A Message To Moms: Your Worth Is Not Measured In Ounces

A powerful Facebook post by new dad Kim Chen has been generating shares and support from around the world. Kim’s wife, Florence Leung, died by suicide last year after silently battling postpartum depression. In the post, he opened up Florence’s struggle, which included her feeling pressured to exclusively breastfeed.

Remember, there is no one-size-fits all story around whether moms should or shouldn’t breastfeed, and we must support all women in their choices. 

Today’s Warrior Mom guest post comes from Avery Furlong of Ogden, Utah. She writes about her own journey in feeding her child.   


By Avery Furlong

I can still remember the shrill cry of my brand new baby boy as I tried to get him to latch. It tugged at my heart, and made my eyes burn with tears of frustration.

“Come on, buddy!” He finally latched, but the pain that accompanied it was excruciating. I yanked him off and burst into tears. My husband quickly came in and took him from my arms as I ran to the bathroom. I slammed the door and sunk to the floor. I let the tears fall.

Everyone could breastfeed. Everyone. Right? That’s what I had read. That is what the nurses at the hospital said. Breast is best. It was supposed to be the most natural thing in the world. But I hated it. I straight-up hated breastfeeding. I had seen a lactation consultant who assured me everything looked fine. I asked friends for help, but nothing was working.

I hated feeding my own child. Wasn’t feeding supposed to be bonding? I dreaded being near him because I knew I would have to try to nurse him, and that meant an hour of both of us crying. I constantly thought about hurting myself or running away so I wouldn’t have to put my son, or myself, through such misery just to feed him. Not to mention my reoccurring mastitis. (Seven times. Seven. Times. I wouldn’t wish mastitis on my worst enemy.) It’s NOT supposed to be like this. What is wrong with me? What kind if mother am I if I can’t even give my son “the best”?

Completely desperate, I switched to exclusively pumping to eliminate the pain, but that made things even worse. I spent more time trying to squeeze out one more ounce than I did with my baby. I missed out on so much being attached to that pump. Especially sleep. Every time I fed him I was bitterly thinking about pumping for the next feeding and wishing I could just sleep instead. Those thoughts always turned into awful thoughts of ways that I could disappear so I wouldn’t have to keep doing this.

I finally thought I could confide in a few close friends about how miserable I was. It felt like a slap in the face when they looked at me and said, “Well, breast is best. It’s worth it.” As if it didn’t matter that I hated feeding my child so much I wouldn’t even look at him when I fed him. As if it didn’t matter that I was missing out on my baby because I was so stressed out about pumping enough ounces. As if it didn’t matter I was having suicidal thoughts as I fed my son. I felt the full pressure to give my son that liquid gold, even though it was slowly killing me. But it didn’t seem to matter, because “breast is best.”

I reached the darkest and scariest place I had ever been before I finally saw my doctor. On top of starting medication and therapy, my sweet doctor, who is a dear family friend and supported me through my difficult pregnancy, looked me right in the eyes and told me it was ok to stop pumping and attempting to nurse. He gently reminded me that formula does not equal failure.

The guilt ate at me as I prepared that first bottle. I worried he wouldn’t need me any more. I felt like giving him my milk, even though I hated it, was the only thing I was doing right. I wanted him to have the best.

And then I fed him the formula. His big blue eyes gazed up at me, and he smiled. He reached up and patted my face. And for once, I didn’t look away. I didn’t have the urge to hand him off to someone else. There were no negative thoughts about pumping or pain. I smiled back. I tickled his toes. I ran my fingers through his red hair and sang him my favorite lullaby. He giggled. It was the most peaceful, happy, truly bonding moment I had ever had with him. And it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t have to stay up and pump for the next feeding. Instead, I watched him sleep peacefully in my arms.

I am a firm believer that fed is best. Breastmilk is absolutely amazing. There is so much science behind that, and I won’t deny it. But formula gave us something that breastmilk couldn’t. It gave me my sanity back. Formula was best for us. No amount of breastmilk could ever replace me as a happy and healthy mother. He needed ME more than he needed my milk. Because I am “the best” for him. I am enough. You are enough. Your worth as a mother is not measured in ounces.

