Mental Health In Color Initiative: Meet The Scholarship Recipients


To recover from perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, women of color must be seen and heard without the roadblocks of judgment and bias. But too often, racial differences between clients and providers make an already difficult process even more difficult.

There is a massive shortage of mental health providers who are specialists in maternal mental health, and sadly, that shortage grows exponentially when it comes to providers of color.

We want to help change the landscape of maternal mental health for women of color by investing in the future of Black women. That’s why last year, Postpartum Progress launched the Mental Health in Color Initiative. We are providing training scholarships to mental health providers of color who are interested in expanding their professional expertise into maternal mental health. We believe that this training will improve the standard of care for everyone.

Today, we are proud to announce the program’s first scholarship recipients.

Desirée Israel, LGSW
Desirée Israel is a mental health professional who focuses on postpartum recovery. She has a longstanding commitment to postpartum well-being and is active within the Postpartum Progress community. Her areas of professional focus are on Cognitive Behavioral, NTU Psychotherapy, and holistic energy healing (reiki). Desirée works with the pre and postnatal client populations. She applied to the scholarship in order to deepen her reach and bring effective knowledge to the work she is already doing.   

Collette McLean, LCSW
Collete McLean is a mental health professional who focuses on multiple forms of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy interventions. Her specialization is in Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavior Therapy and Combined Parent-Child Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Additionally she employs Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, Dialectical Behavior Therapy, Cognitive Behavior Therapy, and Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Collette works with college students at a mid-size state school. She applied for the scholarship in order to provide a resource to pregnant college students, a demographic that is often missed and undersupported.

Olivia Baylor, LCPC
Olivia is a mental health professional whose focus is work with LGBTQI couples. Olivia is particularly passionate about this demographic and often sees additional harm shown to LGBTQI identified individuals due to their lack of visibility in maternal mental health work. Olivia’s theoretical approaches are CBT, Narrative Therapy, Solution Focused Therapy. Olivia is also a gender affirming therapist.

As our operating budget grows, it’s our goal to be able to offer even more scholarships in the future. For questions about Postpartum Progress’ Mental Health in Color Initiative, please contact program manager Jasmine Banks at jasminebanks@postpartumprogress.org.

How My Friends Stood By Me In The Darkness of Postpartum Psychosis

Today’s Warrior Mom guest post comes from Eve Canavan, who lives in the UK.


By Eve Canavan

I was the first of my girlfriends to have a baby. They were excited I was going to be a mommy, and so was I. I envisioned us taking walks together, pushing the stroller along the road, laughing and enjoying this new life.

And then I gave birth.

Instead of gazing at baby Joe in wonder, I found myself too scared to look at him. I would shake in his presence and started experiencing vivid hallucinations. I couldn’t remember how to get dressed, and I developed an intense fear of the future. The idea that my baby was here forever sent me into a terrible frenzy, and I would look at the clouds and try to work out a way to escape the world.

My friends wouldn’t be able identify with my new life, and especially with this illness, I thought. How could they? I didn’t even understand what was happening to me. But while my mind had run away from me, they were still there.

Courtney visited me one day. I remember thinking the room was dark and that I felt very, very cold. She was on the sofa being lovely, and I could hear my teeth chattering.  I couldn’t focus on what she was saying — all I could do was nod and say, “Yes.” But her presence made me feel safe. I will be forever grateful for her shoulder, for I leaned on it when I felt like I was standing on my own.

Then there was Cheryl. In an attempt to leave the walls that I was convinced were closing on in me, I left my house to visit her. As I walked down the high street, I had a panic attack. In my mind, the buildings were stretching all the way to the sky. When I arrived at her house, I sat on her sofa and said, “Chez, I am struggling. I think I have made a mistake. Having a baby is not what I thought it would be. I’m crying all the time and I am scared. She took my hand and said, “Evie, you will be okay. Maybe not right away, but you will be. I am here for you. We all are. Anything we can do, tell us, because you’re our friend and when one falls, we will all lift them up.” She told me about the book Feel The Fear and Do It Anyway and said it may help with my anxiety. She reassured me I was doing a good job and that I could always talk to her. I felt so comforted by her words.

I also think about Rachel. At the time, my symptoms were becoming too much for me to cope with. I became suicidal and was hospitalized. My hair started to fall out. I wanted to shut everyone out and for everything to stop. I had forgotten how to use my phone — it confused me and my eyes went blurry when I looked at it. Rachel told me I sent her endless rambling text messages, repeating things over and over. But she continued to message me. She wanted me to be able to look at my phone and see that I wasn’t alone. Knowing this is amazing. My friends still cared about me, and that lifted me.

