I’m no artist, and this is no masterpiece. But, it’s beautiful to me.

In just a few weeks, my baby girl will turn 4. Which means I have struggled with depression for almost four years. I developed PPD the day that she was born. I can pin point the moment. I sat in the delivery room, my entire body aching, and I held my newborn to my breast, begging her to nurse. I just wanted “that special moment”. It never happened. She was a few weeks early, and struggled with latching. The lactation nurse recommended that I just pump and feed through a bottle. I felt like a failure. I was only 19, and learning what motherhood is, and I felt like a failure from the first few moments. The day after she was born, her father left the hospital. He was gone from morning until night. That entire day, I was alone with this new baby, with no clue what I was doing. I just wanted him to be there. I wanted my mom. My sister. Somebody.

I struggled silently, without telling anyone. My husband at the time was an alcoholic and developed a drug problem, that at the time I knew nothing about. He couldn’t hold down a job, and would “quit”- meaning he got fired for whatever reason (I later found out that one of these jobs drug tested him and he came back positive for meth). I moved ten hours away from everyone I knew and loved so he could be closer to his family, hoping that would help him and his alcoholism. That was a mistake, and didn’t help. I moved back home with my daughter a few months later. Her dad came back after a few weeks, and we lived with my parents. My father has a lot of health issues. One day, I was putting up laundry, and heard a pill bottle rattle in his drawer. I found a bottle of pain pills in his drawer. It was prescribed to my dad. He was stealing his pain pills. I kicked him out that same day, and never looked back.

We were officially divorced a few months later, and he moved back to Tennessee, ten hours away. He only sees his daughter once a year for Thanksgiving.

I began dating my current husband, who I had dated in high school. He was the worship leader at my church and really was a great friend to me for years. His father didn’t like me and tried to change me. Change the way I dress, who I was friends with, etc. His dad was my pastor, and i had confided a lot to him in private, and it was used against me. It became reasons that his son shouldn’t date me. He destroyed my self confidence and the healing I had been working on. My husband left the church we were at, and cut off contact with his dad. They speak only when absolutely necessary. I feel guilty for that. My depression worsened. I felt worthless. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.

But, I paint sometimes just to make me feel a little better. My husband and I have learned to lean on one another during the weak times. My sweet baby girl has saved my life more times than I can count. My new church has been so supportive and welcoming.

I’m healing.

Today, I choose joy.