Postpartum Support International’s founder,
Jane Honikman shares her story.

Dedicated to the families, including my own, touched by secrets, lack of social support, and silence surrounding our parenting experiences.

Read more about Jane Honikman >>


August, 1965

Dear Diary,

I have a secret and I feel so alone. I think I might be pregnant, but I can’t believe this could be happening to me. I told my boyfriend I thought I was but he said I couldn’t be so I guess maybe I’m not. I’m confused and afraid to tell anyone else. What would they think of me? I’m getting ready to leave for Europe and that part of my life is exhilarating. That’s all I’m going to think about and I’ll be fine.


September 1965

Dear Diary,

I’ve decided to “talk” to you, dear Diary while I travel and live overseas. I feel very alone even in the midst of many. It was exciting visiting relatives before meeting up with my college friends in New Year City. Sometimes I imagine myself asking for advice from others but I don’t have the courage. The words are stuck deep inside my throat. I can’t be pregnant, I don’t feel different.


October 1965

Dear Diary,

Sorry, I haven’t been writing, but I haven’t wanted to share my sad, scared and secret side even with you. I turned 20 years old when we were in Amsterdam on our student tour. We arrived in Copenhagen and met our families, mine is wonderful! I’m so used to smiling and pretending that nothing is worrying me that it actually works most of the time. But then I hear that nagging, haunting menace in the back of my mind.  I finally saw a doctor and yes, I’m pregnant. I’m a liar and a fool. I hate myself for being so stupid. I’ve been terrified about hurting everyone I love by telling the truth. I have this secret and I don’t want to share it. I keep thinking it will just go away like having a nightmare and then waking up. I feel completely out of control with my life. This nightmare is becoming my reality.


November 1965

Dear Diary

I am finally being semi-honest about the double life I’m leading. Both of my families know the truth now. My Danish parents have been incredibly supportive. They’re arranging for the adoption. Daddy asked if I wanted to get married but I said no, that this wasn’t a good way to start a family. I can sense the fluttering of life inside of me now but I’ve accepted the fact that I’m not capable of  being a mother. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage”; those lines make me cry because I didn’t do it right. I had such a fantasy in my mind. I’m learning the hard way that life isn’t a fairy-tale.  My friends haven’t said anything about any changes they may have noticed. I’ve bought one baggy dress and I just pretend I’m my usual happy self. For the December holidays we’re traveling to Southern Europe and then they leave in January. I’ve told them a story about staying longer to become more cultured. What else would I tell them, the truth?  I’m too embarrassed and ashamed to admit to anyone that I’m a failure and a fraud.  It is almost 1966 and I am terrified.


March, 1966

Dear Diary,

The view from the hospital window is bleak with skeletal trees standing at attention over the brown lawn mottled by patches of dirty snow.  It has been an ordeal. I never dreamed I could be this strong and survive but I had no choice. Once the other students left for home I started lying about being married. I wore my opal ring upside down, like a wedding band, and pretended.  At least I could stop concealing my growing middle and I even attended a childbirth preparation class. There was temporary comfort being surrounded by others glowing with their pregancy pride. I’ve discovered how dumb I am about my body, I’ve never learned anything about sex, much less pregnancy and birth. I got very sick with toxemia. I’d only seen the doctor a few times and at my last appointment I was told to take a taxi with a note for admission to this big hospital. I was alone, abandoned once again; ignorant and in a stupor of denial. High blood pressure meant the baby was going to be induced and until they stuck a tube in my arm, I didn’t even understand my own reality. It was when they said the baby was going to be ok that I sensed any danger.  The intense pain of labor was diminished only during a nightmare I had when they put a mask over my mouth. I saw pink elephants floating around me, telling me I’d been living in a dream and that I was not pregnant. I was told to push but couldn’t comprehend and then I was aware of a cry and was told the baby was a girl. I remember being momentarily elated because I knew that her parents already had a son. They could now be a complete family, that fantasy I’d always held for myself. I was now totally alone and missed the baby who had listened to my problems, heart beating within my womb. I never saw her. The sting of my tears were matched by the sorrow in my heart.  I’ve made a vow to myself that whatever it will take, somehow I want to help prevent a repeat of my trauma. This started with a secret. No one else should have to feel this ashamed, sad and alone because of being pregnant and having a baby. In spite of the overly warm hospital room air, I feel a chill and I shudder. I can see beyond the wide wall surrounding the gardens and know now that I have an obligation towards others in the future.


