When I found out that I was pregnant, my boss granted me four weeks paid maternity leave. I was also allowed to use short-term disability to take two additional weeks off, giving me six weeks total maternity leave. I was lucky, considering there is no federal law that guarantees paid maternity leave in America.

Elroy arrived 5 weeks ahead of schedule. My body decided it didn’t like being pregnant anymore, so my organs started to shut down in an attempt to evict him. This is also known as HELLP Syndrome. He and I spent eight days in the hospital following his arrival to get his jaundice cleared and get my blood pressure and liver semi-straightened out. We were lucky, considering the high perinatal mortality rate associated with HELLP, which some sources cite can be as high as 70%.

After Elroy was born, I felt…off. Weepy. Panicky. Anxious. I had just been through a traumatic experience where I had to face my own mortality, along with the mortality of my newborn son, so maybe the trauma flipped a switch in my brain. Maybe my familial tendency toward mental illness was finally showing up. Regardless of the cause, it soon became clear that the “baby blues” had evolved into something more serious for me. I was scared to be alone with Elroy. The sound of him crying made me want to hurt myself. Elroy was a sleepy baby. Because he was premature, he had to eat every three hours, and we had to wake him up to eat. Feedings took over an hour because he would doze off as soon as he started to eat, plus he had reflux. Sleep was fractured and came with shame attached – I should be doing laundry / writing thank-you notes / taking a shower instead of taking a nap. Elroy and I were lucky because Gomez stepped up and took care of everything he could.

Then, right around the time my maternity leave was coming to an end, I became suicidal. I would lie in bed at night, unable to sleep because of my anxiety, and mentally inventory my medicine cabinet – What could I take to just go to sleep and never wake up? Was it possible to overdose on leftover prenatal vitamins? The only thing that kept me from attempting suicide was the fear that I wouldn’t be successful. There was no way I could leave Gomez with a disabled wife to care for and preemie to raise on his own. I was lucky because ibuprofen was the strongest medicine we had in the house.

Six weeks after Elroy was born (and when he should have been a little over a week old, had he not been premature), Elroy started day care, and I returned to work. Having babies is expensive. Having babies with an extended hospital stay attached is extra expensive. I couldn’t afford to take any unpaid time off because the hospital and doctors’ bills had already started to roll in. Then, the mom guilt piled on top of the PPD and the insane sleep (or lack of sleep) schedule. I struggled to make headway on the backlog of work that had piled up for my six weeks’ leave while trying to keep up with current tasks. I would lock my office door and pump milk twice a day, sobbing the entire time because my tiny baby whom I hadn’t ever really bonded with was being cared for by people I hardly even knew. I was lucky because I had an office door that locked, so I was able to sob in private.

Elroy was sick a lot that first year. He had RSV, more than one ear infection, and some febrile seizures which led to a two night stay in the hospital, in addition to the routine well checks and immunizations. Gomez and I didn’t have relatives nearby, so he or I had to take off from work every time Elroy was sick or had an appointment. I had several doctor’s appointments, as well – to keep an eye on my liver, to adjust and re-adjust my blood pressure medication, and to monitor my heart. It didn’t take long for me to burn through my company-provided PTO. My body had fallen apart. My brain was falling apart. I was spiraling, but I couldn’t do anything about it because now Gomez and I had a baby and we had to have my salary in order to make it from one month to the next. I was doing too much, and not doing anything well. I needed mental healthcare, but I was afraid to seek treatment because there are times when corporations do gross things like find a reason to fire employees who need to use their health insurance “too much.” I was lucky because I hadn’t already had the “talking-to.”

One positive aspect of working as an accountant was the annual Christmas bonus. Bonuses were robust, equaling more than 10 percent of my annual salary at that time. My salary wasn’t much, but the annual bonuses narrowed the gap between my salary and the salary of other accounts with similar experience who worked for larger companies or in public accounting. Our office closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day each year. On December 23rd, my boss stepped into my office with my Christmas bonus in his hand. He took a seat and explained to me that because I had missed so much work and because my performance had declined, I would only be receiving half of my normal bonus that year. I was clearly drowning, but nobody offered me a life preserver. Nobody even asked me if I was okay. I was drowning, and I felt ashamed – and I was being shamed – because I wasn’t able to just swim my way out of it. I felt like I was lucky, though, considering bonuses aren’t guaranteed. I guess I was lucky because I didn’t get fired, even though I live and work in an at-will employment state.

Elroy was two and a half years old before I stepped into a therapist’s office. I was lucky because I had found another job where I wasn’t afraid to use my health insurance. I was lucky because the suicidal thoughts didn’t dominate my every waking moment anymore. But I’m certain that there is some damage that won’t ever heal because I didn’t get help sooner.

So many people aren’t as lucky as I was; instead, they suffer in silence because they don’t have access to mental healthcare or the means to afford it. Mental health is just as important as physical health. Our society doesn’t bat an eye when an athlete gets a concussion or somebody breaks his or her arm, yet there is a shameful stigma attached to someone whose brain and emotions aren’t working nicely together. I’m lucky, though, because I’m still alive. All my experience took from me was months bonding with my newborn, the only newborn I’ll ever have, and half of a Christmas bonus.