When Joe was 7-and-a-half weeks old, our friends Nik and Kath drove 200 miles to see me in the hospital. The unit agreed I could leave for a couple of hours, and armed my husband with a handful of antipsychotics in case I felt unwell. I cuddled Kath and cried and cried. She is one of my dearest friends and just seeing her made something in me lose a little of the terror for those two hours. She had gone to such an effort to see me in my very darkest of hours.

Over time, through exposure therapy and other treatments, I got better. Joe is now seven. He is the greatest little fireball of energy and passion. He builds Lego and goes to women’s marches with me and is truly the best thing to ever happen in my life. I have found a love I never thought possible.

I have always valued my friendships. Having someone to confide in, laugh with and drink wine with is the greatest feeling, but after becoming unwell, I have seen the other side of friendships. How friends can lift you and give you hope when you think all is lost. How they can provide a nonjudgemental shoulder to cry on and how they will cry with you when you are at your lowest ebb. How they will be there to help pull you through.

I Had Postpartum Psychosis. ‘Praying More’ Didn’t Make It Go Away.

Today’s Warrior Mom guest post comes from Nicole Grodan, who speaks out about the stigmatization of therapy and medication in some church communities. Regardless of your spiritual beliefs, it is not a sign of weakness to seek medical help for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. In fact, it is a step of courage.  



By Nicole Grodan

“Just pray more.”

“Have more faith.”

“Cry out to God.”

These were a few of the responses I got when I tried talking to people about what I was experiencing — a spiral away from reality and into postpartum psychosis. After welcoming another baby boy into our family, I started hearing whispers in my head and could no longer determine what was real. I was falling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

I love God and know he is there by my side. This I have never doubted. Baptized in the Roman Catholic Church and raised in Christian churches of various denominations, I would always be able to sense God’s presence in the midst of chaos. I’d be able to look up at the sunrise or sunset and know that everything would be OK, even if I couldn’t imagine how.

And I believed that God was with me throughout all of this, too. The insomnia. The shame and guilt. The whispers that haunted me.

In my younger days, I learned at church that we should not talk about painful things, but instead sweep them under the rug. Talking about these sorts of things proved you were bad and God needed to punish you.

I ignored that advice.

When I was at a full tilt of my postpartum psychosis (which was misdiagnosed as bipolar), I had lunch with a “friend.” But when I shared about the depression I was experiencing, she said I was being punished for my lack of faith and trust in God. She said I had to have been bad in my previous life and that’s why I was struggling.

When I shared that I thought I should maybe see a therapist and how medication might help, I was told that if I went to church, it would get better and that medication isn’t God’s way. She thought I was dealing with this because I didn’t have my oldest son baptized and this was God’s way to punish me.

Sorry, but that is not how God rolls.

Things got worse. Though I had two amazing children, I just couldn’t anymore. I had a plan, a method, a date. I arranged for someone to pick up the boys for me. I had written my letters of goodbye.

Earlier, I had a made an appointment to see a postpartum depression support group facilitator, but I didn’t want to go. In tears, I prayed for guidance. I begged God to help me. I asked him for direction. As I picked up the phone to call and cancel my meeting, I felt a pull. In a brief moment of quiet in my head, I heard, “Don’t do it. Trust me.” I put the phone down and went to my meeting.

There, I broke down. I spent a week in the hospital for my own safety.

For my recovery, for my healing, I needed therapy. I still do. I needed medication. I still do. I needed hospitalization, and I know that if I ever need it again, it would be OK. God will be with me. He is my strength. He gives me hope. And through my battle with postpartum mood disorders, he was standing with me each step of the way.

A few years ago, we found a new church. When I started sharing tiny bits and pieces of my experience with mental illness, I wasn’t shamed. I wasn’t judged. I wasn’t condemned. I was embraced. I was loved. I was encouraged.

My youngest is now 8 years old. He is my snuggle bug. My reading buddy. My library junkie. He cooks with me. We go for walks and we talk about everything. Though he doesn’t know this (yet), all those years ago, he saved me from myself. He is my hero, my heart, my reason. I know without a doubt, God blessed me when he gave us Little Dude.

I continue to share bits and pieces of my postpartum story with members from my new church, even when I’m terrified.

Now, when I reveal my pain, I’m given hugs, love and compassion. And I hear the simple, beautiful words: “Thank you.”

How Writing The Truth About Motherhood Was The Ultimate Self-Care

Today’s Warrior Mom guest post comes from Sammie Prescott.


By Sammie Prescott

Before motherhood, I always thought self-care was about physical care, not mental. I pictured things like going to the salon, or taking a hot, silent bath. Back then, it really was amazing what a fresh coat of nail polish, and 10 minutes of Adele could do for the psyche.

