Guest post by Catalina Geyger
Growing Up in Emotion and Resilience
I grew up watching my mom ride the highs and lows of her emotions. From a young age, I knew sadness and tears. Born and raised in Santiago, Chile, I took medication and did therapy through high school just to survive the day and ride horses after. That world kept me sane.
My mom died of colon cancer when I was 23, and I was devastated. It pushed me to leave the country, travel, and work with horses. On one trip, I visited my aunt in Montana and met my husband while helping at a remote bar. I never imagined marrying him and living here. When my grandpa met Reed, he said he was a good man—that stuck with me. We married and got a horse thanks to my father-in-law, who drove six hours so I could see one. I felt at home.
I know myself enough now to do things for me, whether going to a city for my nails or riding for a while. But admitting that need isn’t always easy. I’ve always been honest with Reed about my feelings, thoughts, and crazy ideas, and even when he doesn’t understand, he lets me be.
My First Birth and Postpartum Experience
When our first son was born, I experienced it all—baby blues, excitement, nervousness, sadness, fear. It was winter, during COVID, the baby was tiny,
jaundiced, and breastfeeding struggled. Reed went out to feed cows every day, and the four walls felt tight. I needed help. After a couple fights, I admitted my jealousy that he could leave while I couldn’t. Then my father-in-law started taking the baby and me to see the horses nearly every day. I also asked my doctor for my “happy pills,” which help me be happier.
Before our second child, I was off medication but knew I’d restart afterward. Breastfeeding didn’t last long, and formula worked best. I kept taking medication, adjusting doses until I found what worked. Seeing myself more at peace, I now tell pregnant friends it’s okay to take medication—it doesn’t mean forever, and that’s fine too.
Seeking Therapy and Real Support
When our third child was born, I needed more than medication. I drove an hour to the city twice a week for therapy sessions, and it was life-changing. Even surrounded by loving people, you can feel alone, and having non-judgmental support made all the difference.
I am lucky—not just for my family, home, and raising my kids, but because Reed’s family hugs me like my mom did, listens to my ideas, and loves me through highs and lows. Losing my mom taught me life is short. I believe she moved things so I could meet Reed, wake up to mountains and cows, and build this life. I am grateful every day.
Maternity leave in the U.S. is hard—you work like you have no kids and raise kids like you don’t work. Not all jobs offer more than four to six weeks, so you have to be lucky. I wish more people knew they could ask for help and use resources, even when money is tight. Small steps to care for yourself make each day easier.
Finding Light in Hard Seasons
Winter is still hard—cold, isolating—but a sunny day can lift everything. Even through sadness, fear, or exhaustion, joy, connection, and gratitude are possible. That’s what keeps me going.
Versión en Español
Crecí Entre Emociones y Fortaleza
Crecí viendo a mi mamá subir y bajar con sus emociones. Desde pequeña conocía la tristeza y las lágrimas. Nací y crecí en Santiago, Chile, y durante toda la
enseñanza media tomé medicación e hice terapia solo para sobrevivir el día y montar a caballo después. Ese mundo me mantenía cuerda.
Mi mamá murió de cáncer de colon cuando tenía 23 años y me devastó. Eso me impulsó a salir del país, viajar y trabajar con caballos. En un viaje, visité a mi tía en Montana y conocí a mi esposo mientras ayudaba en un bar en medio de la nada. Nunca imaginé casarme con él y vivir aquí. Cuando mi abuelo conoció a Reed, dijo que era un buen hombre; eso se me quedó grabado. Nos casamos y conseguimos un caballo gracias a mi suegro, que manejó seis horas para que pudiera verlo. Me sentí en casa.
Ahora me conozco lo suficiente para hacer cosas para mí, ya sea ir a la ciudad a hacerme las uñas o montar un rato. Pero admitir esa necesidad no siempre es fácil. Siempre he sido honesta con Reed sobre mis sentimientos, pensamientos e ideas locas, y aunque a veces no entienda, me deja ser.
