Hi! I’m Jennifer Dorothy.
In 2006, after the birth of my first child, postpartum anxiety and depression sideswiped me like a toddler with a toy basket.
Everything I thought I knew about myself got dumped upside down.
Which was very confusing because the only thing I ever wanted was to be a mom. I taught prenatal and Mom-n-baby yoga. I worked as a birth doula. I taught at an outdoor preschool. I thought I was pretty well-prepared. When my daughter was born, I was so ready to love her with everything I had. And I did. However, I was NOT ready for the deluge of postpartum anxiety, intrusive thoughts, exhaustion-that-led-to-rage, and finally depression that took me down for months. Anxiety and resentment began to build.
Looking back, I don’t know what I had. I felt alone when I was supposed to be happy. And at times I was.
It’s hard for mothers to face their own depression, the anxiety, the despair, the rage, the confusion, the crushing vulnerability of loving someone so helpless, so small, so pure. We’re supposed to be relieved and grateful for this beautiful baby. And we are. But we don’t feel right. And we aren’t supposed to feel what we feel. And even if we admit to our feelings, it’s hard to get effective help. This is what’s called the Mother Wound. All women will face it, but mothers face it immediately when they are caring for their baby while trying to care for themselves.
I have since learned how common postpartum depression and anxiety is. And now I believe it’s an inability to stop the constant inner critic, mom-guilt, and people pleasing. When I share my story or the fact that I write a memoir chronicling my experience with PPD, endless women sat me down with wide desperate eyes. They lowered their voices and leaned in. They told me about their mad mommy moments. The time they had to put the baby in a safe place to call their mother ask her to come stay for a few weeks, to make sure nothing bad happened. Or the time they called their partner at work and sobbed, “I can’t do this anymore.” And meant it. Or the times they couldn’t stop obsessively thinking about the knives in the kitchen, the pills in the medicine cabinet, or the ropes hanging from the backyard swing set. They prodded me to please finish writing my story. The world is hungry for true stories, especially stories about depression. Every story about getting to the other side with everyone making it out alive and well helps—though there were days I doubted this was possible, seriously doubted I’d survive, or more accurately doubted whether I wanted to survive.
I help women learn more about how to sustain their own sovereignty as women while being moms. I can list my experience as such:
I am in the process of publishing all 300 pages of my memoir. And how writing about my experience with PPD helped me get perspective and heal. I will never forget standing in the bathroom holding my newborn to my chest wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Feel free to read Chapter One from Thoughts No Mother Should Have (And Definitely Not Say Out Loud) here.
I was the founder and lead instructor for a parent/toddler habitat exploration program in Seattle for three years, introducing hundreds of families to the joy of experiential learning and outdoor education.
After two more babies, years of self-development, and co-authoring the Conscious Classroom textbook for mindfulness and movement in schools, I finally learned how to take care of my whole self.
But none of that is helpful until you identify and prioritize what you need. Let’s navigate the pressures you put on yourself to be a “good” mom and experience more joy together!
I live with my family among the towering Douglas fir trees on a beautiful island a short ferry ride from Seattle. You can find my writing at Conscious Classroom, Tideland Magazine (pg.34), Parent Map, and Mom Possible.
Like the concrete sidewalk on which we take pace, I feel cold, hardened, one-dimensional and flat. Each slab of gray reflects the pewter sky above. The kids have been up since 5:30 and the light hasn’t changed since the sun rose at 7:30. I wonder if it’s 9 or 11. My anger hovers like the cloud layer above. This dull light signals the start of the darker days from which I will suffer even more.
—excerpt from my memoir Thoughts No Mother Should Have (And Definitely Not Say Out Loud)