A few months ago, I started to cry and I couldn’t stop.

I had a lot of commitments, too, and I couldn’t stop those either. I’m a journalist, a writer, a social media consultant, an entrepreneur, a mother, a daughter, a big sister, a mentor, and a friend. Like always, I had people counting on me. I had responsibilities. I things I had to do.

So like I always do when my depression hits, I kept going, trying to push through the pain I felt every single day.

I sent emails, interviewed dignitaries, and wrote stories. I managed websites, went to editorial meetings, and planned content strategies. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I Facebooked, and tweeted, and went ham on Instagram. I made social media plans and beefed up LinkedIn strategies. I posted and shared, then posted and shared. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I packed lunches, read bedtime stories, and tucked my baby into bed. I went to PTA meetings and signed up for committees and brought treats for the class. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I went to dinners, joked with friends, and avoided the man I loved. I hugged my mom and had beers with my dad. I cheered from the stands for baby brother on the field. And then I cried…for 30 days.

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