My son Matt will be getting part of my memoir manuscript to read soon, and I wanted to prepare him for what’s in it. I wanted him to know how much I loved his newborn presence in my life over 30 years ago, even though I struggled so much as a new mom.
I wanted to give him a heads-up before he reads about my postpartum depression. It was never diagnosed, wasn’t really recognized in 1986. But I had it. BAD.
It’s been terrifying to write about, to remember and relive it. But it’s part of my story and I can’t leave it out.
So I talked with Matt about all of this over the Thanksgiving weekend and he was OK with it. I hope when he reads the details about those late night scenes, he’ll still be OK.
I’ve told him if he needs therapy as a result, I’ll pay for it and go with him. I’m joking, but serious.