It’s temporary. That’s what I kept reading in books and hearing from my therapist. That’s what the gentle women who ran support groups for new mothers and who graciously took my frantic phone calls kept telling me. It’s temporary. You’ll get over it. Don’t worry, And by the way, you’re not going crazy.
They were right, of course. The illness was temporary and I’m fine now. I didn’t go crazy, but for a while I was certain that I was on my way. I went through the motions of living normally: getting dressed in the morning, chauffeuring my children around and feeding them three times a day, letting the muddy Airedale in and out whenever she barked. But inside, I wasn’t right.