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.
“You’re an adult woman, you can do this!” my husband Bob says over the phone from 1,500 miles away, as I dress our four-month-old son, Emmett.
Walking down the ramp into the building’s basement, I feel nauseous. “We can do this, right buddy?” I ask Emmett.
I was 22 then, and wouldn’t receive an accurate diagnosis until five years later.
I found out I was pregnant with my second in December of 2023, and told my doctor that I wanted to taper off my medication. I’d done the research, and knew that mine was one of the most recommended mood-stabilizers for pregnancy, but in spite of advocating for the destigmatization of mental-health conditions, I knew deep down that I didn’t want to admit to my new medical team that I was dependent on a medication for survival. My doctor expressed concern, but said it was ultimately my decision. I made the choice to stop.
A diagnosis does not define you. It can dictate choices you make, but it doesn’t have to be your entire identity. The imbalances within my body don’t determine my capabilities as a parent. I can be a great mom, a loving wife, and a functioning member of society while also needing assistance in maintaining the disequilibrium in my brain that is quite literally out of my control. What is in my control, however, is choosing to be honest with myself and my support team, so that I can not just survive, but thrive.
The first year was numb as we maintained survival mode. One lonely twin didn’t want to eat, an older sister didn’t know how to grieve, and two parents mourned in their corners yet still occasionally found each other. I searched for answers and signs of my daughter gone from earth. I had sudden moments of sorrow and angst, remembering not all my children are with me. We celebrated milestones, watched a personality emerge, and witnessed the discoveries of young childhood – all while quietly acknowledging the persistent, sad void that coupled each of those milestones. I found solace when I focused on my mother holding my baby, rocking her, just as if they were with me.
Jacqueline shows up in our lives in many different ways. Amidst a stint of relentless bickering between Olivia and Caroline, we approached the store aisle containing a plethora of various gingerbread house kits. I dreaded yet another argument about which type to purchase as I listed them — Barbie, Mickey Mouse, and so on. Much to my surprise, they immediately agreed on a birdhouse with a red cardinal perched in front. A red cardinal can be a sign of hope from a departed loved one, a sign of their peace. It was as if they knew.
Plastic bag painting
My feelings were complex during pregnancy, and talking them through with my partner and friends was incredibly important. I often worried that I wouldn’t know how to connect with my son. I leaned into the words I read from other parents, that “once your baby is born it will be fine, he will just be your baby.” Before becoming a mother, I didn’t know that love for your children grows out of thousands of tiny moments of nurturing, not because your baby shows up in a certain way. And when Alex was born, I could see the depth in his sparkly little eyes and knew I didn’t need to worry about connecting. I’m saddened now that I didn’t understand this before. People with Down syndrome are just people, and being able to connect really isn’t surprising.
When looking into preschools, we were referred to someone at our local Child Care Resource and Referral office who equipped us with information on reasonable accommodations and a list of questions to ask when we visited different programs. This helped us self-advocate and, ultimately, we chose a program that was open to adaptations and that valued my family as collaborators in Alex’s education.
By the time that we moved, Bugs had been diagnosed with some conditions requiring many doctor appointments and hospital stays. Anaconda does not have an Early Head Start (EHS) program, so when we moved to Butte, we started looking at the process of getting her enrolled in AWARE’s EHS program. AWARE runs EHS programs in Butte, Helena, Belgrade and Billings, while other communities provide EHS through different organizations.
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