Today, that sweet boy is an extremely healthy, loving, active little boy. He is definitely a momma’s boy. Our bond is stronger than ever. Unless I told you, you’d never guess if he or his brother were formula fed or breastfed. To be honest, it doesn’t matter. They are both happy, healthy, and loved. And I am too. That is the best.

Apply Now: Postpartum Progress 2017 Mental Health First Aid Scholarships

MHFA Scholarships 2017Every year, millions of women across the U.S. and around the world reach out to their friends and family members looking for help with a maternal mental illness. At Postpartum Progress, our goal has always been to reach back and help others do the same. Last year, Postpartum Progress helped 79 women complete Mental Health First Aid training so that they could reach back more effectively.

Today, we are pleased and proud to announce that we are now accepting applications for the 2017 scholarship class and we have 100 scholarships available!

What is Mental Health First Aid Training?

Mental Health First Aid is an 8-hour class, coordinated by the National Council for Behavioral Health, the Maryland Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, and the Missouri Department of Mental Health. Classes are taught throughout the United States by independent, certified instructors and teach participants how to help someone who is experiencing an ongoing mental health problem or crisis.

What Will I Learn?

The 4 key areas of instruction focus on:

  • Signs of addictions and mental illnesses
  • Impact of mental and substance use disorders
  • 5-step action plan to assess a situation and help
  • Local resources and where to turn for help

How do I apply?

Learn more about the scholarship program on our website. From there, you can fill out a scholarship application and it will be reviewed by the selection committee. We will award scholarships by March 1, 2017.

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Am I eligible to participate?

  • Scholarships are open to PMAD survivors, advocates, and members of the Postpartum Progress community.
  • Warrior Mom® Ambassadors will be given priority when selecting scholarship recipients. To learn more about this program, visit our website.
  • Though we love our international Warrior Moms (and we do!), we are only able to offer public scholarships for trainings in the U.S. for now.

Once you have been chosen for a scholarship, we will help you find a class and walk you through the reimbursement process. Classes are one day (8 hours) and you will learn skills that you can use immediately.

Here’s what some of last year’s class has to say:

“The MHFA class has helped me understand some of the more subtle clues that can indicate a person is in crisis, and as a result, I have been able to intervene earlier than I may have otherwise.” —Kelly from Colorado

“MHFA has given me a quick set of tools that I can run through when talking with a mom. I always ask about suicidal thoughts but I’m able to do it in a way that isn’t intrusive or alarming. I’ve used my training “in person” too. Both times it was while traveling for Postpartum Progress related business and involved other travelers having panic attacks while on the plane and waiting to get through check in. MHFA not only helps our moms, but it lets us work in our communities and help anyone who might be struggling.” —Shannon from Alberta, Canada

“The one thing I walked away with was – it was ok to ask a mom if she has/had suicidal thoughts and to realize that asking that question doesn’t put the thought in her head. That it’s already there. And then to ask the follow up question of has she planned how. Oddly I’ve had to ask this question a lot and it doesn’t scare me at all.” —Amy from Washington

We are excited to welcome even more Mental Health First Aiders to our ranks in 2017 and we are grateful, as always, for the support of the National Council for Behavioral Health.

As A Psychiatrist, I Thought I’d Be Immune To Postpartum Depression. I Was Wrong.

Today’s post comes from Dr. Aparna Iyer, a board-certified psychiatrist and assistant professor at UT Southwestern in Dallas, Texas. She also has a private practice in Frisco, Texas.



By Aparna Iyer

I am a psychiatrist who treats mental health issues during pregnancy and the postpartum period. I had thought that this would somehow make me immune to postpartum depression, as though I could have seen it coming from a mile away and warded it off. But I was wrong. Quite frankly, I never thought it would happen to me.

After nine months of a blissful, uneventful pregnancy, I had an emergency c-section when the baby’s heart rate dropped. Although I imagine I could have been thrilled with the prospect of simply having a healthy baby, I instead found myself in a fog afterwards. People kept gushing over the baby, saying how beautiful he was, but the reality is that I couldn’t see anything past that fog.

