when the depression would hit me but I could control the amount of anxiety that accompanied it by hiding away and not facing it.
Lee Ann’s first GOTG Retreat
A few months later, after many random and inexplicable occurrences, I found myself signed up for the Get Out There Girl Cowgirl Retreat. I immediately regretted signing up. The only “getting out” I wanted to do was to get out of going. When I told my husband I wanted to go and had signed up he, assuming I was joking, laughed. He knew I wouldn’t want to go. I had never wanted to go and do anything without him and our kids. He knew my anxiety would get the best of me. Especially with the deep depression I had been in for months. He also knew it would be so good for me and that I needed it. So, with his encouragement and my hatred of wasted money, I somehow mustered up the strength to go.
As I entered the lodge on the horse ranch and saw all of these beautiful, and obviously perfect women, my anxiety placed itself right into the forefront of my thoughts and I knew I had made a mistake. Who was I to show up here and act like I could fit in or find a friend amongst them? None of these women would want to talk to me or get to know me. As I listened to each of them introduce themselves I knew I was way out of my league. I was tempted to get back in my car and go home. The only thing keeping me there was knowing I was going to be riding a horse. I grew up riding horses and learned the majority of life’s lessons while horseback with my Dad. I hadn’t ridden in nearly 14 years and hoped riding again would help me remember those lessons and possibly find a way to heal.
Lee Ann ready for her first trail ride on the Cowgirl Retreat
Within a few hours I found myself on the back of a horse and I was right. Sitting up there with my feet in the stirrups and reins in my hand I felt at peace. I was certainly rusty, and it showed even more the next day at the barrel racing competition, but being on the back of a horse reminded me of the people I love and what they had taught me. I was surrounded by miles of open rangeland and the smell of leather and sagebrush that was reminiscent of my childhood. For the first time in months I finally felt a bit free. This wasn’t a mistake after all and I knew why I had felt inclined to come. It was to ride that red dun horse named Sadie. I was there to sit in a saddle and ride a horse the way my Dad had taught me to do so many years before.
Later that night Brittany led us in a workshop on resilience. We sat in a large room gathered in a circle sitting on western style chairs that reminded me of my Grandpa. One of the first things that she spoke about was her experience with postpartum depression. What?! This perfectly perfect happy little blondie had postpartum depression? Soon after, other women around the room started sharing experiences from their lives and the various trials they had faced or were facing at that time. I was in awe at how vulnerable and open they were. I wanted so badly to share how I was feeling but I was overcome with emotion. I knew if I tried to speak nothing discernable would come out because I couldn’t contain my tears. Of course they weren’t sweet tears that everyone else had gently rolling down their cheeks like raindrops on a flower pedal. No, these tears were uncontrollable and there was nothing sweet about them. My eyes and my nose were both crying. It was a sight to behold I am sure, but it was warranted. These women weren’t sharing small insignificant moments in their lives. They were sharing very raw stories of heartache and pain that touched me right to my core and brought all of my own pain to the surface.
It was then, and many moments throughout the rest of the weekend, that I realized the real reason I was there. It wasn’t the horses or the fresh air, though that experience was amazing, it was the women. It was Tosha, my neighbor who I barely knew before but finally connected with as I learned so much about her life and the person she is deep down. The person that she doesn’t often allow others to see. I was there to meet Angie, whose friendship and kindness opened my heart to a new me with more confidence and belief in myself. Something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was Arica, who I had spoken to a few times before but never really knew much about. She is the toughest chic I know but also has a heart full of compassion for others. It was Shanan, who is the tiniest bundle of joy that makes everyone around her feel like a million bucks. It was Brittany, who suffered from postpartum like myself and later gave me the opportunity to find true self-compassion through her book. It was all of the women in one way or another. I wish I had enough space here to name them all, not only to explain to you how incredible they really are, but share how much meeting each of them and hearing their stories impacted my life.
I will forever battle my anxiety, and the deep depression may return someday, but I am now more equipped to win that war. My experiences on the retreat, and many since, have taught me to be more patient and compassionate with myself. They taught me that I can be a better me, and therefore a better wife and mom, if I take some time away to work on improving myself. Mostly they taught me that when the darkness and the fear become too overwhelming to combat, I don’t have to hide. All I have to do is get out there and join the army of women who are ready and willing to fight with me, because they too, have battled.
Lee Ann has become one of my heroes. She is honest and vulnerable about her journey and she is a light to everyone around her. She is supportive and kind and an amazing friend. When you find a woman like Lee Ann you hold on tight and make her a big part of your life. Thanks for being you Lee Ann!
