Chrissy Teigen Suffers From Postpartum Depression Chrissy Teigen lives her life as an open book. But, there is one chapter she's kept private for months – she has postpartum depression. When John Legend and Chrissy welcomed their daughter, Luna Simone, last April...it was the best moment of their lives. Soon after, it became the most unhappy and painful time in Chrissy's life. In a post on her official Instagram page, Chrissy wrote: 'll just say it: I have postpartum depression. So much love to @glamourmag for letting me share something that was eating me up inside for months and months. One of the most amazing things about social media is the ability to interact candidly with friends and fans and it felt so weird knowing what I was going through but not really feeling like it was the right place to speak on it. I've always felt genuinely close to all of you and I'm insanely relieved you now know something that has been such a huge part of me for so long. My full essay is on the @glamourmag bio. n her essay, Chrissy Teigen is very candid about her experience and her diagnosis. Read an excerpt below. 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. Anytime I was seen out, it was because I had already had work or a work event that day. Meaning I wouldn't have to muster up the energy to take a shower, because it was already done. It became the same story every

day: Unless I had work, John knew there was not a chance in hell we were going on a date, going to the store, going anywhere. I didn't have the energy. Before, when I entered a room I had a presence: head high, shoulders back, big smile. Suddenly I had become this person whose shoulders would cower underneath her chin. I would keep my hands on my belly and try to make myself as small as possible. 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? By December I had started my second cookbook. With the first, I was in the kitchen the whole time. I stirred every pot, tasted everything. Had genuine excitement for Every. Single. Recipe. This one came at the height of my losing my appetite, and the idea of having to test and taste recipes actually made me vomit. I was still on the couch a lot. 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.)