August, 1966

Dear Diary,

We are getting married after all!  The electricity we felt last summer when we first met was there again as soon as I returned from Denmark. We’d written a few times during my pregnancy and he tried to be supportive in his own way. I’ve told him a little about my ordeal but I’m not certain he really understands. I’ve decided to only think of the future.  Now we’re ready to live by “the rules”. I want to graduate from college like I’d always planned so I’m enrolled in  summer school. I never talk about the baby. I had had this fantasy about coming home. I would speak frankly and openly with my family about our baby. What a silly idea. After all the lying about why I stayed longer in Denmark, it is not the time for honesty. The thought of telling the truth has been replaced by the silence and secret keeping.  I do have dreams about her and wonder if she is ok. It is as if I left a piece of my soul somewhere, floating in space.  Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be a mother. How sad that makes me feel.


September 1967

Dear Diary,

What a whirlwind of make believe we’ve danced through these past months. Graduation, the wedding, the honeymoon were nearly picture-card perfect, but marriage is an altogether different type of image. I’m reminded of our decision not to be parents whenever we argue. Learning to make a marriage work is so hard, I cannot imagine how we could have been parents too. Some where, far away, she is in good hands growing up within a stable family yet I feel a piercing stab of longing and regret.  I secretly saved a copy of the passport photo that was taken of my baby. It is my only link with her. I wonder what she looks like now?


June 1970

Dear Diary,

I’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster. Daddy died on Father’s Day. He didn’t get to his only son-in-law’s graduation but he did know we’d bought our first home and would be moving away. I weep. He’ll never know my children. We never spoke about my decision to keep his granddaughter from him. We didn’t share our feelings whatsoever. Secrets about his mental illness and erratic behavior were kept to protect me. Mom always told me he loved me but I never heard it from his lips and never will. The movers arrive tomorrow to pack our meager belongings from married student housing.  We’ve decided we’re ready to become parents. A husband, employment, a home, I wonder if I really am prepared?


January 1971

Dear Diary,

Getting pregnant isn’t easy this time. How ironic!  What if I never do?  Have a given away my first born only to discover I can’t have more children? I’m silently in fear since I have no one with whom I can confide my inner thoughts. I have made friends with a group of women in town. We belong to American Association of University Women (AAUW). Mom is so active with AAUW and I’m always pictured myself joining the organization once I had my college degree. There are discussion topics and I’ve joined one called “Women Searching for Self”.  I certainly feel like I’m wondering around searching for something to give meaning to my life. I figured it would be motherhood. Now I’m beginning to question that expectation.


August 1971

Dear Diary,

I can finally shout with pride, I’m pregnant! This is an incredible contrast after getting pregnant too easily the first time, being afraid, ashamed and terrified. I was embarrassed to “confess” to my doctor that I’d already had a baby but he made no judgements. This time we’re ready and so excited. I’ll let my belly swell, and boast about our impending change of status. This is what I’ve sacrificed and prayed for, I’ll be a mother at last. My joy seems to have no bounds and self-doubts have vanished.  My circle of friends through AAUW are all mothers too and I feel like I’m entering a special status as a woman being pregnant. I can talk about my changes with others who have already achieved this rank. I love being pregnant!


March, 1972

Dear Diary,

It’s a boy!  My dream has come true, I’m finally a mother. His birth was also induced but having my husband there was a stark contrast to feeling deserted by him in 1966. Yet something unexpected has happened to me. How ironic it seems that after leaving my first born, and denying the truth about a previous pregnancy, I feel inept and inadequate. I’d had an expectation that maternal instinct would wash over me and guide me through each day.  It started when we came home from the security, and support of the hospital. I put my baby in his cozy bed, stood beside him and thought, now what do I do? From the triumph and exhilaration of birth, I’ve plunged to being overwhelmed and exhausted. I am alone and frightened. The truth is I’m clue-less about this new job and as a couple we’re nearly hopeless.  At our baby’s first two-week check-up, we discovered that he had not gained any weight and he had an inguinal hernia. Surgery was mentioned, supplemental bottles were added to my obviously insufficient nursing routine, and we walked out of the doctor’s office in a daze. I began to notice a pain in my stomach. Who has ever heard of a baby causing an ulcer? From then on, the tension has mounted. My husband knows less than I do and keeps expecting to learn from me. At one point he stood in the doorway as I tried to nurse and said I was starving his child. I cried and he turned away in frustration. The baby’s schedule is like a Ferris wheel in high gear, whirling and spinning. I feel like a damp washcloth being wrung out for the hundredth time as I nurse constantly. When I attended a nursing mother’s group and confessed that I’ve been using supplemental bottles, I could feel their glares of disapproval not to mention their silence of disgust. Mom came down for a few days but couldn’t or didn’t want to stay. I’m so incredibly alone. What am I going to do to survive this hideous existence?