Things became different after having a baby. A trip to the nail salon left me anxious, uptight, and nauseous. I had no time to take a bath, and I really didn’t want to sit in silence. As my mental illness reached its climax, silence was scary.

I knew I had to take care of myself, or I couldn’t take care of my son. But how? How does one practice self-care when your whole world revolves around a baby? I did the typical Pinterest search on “self-care for moms,” and came across suggestions such as “talk to a friend” or “go to an animal shelter.” My stomach curled. I didn’t want to be anywhere near other people. The very idea of stepping out of my comfort zone, or even putting on pants actually caused me to experience the deepest, soul-clenching panic one could imagine. So I sat with my infant, and let my depression and anxiety build into something massive. There were days when hours would slip by and I wouldn’t move. My heart was heavy, while my head was messy. The darkness pulled me in, but I let it. After a while, the drive to do anything was just gone.

As my life progressed, I decided — well, actually it was my husband who decided — that I needed something. One day, it came to me. I opened my laptop and just started writing. I poured out every emotion I could. I spared no shameful frustration, or dirty detail — and I mean dirty. I talked about the diapers, the vomit, the tears, and everything in between.

Here’s a passage I wrote during those days.

“Sometimes I use my feelings of total failure and anxiety to clean my house. I harness the evil for good, I suppose. I can’t always aggressively Swiffer, so when that doesn’t work, my mind runs wild. I argue with myself about how we will fix the scary things in our life, and how I will lose the weight. I worry about what dinner will be, and when the couch will get vacuumed.

Last night was one of those nights. I was worried, scared, and felt like I had truly failed. My group of mom friends had a rough day, and we took it out on one another. I feel like I failed as a friend. Tater wouldn’t stop crying, and I didn’t know why… another feeling of failure, and to top it all off, I forgot to cook dinner for B who was at work all day. That’s three “failures” on top of the others that loom over me.

I cried.

(I firmly believe that the universe is an amazing place, in which everything happens for a reason)

I looked up on my Facebook to see the post that said “I haven’t failed, I just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” I laughed, said forget it! And proceeded to eat 400 Oreos and forget about my anxieties for a second.”

After writing just for myself for a while, I decided to share one of these informal essays with the ladies I had become close with on my Birth board. They all laughed, while encouraging me to share more. I love the feeling of making people laugh. It’s almost soul-cleansing, knowing that your words or actions can change a person’s mood. I felt like my essays were relatable. There was no “perfect parent” talk, or showing off. It was all about real moments in my everyday life. So every night, I carved out at least 30 minutes where I could spill everything I was feeling. The more I wrote, the better I felt. My light was finally lit again, after being out for so long. I enjoyed my quiet time, and sometimes I even wrote when my life wasn’t quiet at all.

I decided to further share my words by starting a blog. I told myself that even if no one reads it, at least this will make me feel OK.

With the blog started, I just let it flow. Every emotion poured out of me, in the snarky, humorous way that I spoke. The more and more readers I got, the crazier it all got. The feedback was warming my damaged soul. Even when the negative feedback came in, it still meant someone was taking the time out of their day to read what I wrote.

Now, two years later writing is my safe space. I was lucky enough to be given a writing prompt journal from my best friend. It’s filled with 300 questions, and space to answer them. They make me dig deep into my emotions, and sometimes they make me laugh. I also journal, for when writing a post, or filling in a prompt just aren’t doing it for me.

Self-care isn’t the same for everyone. You have to soul search to find out what works best for you. It may take a few tries, but never get discouraged. Practicing self-care has made me a better wife, a more patient mom, and truer version of myself.

Want to start writing as self-care? Here are my tips:

  • Find a space in your home where you can write consistently. This will be your grounding zone. It’s a bit of stability in the forever unstable battle that is mental illness.
  • Carve out at least 15 minutes a day to write. I usually sit down in my reading corner after my little person is fast asleep. Some days I need 15 minutes, some days I need an hour. You can start journaling (here’s my favorite journal), or if that isn’t your style, there are a wide variety of notebooks that come with writing prompts in them. You have to find what kind of writing works for you.
  • Get comfortable. Throw on those yoga pants, and wrap a soft blanket around you. I often light a candle as well. The smell of sugar cookies seems to clear the mind, and makes my bedroom smell less like toddler.
  • When it’s time for me to write, I sit down and enjoy a few minutes of quiet first. I let the day leave my mind so I can give my full heart into what I’m doing.
  • Finally, let your mind go. Write what you feel, and feel what you write. With prompt writing, I always take a few minutes to really read the prompt before I let the pen go. With journaling, it spills out like water. Hold nothing back.