Lee Ann’s Story:
My children have brought me more joy than I could have ever imagined. Giving birth to them also brought me the deepest and darkest times of my life through postpartum depression. Each time I had a baby the depression increased to a new level of sadness and inner darkness. When I had my son in 2011, I fought the hardest and longest battle of them all. Even with medicine, exercise, diet and every other technique that I tried, it took nearly two years to heal. It was worth every terrifying and suicidal moment. I will admit though, knowing I was done having children offered me a lot of relief simply because I knew I didn’t have to go to those dark places ever again. I was wrong, I went there again in 2019. It began after having a hysterectomy to combat my ever increasing physical pain and other complications due to the effects of PCOS. I had no idea what that surgery would do to me. I didn’t know that one week after I would feel exactly the same way I had after giving birth. It was terrifying because I felt that I couldn’t do it all again. I couldn’t fight that same battle of wanting to live but not having the will to. I had survived before but this time I didn’t have two toddlers and a newborn to keep my body and mind busy or fill my heart with hope. So, I hid. That is what I always did when the darkness came into my life. I couldn’t control when the depression would hit me but I could control the amount of anxiety that accompanied it by hiding away and not facing it.
Lee Ann’s first GOTG Retreat
A few months later, after many random and inexplicable occurrences, I found myself signed up for the Get Out There Girl Cowgirl Retreat. I immediately regretted signing up. The only “getting out” I wanted to do was to get out of going. When I told my husband I wanted to go and had signed up he, assuming I was joking, laughed. He knew I wouldn’t want to go. I had never wanted to go and do anything without him and our kids. He knew my anxiety would get the best of me. Especially with the deep depression I had been in for months. He also knew it would be so good for me and that I needed it. So, with his encouragement and my hatred of wasted money, I somehow mustered up the strength to go.
As I entered the lodge on the horse ranch and saw all of these beautiful, and obviously perfect women, my anxiety placed itself right into the forefront of my thoughts and I knew I had made a mistake. Who was I to show up here and act like I could fit in or find a friend amongst them? None of these women would want to talk to me or get to know me. As I listened to each of them introduce themselves I knew I was way out of my league. I was tempted to get back in my car and go home. The only thing keeping me there was knowing I was going to be riding a horse. I grew up riding horses and learned the majority of life’s lessons while horseback with my Dad. I hadn’t ridden in nearly 14 years and hoped riding again would help me remember those lessons and possibly find a way to heal.
Lee Ann ready for her first trail ride on the Cowgirl Retreat
Within a few hours I found myself on the back of a horse and I was right. Sitting up there with my feet in the stirrups and reins in my hand I felt at peace. I was certainly rusty, and it showed even more the next day at the barrel racing competition, but being on the back of a horse reminded me of the people I love and what they had taught me. I was surrounded by miles of open rangeland and the smell of leather and sagebrush that was reminiscent of my childhood. For the first time in months I finally felt a bit free. This wasn’t a mistake after all and I knew why I had felt inclined to come. It was to ride that red dun horse named Sadie. I was there to sit in a saddle and ride a horse the way my Dad had taught me to do so many years before.
Later that night Brittany led us in a workshop on resilience. We sat in a large room gathered in a circle sitting on western style chairs that reminded me of my Grandpa. One of the first things that she spoke about was her experience with postpartum depression. What?! This perfectly perfect happy little blondie had postpartum depression? Soon after, other women around the room started sharing experiences from their lives and the various trials they had faced or were facing at that time. I was in awe at how vulnerable and open they were. I wanted so badly to share how I was feeling but I was overcome with emotion. I knew if I tried to speak nothing discernable would come out because I couldn’t contain my tears. Of course they weren’t sweet tears that everyone else had gently rolling down their cheeks like raindrops on a flower pedal. No, these tears were uncontrollable and there was nothing sweet about them. My eyes and my nose were both crying. It was a sight to behold I am sure, but it was warranted. These women weren’t sharing small insignificant moments in their lives. They were sharing very raw stories of heartache and pain that touched me right to my core and brought all of my own pain to the surface.
It was then, and many moments throughout the rest of the weekend, that I realized the real reason I was there. It wasn’t the horses or the fresh air, though that experience was amazing, it was the women. It was Tosha, my neighbor who I barely knew before but finally connected with as I learned so much about her life and the person she is deep down. The person that she doesn’t often allow others to see. I was there to meet Angie, whose friendship and kindness opened my heart to a new me with more confidence and belief in myself. Something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was Arica, who I had spoken to a few times before but never really knew much about. She is the toughest chic I know but also has a heart full of compassion for others. It was Shanan, who is the tiniest bundle of joy that makes everyone around her feel like a million bucks. It was Brittany, who suffered from postpartum like myself and later gave me the opportunity to find true self-compassion through her book. It was all of the women in one way or another. I wish I had enough space here to name them all, not only to explain to you how incredible they really are, but share how much meeting each of them and hearing their stories impacted my life.
I will forever battle my anxiety, and the deep depression may return someday, but I am now more equipped to win that war. My experiences on the retreat, and many since, have taught me to be more patient and compassionate with myself. They taught me that I can be a better me, and therefore a better wife and mom, if I take some time away to work on improving myself. Mostly they taught me that when the darkness and the fear become too overwhelming to combat, I don’t have to hide. All I have to do is get out there and join the army of women who are ready and willing to fight with me, because they too, have battled.