May 1972

Dear Diary,

I’m so blue in-between the surges of love for my newborn. I’m crying over stupid things like getting black stains on the sheets when doing the wash. I stood in front of the washing machine holding the villainous socks amidst a pile of dirty laundry with tears pouring down my face. I feel paralyzed by guilt that I should be able to cope and function like all those other moms. Isn’t this why I delayed being a mother so I could do it right this time? At 10 weeks, the pediatrician told me to start the baby on solids because he still isn’t gaining weight. I truly am a failure as a nursing mom.  He seems content, but I’m not okay. The other day I fainted from trying to contain a pain in my chest. The doctor checked me for physical ailments then sent me home. He never asked how I was feeling emotionally so I certainly didn’t volunteer my sense of inadequacy, mood swings, poor sleeping, lack of concentration, and anxiousness. Maybe things will get better with time.


August 1972

Dear Diary,

Guess what, I’m still alive and so is our son. It seems like a miracle but my life as a mother has improved. I’ve made friends with other new mothers at a child study group through AAUW who have helped me realize I’m not crazy or alone. It is a form of therapy, I guess. We’ve been using our intellect and frequent gatherings to share mutual concerns and sometimes we laugh out-loud. My stomach and headaches are not as frequent probably because I’m sleeping and eating better now. I still can’t get over how easy I thought this was going to be. My friends agree that reading all those expert opinions on how to parent isn’t nearly as helpful as our sitting in the park sharing our experiences.  Once I let my mask of smiles slip and I was partially honest about myself, it made such a difference in my behavior and mood.  That inner shame I feel about my secret past won’t allow me to ever tell the whole truth.


March, 1973

Dear Diary,

It is his first birthday!  What an amazing year we’ve shared as a family. I’ve kept a “first moments” list of his physical developments; teeth, crawling, sleeping, eating, walking, talking. To be a witness to these miracles is worth the sleepless nights and torments of self-doubt. He is clearly a loving individual, energetic and bright. I’m in awe that my lack of maternal instinct and self-confidence in those beginning weeks did not damage him. He is loved and treasured and it is reciprocated. My reflections include fear, dread, near panic and pending loss tangled into a web of patience, pride and stubborn determination. That murky soup of emotional contrasts must be rather typical for motherhood. We’ve received birthday cards and messages from family and friends. My niece wrote to her cousin “You’re growing up in a very strange world of today and tomorrows. It has a lot of good sides and a few bad ones too. You won’t always escape the bad things, nor can those who love you try to shield you forever. Life is full of puzzles, many of which you may never understand.”


January 1974

Dear Diary,

We’re trying to get pregnant again.  I want our son to have a sibling and I want to raise more children. Am I crazy? Being a mother is so demanding and draining and yet, there is this piece of me needing another baby. I survived those darker moments during his early months and now I can only really remember the happy times. Our son is so active, I swear he could generate electricity if we could put him on a treadmill and harness his energy.  I think I’m prepared for the unexpected next time around. Now I just hope I can be blessed with another chance to be a mommy.


January 1975

Dear Diary,

I’m eight months pregnant and so excited. We went to Disneyland as a last hurrah before the baby comes. While riding the steamboat my son gave me a big hug around my huge belly and said, “mom, I hope the baby grows up to be just like me!”  What a loving, self-confident little man he is. I secretly worry about my ability to share the love I feel for him with his unborn sibling. I wonder if other mothers feel like this? Is there a boundary around a mother’s love? Actually, I’m more frightened by the memory of lost sleep. For good luck I stroke my bulging abdomen in circles and say aloud “you will sleep through the night” over and over. It can’t hurt and maybe he/she is listening. Sleep deprivation is painful. I think I can handle any stress if I’m allowed to sleep. We’ll find out!


