Some mornings, I cried before I even got out of bed.
Other nights, I lay awake long after the baby fell asleep, convinced I was failing at everything.
My doctor called it postpartum depression.
Steve said he understood, but over time, he began treating every concern I raised like another symptom.
If I asked why he came home late, I was overthinking.
If I noticed him hiding his phone, I was being anxious.
If I said I felt alone, he told me he was doing the best he could.
So I stopped asking as many questions.
I apologized more.
I tried to become easier to live with.
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