I’ll start by saying it first: I was an asshole for being angry at someone who was struggling with depression. Not only that, but it was postpartum depression. It is hard to even admit I had these feelings, quite frankly. And then it happened to me: After the birth of my children, I struggled with postpartum depression.

Yet somehow, some good came out of this journey.

 My friend, let’s call her Jen, is like a sister to me. We have been friends since the first grade — our lives running parallel to each other throughout the years. I can clearly remember the first time I met her. School had been canceled that morning due to a snowstorm. I put on my snowsuit, boots, hat, and gloves, and ventured outside. I knew someone had recently moved in next door, and to my surprise, it was someone my age (cue first-grader happy dance). She stood outside, her purple sled in hand, and I went and introduced myself to her. From that day forward, we were pretty much inseparable.