February 1975

Dear Diary,

A girl! My tears of joy at the sight of my beautiful daughter are mixed up the sting of memories of her lost sister. I’ve been blessed to have been given this second chance to raise a girl. My feelings of elation were dashed the day we were taking her home by the doctor’s announcement of her jaundice. Yet, the homecoming was perfect since big brother and grandma were there to welcome her with kisses and hugs. But her condition only got worse and those pains in my stomach and heart I’d had 3 and 9 years before are back.  She nurses so well, we call her “super sucker” but I lie awake wondering if she’s going to die. My moods come and go. After all, maybe I’m being punished for my previous sin. I can’t talk to anyone about my fears of losing her but if we do, it will be all my fault. My secret keeps haunting me.


March, 1975

Dear Diary,

My baby girl is out of danger! Her jaundice has abated after weeks of pricking her tiny pink heels for blood tests. I’m not obsessing about her now and will try to stay happy. Her big brother continues to challenge and exhaust me but we’re bonded so tightly it feels like silly putty in a cup. He can pull, and stretch me in all directions and then I bounce back into blob. I hope to keep from reaching a melt down point and flowing out of control with my emotions.  We enrolled him in a pre-school after the baby was born against the advice of others saying he needs to be at home so he doesn’t feel displaced by the baby. He seemed ready so off he went to “big-boy school”. I felt guilty so I decided to volunteer one morning and told him I’d be there. He responded, “no, mommy, it is my school.” I ignored him. It isn’t easy getting everyone ready but after first taking him to school, nursing the baby and leaving her at a girl friends I went back to volunteer. At first he didn’t notice me as I helped sort papers in a corner across the brightly decorated playroom. I felt fulfilled as a “perfect” mom until he looked up, saw me and shouted “get out of my school”.  This piece of silly putty blushed and retreated. I cried as I drove myself back to get the baby, I don’t exactly know why. Maternal attachments and their accompanying emotions are incredibly complex. My girl friends’ support continues to be a source of comfort. I reminded by their similar stories that I’m not alone.


July 1977

Dear Diary,

My vow of long ago has taken on a form and direction. I have a purpose now beyond being a mother and a wife and my energy has come from that unspoken force in the back of my mind. I still haven’t told my friends that I gave away our first baby because I feel such shame and embarrassment surrounding my unresolved guilt.  My friends and I have launched a community-based, grassroots, self-help parent support program.  We got funding from a grant from AAUW. It is an idea born from our own experiences and needs. We have named it Postpartum Education for Parents, PEP for short, and laughed about not calling the organization “afterbirth”. The word postpartum is not in the public’s vocabulary yet but it is that period of time from birth through the first year of a baby’s life.  We have become social pioneers by starting a Warm Line. The idea originated from our confessions that there had been times after becoming first time mothers that we might have called the “hot line” in town but we never had the nerve to do that. There is such a stigma to the thought that we were in any type of crisis. What we had felt were “normal crazy” thoughts. We each had wished for someone to call, share worries and discuss options without being judged.  So that is what we’ve designed. This vision is a partial fulfillment of my vow. The next step is to start groups so new parents can get together and share in person. I was the volunteer on duty when the first phone call came through the answering service. All I did was reassure the caller that what she was feeling and describing was okay. When she asked me how old my children were her response to my answer was “oh, you’ve made it, I guess I will too”. It is so simple just being there for someone.  Privately I moan to myself, why, oh why hadn’t there been anyone for me after giving birth.  It isn’t normal for women to feel so alone.


April 1979

Dear Diary,

One of my personal goals (a piece of my vow) has been to educate society about the role that volunteers and self help plays in the prevention of problems. So, guess what?! I had my article about starting PEP published!  It is so exciting to see my name and our story in print. The title the magazine, American Baby, gave my story is Parents Helping Parents.  We’ve been getting publicity about PEP in a few newspapers and magazines so my friends and I wrote a book about how we got started. We’ve called it A Guide for Establishing a Parent Support Program in Your Community. It is becoming clear that I’ve found my “niche”.


