I have a story of hope to offer. It's painful to write parts of this but here goes:
When DD was about 19 months old, I began a fast slide down a slippery slope of depression and a general lack of well-being. I've been working, in baby steps, for about a year now. During that time I haven't liked myself much, and, unfortunately, I've missed out on a lot of joy with my daughter. I loved her very much, but was struggling so much with life that I got little enjoyment out of DD -- and as any reputable two-year old would, she tested my patience to the limit.
Two months ago I began taking an SSRI, and coupled with all the other changes I've made, I've finally turned a corner where I feel good again and am gaining hope and momentum. But the true realization came when I started to look at my daughter and feel overwhelming feelings of love, instead of irritation. Not to say I'm never irritated, but it is no longer perpetual. I enjoy snuggling with her and smelling her hair. I laugh at her silliness. I have a little more patience with the inevitable mistakes. I feel positive about being a mom again. I have more strength to take better care of myself, too. It has felt like a long time, but I'm finally emerging from the fog, and I've learned a lot...and I know I need to continue to learn about myself.
My best "hint" is to not be afraid to admit you have a problem and to solicit and accept help. There is nothing shameful about having PPD, and asking for help will often get you more than you imagined. I really wish I'd asked for more help than I did. I was so used to being able to do everything for myself that it was scary and hard to realize/admit that I couldn't keep up the superwoman routine any longer. But guess what? I'm a whole lot happier as imperfect woman than I was trying to be superwoman!