There I stood before two Renoir paintings, weeping softly. Two summers ago, we spent a week in Paris. Little did anyone really know, I was in the thick of Postpartum PTSD, suffering silently and trying desperately to muscle my way through extreme PTSD symptoms which also led to anxiety and depression, pretending I was okay. Looking back over my journey before I asked for help, I see glimmers of healing, “patches of Godlight”, moments and days and places and conversations and words I read and songs I heard and meals I ate and people I encountered that brought healing to my hurting heart and reeling brain. Starting therapy a year ago this month is the biggest game changer in ….