Fake it till you make it. I’ve always kind of despised that sentiment for its implication that only through disingenuousness will anyone be able to make others happy or comfortable. I prefer to see people as they are, warts and all; it’s only when I know the whole story that I’m able to form an opinion about a person or situation. However, I’m coming to see now that faking it might not necessarily be a bad thing.

Over the past two months or so I’ve navigated the hills and valleys of postpartum depression recovery and dealt with a string of relapses mitigated only by bright days full of my children’s laughter and the smell of my home cooking. I see now that fakery may be the only thing getting me through this difficult time. When I wake up in the morning to the sounds of my youngest son crying for me, I don’t want to get him out of his crib. I really, really don’t. I want to pull the covers over my head and sleep. But I pretend I’m a good mom, and I trudge to his room and open the door. And when I do, his crying stops immediately, and I’m greeted by his sunny giggles and the squeak of his mattress’ springs as he bounces up and down in giddy anticipation. I fake it, then I make it: His obvious pleasure at seeing me is my reward for pretending I’m having the time of my life.

The last thing I’ve wanted to do these past few weeks is clean my house, and many days I just am not able to summon the energy. Even on the days I can call up some strength, I still don’t want to clean. But knowing that I’ll feel better if my house isn’t a mess, I go through the motions of housewifery: I sweep, I wash, I fold, I dust, I straighten, I cook. And before I know it, my husband is home, and for all my pretending I am gifted with the relief on his face when he walks in the door and sees that I haven’t been in bed all day.

And the exercise. Oh, the exercise. I know it’s one of the best ways to pull myself out of any funk I may be in. But just thinking of all the work that goes into getting to the gym is enough to make me have an anxiety attack: 1) Decide on the best time to go, 2) Call the gym’s daycare to schedule an appointment, 3) Negotiate naptimes and such around the appointment so the kids aren’t hungry or tired when it’s time for the gym, 4) Get myself and the kids ready, make sure they are fed before we go, 5) Load up the car and drive there, 6) Actually do the working out part, 7) Get kids from daycare and try not to pass out while carrying my 30-pound son up the stairs to my condo. All this is assuming that it doesn’t snow, or the kids aren’t sleeping when it’s time for our appointment, or that the daycare isn’t full at the time I want to go.

Even though on my bad days a trip to the gym might as well be a trip up Mount Everest, knowing that going to the gym will at least, if nothing else, eat up two hours of my day, I make the effort to go — even though I don’t want to. And when I’m driving home all sweaty and tired, I smile as the endorphins rush and I realize that I have made something of that day, that I didn’t waste it lying on the couch. It’s funny that to most people going to the gym is just a part of their routine and for me it’s an act of God, but whatever — on the days I get to the gym I feel like I’m going to beat this monster. I feel as though I have beat the odds (which I pretty much create in my own head with the PPD and the anxiety and so on) and done something that I set out to do, even though it was difficult. The sense of accomplishment does wonders for my fragile ego.

So I’ll keep on faking it. Truth is, I only really have to fake it for a few minutes. Because whatever it is I’m trying to get done that day — whether it’s taking a shower, or being a good mom, or getting in a workout — my brain eventually follows my body. I might start out a fraud, but within no time, I’m the real deal.

Alexis Lesa