My family and friends started to notice as I became progressively more detached and dysphoric. Many friends wondered why I kept dodging their calls or avoiding their requests to come over to see the baby. It just seemed like such a unsurmountable chore to even get dressed in the morning and to put on a smile to meet people, to give off the semblance of the romanticized mother-baby experience that we are all so convinced we will have.

A rock amidst the choppy waters — it’s what we psychiatrists aim to be. We strive to be the calm that our patients need during their darkest times. But in those moments, I found myself immersed in the deepest of those water, grasping for anything that would give me a moment of relief. I was shocked that I, someone who works to give her patients relief from such struggles, could be experiencing it myself.

The reality is that postpartum depression does not discriminate. Although it can impact certain groups of people more than others, it really can happen to anyone. It doesn’t care whether you’re younger or older, rich or poor, healthy or medically complicated. Frankly, it didn’t give a hoot that I was a psychiatrist either. It arrives, often unannounced, angry and ready to plunge us into a vortex of sadness and irrationality. It drives a wedge between us and our friends, family, partners. It leads some of us to act dangerously, towards ourselves and our newborns. In fact, around 80 percent of women report mood changes in the postpartum period, and about 15 percent go on to experience postpartum depression.

And yet, we cannot talk about it. The reality is that we’ve spent the better part of the last nine months preparing for this beautiful experience. We’ve had the baby showers, sifting through countless names to find the perfect one, reading numerous books on parenting philosophies to find the one that fits you best, wondering how you’re going to do anything productive on your maternity leave when all you want to do is stare into those gorgeous little eyes. And now this — is this the ultimate failure, many of us wonder? It’s hard not to believe that it is, although thankfully the world and the medical community have slowly started to truly understand postpartum depression for what it is: an unfortunate but common medical phenomena, one of the most common side effects of pregnancy.

The author and her newborn son.

Oftentimes women come into my office seeking help for postpartum depression and various other postpartum ailments. Many describe the struggle to keep their symptoms a secret, trying so desperately to maintain the image of that idyllic beginning of motherhood. Those of us who have experienced postpartum depression know that can be a strong sense of shame and stigma surrounding postpartum mental illness; likely some of this stigma is perpetuated by the pressure placed on mothers to do it all in a seemingly effortless, fashionable way in a society that sneers at the very concept of depression.

Depression and anxiety during the postpartum period need to be taken seriously, by the postpartum mother, her partner, her family and her physician. It is everybody’s job to compassionately support the mental health and wellbeing of the mother and her baby. Untreated postpartum depression can have terrible consequences. These mothers are less likely to get postnatal care, more likely to self medicate with drugs and alcohol, and ultimately this may all result in their babies experiencing worsening outcomes.

Luckily, postpartum depression is very treatable. In many cases, these women can opt for talk therapy, which is often sufficient and a great source of relief and support. In some cases, we might have to also add an antidepressant. While this can make a patient nervous, especially if that patient is breastfeeding, many of my patients feel more confident with this decision once I present the data regarding the risk profile of antidepressants versus the risks of uncontrolled depression or anxiety.

Depression at any stage of life can be a debilitating experience, and I am not glad to have had it, especially during a time I would have wished to have enjoyed bonding with my baby. However, I suppose that this could be viewed as an extension of my training, an opportunity to have experienced what many of my patients experience. Sometimes when my patients are in their darkest times, I express to them that I can see the light, the relief, at the end of this tunnel, and that they have to trust me that we can get there. As I write this and pause frequently due to my now three-year-old rambunctious toddler smiling up at me and vying for my attention, I smile back and am grateful that I reached the light at the end of my mine.

After Postpartum Depression, The Decision To Have Another Child Is Fraught With Anxiety

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


By S. Prescott

Sometimes, I’ll see babies in the store or at the kid gym, and my ovaries will scream. I’ll want to sniff their sweet heads, and enjoy their quiet cuddles. The perfect little cries, and gentle hands. Then, I’ll snap out of my daydream to ask myself:

Do I really want to do that again?

My mind suddenly shifts to the scary reality that was my postpartum mental illness two years ago. I’ll be taken back to the days when I just wanted to lay in bed and cry, but I still got up, and pretended I was fine. I’ll remember how I lost my spirit in the cloudy whirlwind. I’ll remember how I felt completely detached from the light that was my life.

