When my daughter Evelyn was just a couple of days old, I sat on the bed holding her and felt violently overwhelmed with the most consuming, fierce love I have ever felt. The surge through my body was stronger than anything I have felt in my life and I am so emotional that I was misdiagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder when I was a teenager!

Although I didn't particularly enjoy how exhausting those bonding moments were, I would not have thought it possible that merely six weeks later I would be feeling the complete opposite and with the same intensity.

America is beginning to tackle postpartum depression in the admirably ineffective way it handles most of the issues it is responsible for. Luckily Brooke Shields shared her experience in a book so accessible that postpartum depression became something people could name. As a woman defined as "categorically needy" by the Department of Social and Health Services with a history of severe depression my vulnerability to postpartum depression was a topic I couldn't escape from. Every single person involved in my physical, mental, financial and spiritual care warned me of it, blamed it on the severe hormone imbalance post-delivery, and recommended Down Came the Rain. The soundbite was concise, but I couldn't afford the book!

That's not to say that I didn't prepare. My OB had me start an anti-depressant in my third trimester to help with the emotional disturbance that had already began. My team of therapists at the University of Washington set me up with the skills I needed to effectively handle my emotions so that I could function at any stage in life. I thought I had it covered.

Unfortunately, after my daughter was born I graduated from my year of therapy at the University of Washington, a week later my grandmother passed away, and because of the stress of escalating financial problems my marriage took such a dive I missed my husband as well. Being armed with Well-Butrin and the best therapist in the world was insufficient when days of sleep deprivation, physical and emotional intimacy, and poverty turned into weeks. Eighteen hours after I woke up yesterday morning I wondered what other moms love about their babies as I soothed my newborn to sleep.

I remember the way I felt when she was a couple days old. What I wish someone had prepared me for is how much it hurts to know that if so many things were different, I could be feeling that "mother's love" for my baby right now. This preventable torture is inhumane and I'm sharing my experience so that it will change.