Brene Brown said, “I now see how owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing we'll ever do.”

When our youngest was about a year old, I had a mental health “breakdown.” What I mean by that is this: I was crying uncontrollably for what appeared to be no reason. I could hear the water running in the shower. Instead of going into the bedroom and crying by myself like I would normally do, something made me walk into the bathroom and pull open the shower curtain. My husband looked at me, shook his head, and said, “Corinne, I can’t help you.”

I sat down on the floor, still sobbing. Thoughts of taking my life raced through my head. I felt as if I was losing my mind. My husband’s response may seem cruel to some of you reading this, but he was right, so I had to make a decision. What would I do? Surely this would go away, I thought to myself. I’ve been “making” it go away for years.

This time was different though. My body knew it. My heart knew it. My soul knew it. So I picked up the phone and called a friend from church. “Is there anyone home with you?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Hang up the phone and call your doctor.” Her response surprised me but I did exactly what she told me to do.

When I called the doctor’s office and explained what I was experiencing, they had me come right in. The nurse immediately took me back to the doctor. My doctor examined me and then we talked. She made a statement I’ll never forget. She said, “You must have the world’s biggest shoulders.” I looked at her, confused. “You think you need to do it all, and be it all, for everyone,” she said, and she was right.

So much went into what brought me to that breaking point and hindsight is always 20/20. In retrospect, I see now that I had suffered from postpartum depression with the births of our last two children, I just didn’t know what it was. For example, a coworker stopped by unexpectedly shortly after our second child was born. She found me alone, sobbing in the corner of our living room holding our baby. In that moment, I just thought I was sleep deprived, though the repeated impulses to drive my car into a tree or drive past my house instead of stopping should have been glaring red flags that something was very wrong.

Doctors didn’t really address postpartum depression back then, and for the most part, women didn’t openly discuss it amongst themselves either. I didn’t have access to the internet the way I do now and to be quite honest, I was ashamed of the way I was feeling. What was wrong with me? I had this beautiful, happy baby. Didn’t I want my baby? Why was I sad? Why was I feeling like taking my life when I had everything to live for? I felt like a horrible mother for struggling and not understanding what was happening with my body. I didn’t speak up. I didn’t ask for help. Truthfully, I didn’t know how. In my mind, my mom did it all. She had 3 babies by the time she was 21, her mom had died before I was born, and my dad was frequently absent. She did it. Why would I think I couldn’t? Or shouldn’t? Women are taught early on to be selfless, especially wives and mothers. Do all. Be all. Sacrifice all. They are revered for it. “Look at how much she can take on…” The list of what motherhood “should” look like is extensive, exhausting, and subjective. It was ingrained in me that moms should be at home with their babies, using cloth diapers, making everything from scratch, keeping the house clean, and still putting dinner on the table.

I felt like asking for help would’ve meant I was failing, but this breakdown forced me to confront my reality: I needed help. I couldn’t keep going on as I was. My doctor prescribed me an antidepressant and I started going to therapy. In those sessions, I began to examine my life.

Sometimes, growth can be painful. It turned out that at different times, I needed help in different ways. I was being pulled in a lot of different directions, life got hectic, the chemicals in my body were imbalanced, and I had childhood trauma that needed to be resolved. All of those things were holding me back from my happiness and I set about healing them one by one. Looking back, my breakdown is what set me on my journey for personal growth, but I want to encourage whoever is reading this not to wait. You don’t have to be at your breaking point like I was before asking for help. The pressures of being a mom are enough. You don’t have to have it all figured out, and you certainly don’t have to do it alone.