The decision to grow one’s family is never a simple one, but for those who’ve had postpartum depression before, it comes with an extra layer of emotional distress. Those who’ve had postpartum depression or anxiety or psychosis before have a 50 percent higher risk than the average mom of experiencing one of these illnesses again.

Could I handle it again?

I’ll ask myself this as I see a tired, new mom shuffling through Target.

Could I handle a toddler, a newborn, and postpartum depression?

I can hardly handle one tantrum, let alone a tantrum from two kids. Would it make my depression worse? Would I become unattached to either child?

Will it affect my relationship with my son, and my husband?

My husband adapted so well to having a newborn — would he be able to do that again? My son gets so jealous. He might hate me.

My whole adult life, I was told kids would not be in my future. My husband and I accepted that, and enjoyed our life. We didn’t plan to try meds, or to adopt. We were content living our lives, just the two of us. Then, when we found out that what I thought was a kidney infection was actually a baby, we were horrified — and elated.

The typical fear-driven questions filled my head. Will I be a good mother? What if it hates me? The pregnancy was rough on my body, but I had no idea what was the storm getting ready to take over my mind and soul.

Our son was born at 42 weeks gestation, and sent to the NICU three hours after a 20 hour labor. I had a failed induction under my belt, a past term baby, an infection, and a sick baby. I spent the next nine days crying. At one point I couldn’t even hold our sweet boy. Going home to an empty nursery was crushing. However, I powered through. When we finally got discharged I felt a light in my heart, and clear air in my mind. The NICU had him on a perfect schedule, and he was an amazing eater. Life was great. Then the storm hit.

We were back in the NICU with RSV. I was sad, but this was different.

Having postpartum depression is like being in one of those dreams where you are running, but going nowhere. There is this fear and isolation, but you aren’t 100 percent what sure is causing it. In my case, I was surrounded by wonderful people, yet I still felt completely alone. Looking back at it now, I knew what was going on with my mind, but I was scared to admit it. I already felt like a total failure. I couldn’t even keep my baby from getting sick for a week. I blamed myself for both of his NICU trips, and for every problem around the sun. My fuse was short, that even the smallest thing would make me cry, or explode.

My best friend took me to lunch, and told me she thought I wasn’t okay. I didn’t deny it. I was not okay. I sat in the parking lot of our favorite diner and called my OB. My best friend sat in the passenger seat of my car, and told me it was all going to be okay. She assured me that I wasn’t a bad mom, and no one thought I was a failure. I still don’t think she understands how much I appreciate her for saving me.

I spoke with my doctor. I worked up the strength to say, “I think I have postpartum depression.”

He prescribed medication, and on Day One, I felt a change. I wasn’t better, but I wasn’t sliding into a hole of darkness. Within the week, I noticed I was someone different. I wasn’t quite my old self, but I wasn’t the “damaged” hot mess that I was before. I was handling my emotions better, and my fuse grew. I wasn’t flying off the handle, and I was no longer numb. I found Postpartum Progress, and for the first time, I didn’t feel alone, crazy, or like a failure. I felt empowered.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my struggles with postpartum depression. The ups, the downs, the tears, and the true breakdowns fueled by mental illness, stigmas and self doubt.

My husband and I have reached a point in our lives where we are discussing having more babies. We both have incredible siblings that have greatly impacted our lives. We don’t want our son to miss out on that incredible bond.

I’ve come to a point where I no longer cower in fear at thought of having PPD once more. There are so many things that I know now that I didn’t know then. I know more about caring for a newborn baby, handling lady-part goo, and I know more about my mind. I can tell when something isn’t quite right, and I’m no longer afraid to get help. I don’t see postpartum depression as a shameful thing anymore. I know about all the amazing references, organizations, and helpers there are out there. The more I think about, and look into having more babies, the less fearful I become. I know that I can make it through.

We haven’t started trying for number two just yet. But I know when I do, I’ll have a world of strength behind me.

P.S. More on the question: Should you stop having children if you’ve had postpartum depression?