March, 1980

Dear Diary,

You’ll never believe this, but I was featured in a national magazine called Parents in an article called Six Women Who Can Help You Cope. It is all about PEP and I feel so proud but a little embarrassed too. After all, I did not start PEP alone. The main point is to get the word out and it seems to be happening.  I’ve also applied for a personal grant from AAUW to conduct a research study about other postpartum support groups.  I’ve become a member of the local Junior League too.  Another project I’ve helped launch is about childcare.  What an amazing era it is for me as a young woman and mother. I see my gender continuing the struggle our foremothers started in the previous century. My mother gave me a tee shirt with the slogan “it’s great to be a woman” on the back. She is my role model and I want her to be proud of me.


July 1981

Dear Diary,

I’m using my brain again! I’ve been so busy this past year working on a project called A Study of the Dynamics and Development of Postpartum Support Groups. Last April I was notified that I’d been awarded that grant from AAUW. I was inspired to try for the grant after receiving over 400 letters requesting information after my article was published in 1979. My intent was to determine if there should be a national network of similar postpartum support  groups. I heard back from 68 of the 120 groups I contacted and then I compared their histories and services and financial backing. There seems to be a growing interest in providing services and resources to families, however, only a few work specifically with maternal mental health. Now that it is completed, I wonder what will come of my study.


July 1982

Dear Diary,

I’ve linked with a new national organization called the Family Resource Coalition based in Chicago. They are doing what I envisioned in my AAUW study by starting a national clearinghouse of community based, parent support organizations. Their leader, Bernice Weissbourd, is my mentor. I want to see a postpartum parent support group in every community just as we do in Santa Barbara. The Coalition’s newsletter is printing an article I wrote about PEP and I’ll attend the first national conference on family support. This is progress.


January 1984

Dear Diary,

It is amazing how one phone call can open doors and bring unimagined opportunity. Carol Dix is an author. She is living in New York City now and writing a book on postpartum depression. She wants my help in distributing a questionnaire to new parents and found PEP in her search for contacts. Our conversation made me realize how little I really understand about depression especially when she asked specifically if I’d ever heard of a Dr. James Hamilton or something called the Marcé Society. Her answer to my negative reply was “well, if you haven’t then no one has.” She gave me Dr. Hamilton’s telephone number in San Francisco and decided to call and introduce myself and tell him about PEP. His response was warm and welcoming. He asked me to send information about PEP to him. Sometimes I can’t believe I have the nerve to take such risks but then I get this surge of courage from remembering my vow.


March, 1984

Dear Diary,

I received a personal letter from Dr. Hamilton and a copy of his book he wrote in 1962 called Postpartum Psychiatric Problems.  It a thrill and honor that he is interested in our program.

He has invited me to an August Marcé meeting to speak about a “normal sample” of mothers. I am especially puzzled by what he means by saying,  “This may be one long continuum.  You may already have information on the effect of suppression of lactation, done by people who don’t want to nurse, but who are not intentionally avoiding postpartum distress.”  It is abundantly clear that I have a great deal to learn about how psychiatry fits into obstetrics and parenting.


August 1984

Dear Diary,

I’ve just returned from meeting the most remarkable professionals from around the world. I’m overwhelmed by the complexity of the information I heard. I’m beginning to wonder if what I’ve felt off and on during my childbearing years is more than psychological. It feels scary to think that I might have had a real illness.  Dr. Hamilton had faith in me so I gulped back my insecurity and spoke out.  My talk was called A System for Action and I had only 5 minutes to describe PEP and the role of non-medical, self-help support volunteers.  I sold several of our PEP books, one to a psychiatrist in Australia. It is looking like my original idea of starting a national network has become international.  I feel that my dream of helping other people avoid what I’ve gone through is starting to become a reality.


April 1985

Dear Diary,

I’m turning 40 this year, a time of transitions.  An opportunity came my way to take on a part time paid position as the Director of the Santa Barbara Birth Resource Center (BRC). I’m a “new me”. I’d been asked to think of someone who might want to apply for the position and I thought to myself, why not me?  It will be a challenge and I’m eager to watch myself tackle parenting issues from a new perspective.  I’ve been trying to create change as a volunteer, maybe being in an employed position will afford new opportunities.  We’ll see, wish me good luck!