Hello from the Other Side.

This morning, when I noticed the calendar read February 1, something felt familiar. What was it about 2/1 that rang a bell? Why did I feel like this date had some significance?

Then Facebook’s “On This Day” feature reminded me: It was three years ago on this day that I left Turner and Cartoon Network.

If you had told me back then that three years later, I’d be working for a health website and would spend today scheduling articles about melanoma and diabetic neuropathy, I probably would have turned heel back into Techwood and begged them to take me back. My stomach would have sunk to hear you say I’d be sitting in a nondescript cubicle, in a nondescript office building that doesn’t even have one single TV camera on the premises. And I would have belly-flopped onto the floor if you had told me right now would be, on many levels, the happiest I have ever been.

I haven’t made it to this point by luck, or by myself. And I want to make something clear: I’m not happy because of certain things that have happened. Instead, certain things that have happened have made me want to be a happier person.

It’d be easy to say I’m happy because I’m married and have a baby. Like most women, I grew up believing this was the finish line. That the hard part would be over, and now I could relax and be happy, because everything would finally be…perfect. But approaching either of those milestones with that attitude is a recipe for disaster, because they inevitably fail to meet those ideal–and impossible–expectations.

After Archie was born, I was the opposite of relaxed. Not only did I feel the present pressures of parenthood–sleep loss, pumping, C-section recovery–but I was preemptively feeling future heartaches. Don’t feel tired: someday you’ll miss this. You should be happy: you’ll never have this time again. It all goes by so fast: Are you savoring these moments enough?

I had already been going to a counselor after my mom’s passing, and I continued to do so in the weeks after coming home with Archie. I had a couple of sessions with him snuggled up in his car seat, snoozing on the floor while I cried and cried on my counselor’s couch. Even though I wasn’t feeling hopeless levels of postpartum depression, it was clear I had a lot of emotions at the surface. It was gently suggested I consider taking an antidepressant.

I bristled. For all of the openness I had about counseling, the idea of medication still felt shameful. Offensive, even. I had been through a lot–lost my job, lost my mom, lost my pre-baby freedom–didn’t I have a right to be sad? How dare you suggest I take a magic happy pill because I’m not the perfect person everyone wants me to be?

But with some time, I started to come at it differently. Yes, I was justified to be in a lot of pain. There were real causes for that pain. But that didn’t mean I had to be overwhelmed by that pain every day. I began to think about labor, and the physical pain associated with it, and how quickly I had asked for that epidural. Because even though it’s possible to push through that pain, there’s a way to make it easier if you want it.

And guess what? Nobody looks at a baby and says, “That one doesn’t count because his mom had an epidural.” I decided life is the same way. Taking an antidepressant (or in my case, anti-anxiety medication) doesn’t make my personality invalid. My contributions to my family, my friends, my job don’t mean less because I take 50mg of sertraline every morning.

I did worry that an antidepressant would put a shiny gloss over my emotions and my creativity. That I’d be blithely, falsely happy. I was afraid of losing the sadness over my mom, because that pain could be oddly comforting, reminding me of just how strong that love was and keeping her fresh in my mind.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, I compared it to emotional emergency brakes. I still feel sad about my mom, but I no longer wallow. I get frustrated when something doesn’t go my way, but it doesn’t set me off on a chain reaction about everything that’s going wrong in my life. I still feel the stress of new parenthood, but no longer feel paralyzed by the pressures of it. It’s taken several months, but with my day-to-day anxiety lessened, now I can actually enjoy each moment instead of worrying about whether I’m enjoying each moment.

On a more practical note, I genuinely enjoy my new job. But that was a process, too. When I initially started, I still felt the churning need to link achievement to my self-worth, and because this company wasn’t as high-profile as Cartoon Network, I felt some level of shame.

Gradually, though, as I realized how kind and talented the people are, how flexible and smart my manager is, and how editorial work is the sweet spot of where my skills and passion meet, I finally let go of the need for status. Because funny story: nobody cares about status (nobody who matters, anyway). Instead of using my job to define the person I thought I wanted to be, I’m finally in a place where I can excel by being who I am.

I have all of you to thank as well. Your time spent reading, your comments, your emails–it all has helped me get through the worst. As rough as these past years have been, I feel like I’m finally in smoother waters. No sea is perfectly calm, of course, but with the help of family, friends, counseling and chemistry, these days I’m sailing in a much stronger boat.