If you don’t mind a little profanity, you can read Heather Armstrong’s new book, “It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita.” She’s been on a national tour promoting it and is about to have her second baby.

Your postpartum time with your baby’s medical needs as the driving force as “an agitated on-guard state of despair and survival” can also apply to any parent (but especially mothers) who have a special needs child (of any age) and very little practical and emotional support to answer their child’s needs.

Without a strong network of “mothering” resources, postpartum can actually be a pretty scary period. Self care goes out the window, no one is looking out for the mother, and that vigilant survive or else state may become the one mode you function in.

My son is 15 now, and it is clear he has developmental disabilities, but it took a long time getting that clarity because his infancy was a lonely time for us. I had a high risk pregnancy with a planned C-section, necessary for the survival of both my son and myself. There were further complications early on. He was born grey and still, but was revived and we were out of the hospital 48 hours later, to deal with the significant issues of his first years pretty much on our own.

Despite some of the best obstetric care in the country, progressive doctors and hospital, and a somewhat involved spouse, there was absolutely no support for me, emotionally and also in practical ways. The pregnancy was medicalized for our physical survival up to delivery and for a short time thereafter. No birthing classes, no Lamaze, etc. This was my first child and we both had health issues. Had those health issues not been identified, I would have been in birthing classes and Lamaze, and the warm, mutual nurturing, experience and networking of women and families would have been accessible to our family. It would have made a big difference.

I would stagger into the doctor’s office with my baby, disheveled and odd looking, getting a few scrutinizing silent glances, before they did his checks. No one ever asked how I was doing, only how he was nursing. I had no idea he was not growing, so in love with him and so ignorant of what to expect. It took a while for anyone to decide that there were problems.

Had there been a doula, and/or an informed and prepared network of people, the emotional pressure in isolation would not have happened or it would have been ameliorated very quickly. Also, the welcoming, witnessing, and work of the baby’s first year into the world would have humanized and have counterbalanced the isolation that parents experience as they try to get medical needs for their babies met. It’s entirely possible that my son’s outcome right now would be much better. That hypervigilant state of grief and isolation revisits me to this day. The only difference now, is that I know a lot of mothers who understand because they have the same kind of challenges to face with their children.

It doesn’t sound like you really had any time for grieving, which was probably a strong need as there was no doubt that your child’s infancy would be different and pretty traumatic. Some mothers struggle unsuccessfully with the bonding process, significantly changing the child’s first years, even their entire life. Other mothers, like you, are able to draw on their innate wisdom and use it almost the way a mother with a family oriented human network she can rely on for support.

Although its true that the internet has given many emotional support systems an organizational and informational home base, the bottom line for new mothers and fathers, is that physical support is crucial. When it comes with understanding and acceptance, postpartum challenges can have a natural and limited duration, or not occur at all.

Had more people been there consistently to give you time to grieve, rest, and vent, and also to encourage rejoicing your child with her differences your experience might have been entirely different. It’s not that the chemical imbalance of postpartum would necessarily disappear, but it would be acceptable to acknowledge and help, and would resolve more quickly, because vigilance would not be so dominant as to override self care and common sense. Help would have been there in ways that were immediately meaningful for you and your child.

I don’t think we can call ourselves a civilization until we recognize and honor all nurturing and care giving roles through both practical means and an atmosphere of informed, active empathy. We were not supposed to be alone and we were never meant to be good at everything. A community with a conscience is supposed to fill the gaps.

I still look around and often feel “they all must know better than me.” That was imprinted a long time ago, when I actually didn’t know better and no one was there to tell me learning wouldn’t be so hard if I had just a little bit of help and understanding.

Hi. My experience with postpartum depression was just published. I would love to share my story with other women. I talk about a terrible pregnancy, feelings of failure when I chose to have a C-section, having a baby after thirteen years of marriage, and intrusive thoughts that entered my mind with no real warning. I cannot guarantee that everyone will love reading my story but I talk about my hope for other women in this book and how I survived something horrific by admitting myself to a psychiatric unit.

My book is: Tears of Sadness/Coping with Postpartum Depression