Mi Primer Parto y el Posparto
Cuando nació nuestro primer hijo, pasé por todo: tristeza posparto, emoción, nervios, pena y miedo. Era invierno, en plena COVID, el bebé era pequeño, tenía ictericia y la lactancia no funcionaba bien. Reed salía todos los días a alimentar las vacas y esas cuatro paredes se sentían pequeñas. Necesitaba ayuda. Tras un par de discusiones, le confesé que sentía celos de que él pudiera salir y yo no. Entonces, mi suegro empezó a llevarnos al bebé y a mí a ver los caballos casi todos los días. También pedí a mi doctora mis “pastillas felices,” que me ayudan a estar mejor.
Antes de nuestro segundo hijo, había dejado la medicación, pero sabía que la retomaría después del parto. Intenté amamantar otra vez, pero la fórmula funcionó mejor. Seguí tomando medicación, ajustando dosis hasta encontrar lo que me funcionaba. Al sentirme más en paz, ahora les digo a amigas embarazadas que está bien tomar medicación; no significa para siempre, y también está bien si lo es.
Terapia y Apoyo Real
Cuando nació nuestro tercer hijo, necesitaba más que medicación. Conduje una hora a la ciudad dos veces por semana para terapia, y fue transformador. Aunque estés rodeada de personas increíbles, puedes sentirte sola, y ese apoyo sin juicio marcó la diferencia.
Soy afortunada, no solo por mi familia, nuestro hogar y criar a mis hijos, sino porque la familia de Reed me abraza como lo hacía mi mamá, escucha mis ideas y me quiere en los altos y bajos. Perder a mi mamá me enseñó que la vida es corta. Creo que ella movió las cosas para que conociera a Reed, despertara con montañas y vacas, y pudiera construir esta vida. Estoy agradecida todos los días.
La licencia de maternidad en EE. UU. es difícil: trabajas como si no tuvieras hijos y crías a tus hijos como si no trabajaras. No todos los trabajos dan más de cuatro a seis semanas, así que hay que tener suerte. Ojalá más personas supieran que pueden pedir ayuda y usar recursos, aunque el dinero sea poco. Pequeños pasos para cuidarse hacen los días más llevaderos.
Encontrar Luz en las Temporadas Difíciles
El invierno sigue siendo duro, frío y aislante, pero un día soleado puede levantar todo. Incluso con tristeza, miedo o cansancio, es posible encontrar alegría, conexión y gratitud. Eso es lo que me mantiene adelante.
Professional photos by M.Kaye Photos.
If Catalina’s story resonates with you, remember: you don’t have to navigate parenthood alone. LIFTS offers a free, statewide resource guide connecting Montana families to mental health supports, parenting programs, and community resources. Explore local help, practical tools, and more at hmhb-lifts.org — because even small steps toward support can make a big difference.
It can be challenging to make friends in your adult life. I can’t count the number of times I’ve tried to connect with people and then they don’t ever call back. I just really crave that community.
The moms group was an hour’s drive away, and the first time I went I was nervous, but excited to be out of the house by myself, listening to music as loud as I wanted. I felt like I had a grip on a little of me. When you become a mom, you can lose yourself, and it’s all about figuring out how to reinvent.
A Family Care Space is a space where mothers, parents, and families can come to feed their babies, change their baby’s diaper, and receive educational materials, and most importantly connect with local BirthWorkers. While the concept of Family Care Spaces at public events is not the first of its kind, the meaning of this movement for Tribal Communities in Montana lies in something deeper: the reclamation of Indigenous traditional ways.
collective support. Parenting was not meant to be done in isolation but in community. It takes a village to raise a child.
Maternal Mental Health Month
In addition to these invaluable stories from moms, we’re honored to be able to share the lived experience of our trusted network experts and providers working with, and for, moms and families during this season of life. In the 2023 edition of LIFTS, 
In many Indigenous communities, birth is more than a medical event—it is a sacred ceremony, deeply rooted in tradition, community, and ancestral knowledge. While the term “Doula” is widely recognized today, its origins are tied to Western frameworks that may not fully capture the depth of Indigenous birthing practices. Long before Western society formalized the role of Doulas, Indigenous families, Elders, and community members played an essential part in supporting birth as a ceremony.
Diona Buck, representing the MOMS Program provided guidance and resources for Indigenous Birthworkers to engage and support families and elders in their communities. 
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