Chrissy Teigen Reveals Her Struggle With Postpartum Depression

52133295 Proud parents John Legend and Chrissy Teigen enjoy a day on their luxury yacht in Saint-Tropez with their daughter Luna on July 26, 2016. Chrissy recently revealed that she got into a large fight with her husband John at Kim Kardashian's wedding. FameFlynet, Inc - Beverly Hills, CA, USA - +1 (310) 505-9876 RESTRICTIONS APPLY: USA ONLY

Chrissy Teigen Reveals Her Struggle With Postpartum Depression

“Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.”

Published March 6th

Chrissy Teigen has revealed her struggle with postpartum depression in the latest issue of Glamour Magazine. Teigen is the magazine's April cover star. The fiercely candid model opened up in an essay, revealing her experience for the first time. Teigen said she wanted to write an open letter to friends and employers, explaining why her mood had shifted in the near past. And she does so with graciousness, noting that she feels privileged that she "had everything I needed to be happy," yet wasn't. Now receiving treatment, Teigen says she is on the road to feeling a bit better. Check out the most illuminating passages from her essay below.

We find out how she first developed an interest in cooking: 

On one of our earliest dates, I took him to Daniel (four dollar signs on Yelp, ahhh!). I drank a $40 margarita, ate salmon rillettes (fancy salmon spread) and prayed my card wouldn’t be declined. I couldn’t afford to take him out to more dinners like that, so I started cooking more and more at home for us. I started with my own version of that salmon spread, then roasted whole branzino, osso buco, chipotle BBQ chicken. 

Teigen describes the physical symptoms that accompany her experience with PPD:

Getting out of bed to get to set on time was painful. My lower back throbbed; my ­shoulders — even my wrists — hurt. I didn’t have an appetite. I would go two days without a bite of food, and you know how big of a deal food is for me. One thing that really got me was just how short I was with people.

How she wondered if motherhood was changing her as a person:

I would be in my dressing room, sitting in a robe, getting hair and makeup done and a crew member would knock on the door and ask: “Chrissy, do you know the lyrics to this song?” And I would lose it. Or “Chrissy, do you like these cat ears or these panda hands?” And I’d be like: “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” They would leave. My eyes would well up and I would burst into tears. My makeup artist would pat them dry and give me a few minutes.

I couldn’t figure out why I was so unhappy. I blamed it on being tired and possibly growing out of the role: “Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.”

What the day-to-day was like during the hardest times:

When I wasn’t in the studio, I never left the house. I mean, never. Not even a tiptoe outside. I’d ask people who came inside why they were wet. Was it raining? How would I know — I had every shade closed. Most days were spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying.

Attempting to diagnose her condition:

During that time my bones hurt to the core. I had to go to the hospital; the back pain was so overwhelming. I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy: These kids were around me, asking questions. Maybe it was a kidney infection? No one could figure it out. I saw rheumatoid doctors for the wrist pain; we thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. I felt nauseated all the time, so I saw a GI doctor. I wondered: Am I making this all up? Is this pain even real anymore?

Before the holidays I went to my GP for a physical. John sat next to me. I looked at my doctor, and my eyes welled up because I was so tired of being in pain. Of sleeping on the couch. Of waking up throughout the night. Of throwing up. Of taking things out on the wrong people. Of not enjoying life. Of not seeing my friends. Of not having the energy to take my baby for a stroll. My doctor pulled out a book and started listing symptoms. And I was like, “Yep, yep, yep.” I got my diagnosis: postpartum depression and anxiety. (The anxiety explains some of my physical symptoms.)

For more information on PPD, click here

Written by Lainey Sidell

(Photo: FameFlynet, Inc)

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