My Experience Being a New Mum with Postnatal Depression

This piece was first published by The Natural Parent Magazine in early 2021 when we were three months postpartum and very much still in the thick of it.
So much has changed since, but this felt like a catalyst to where we are now, and like it deserved a special place here.

Trigger warning: discusses maternal suicidal ideation

“Motherhood looks good on you!” 

“You look like you are loving motherhood!” 

“You look amazing!” 

“You’re a natural!” 

I am. 

I fucking LOVE motherhood unlike anything I have ever loved before. 

Now, three months in, that is. 

Looking back a couple of months, all the while I was posting happy squishy pictures harping on about how much I love my little human, behind closed doors I did not have my shit together, and motherhood most definitely did not look good on me. 

Ever since I was a kid, I have dreamed of having my own wee babe, and here I was miserable and unable to believe or understand why I wasn’t enjoying this beautiful magical thing I was never sure I’d get to experience. 

I got hit hard and fast with some deep and dark emotions quite early on. While I had effortlessly kept my head in bright spaces and in good spirits throughout what was an amazing pregnancy and birth, the part I was looking forward to the most, motherhood, hit me like a heavy tonne of bricks within hours and days of being home. 

I spent the first few weeks in a blur of hormone induced ups and downs. 

The ups – my god, I have never felt such love in my life. I spent hours just mesmerised, staring at the teeny tiny beautiful little human I had just made inside me….he was here with his perfect little toes and wee tummy that I watched sink and rise with every little adorable snuffly breath. Absolute MAGIC. 

But the downs – they came in and brought big black nasty clouds that dimmed all that squishy loved up sunshine in seconds. 

I put a lot of it down to hormones. 

Knowing and understanding it was totally natural to be in a mental-physical-emotional whirlwind after going through the biggest and most beautiful experience of my life made sense and helped me process what I was experiencing. 

I ebbed and flowed through the days, taking care to always see the bright side and pull myself back up out of those shitty places in my mind with those little toes and perfect big baby blue eyes. 

Week three came and my partner went back to work. It wasn’t until I was alone with my new and peculiar life that it hit me hard and fast that things were beginning to become more unbalanced than I could push aside or cover up with cooing over cuteness. 

All I wanted to do was escape and hide away until those predicted first tough six weeks passed and we were in the clear with our little babe all happy and adjusted to being earthside. 

I just wanted to be me. 

I just wanted to be alone. 

I just wanted to disappear. 

It got bad. 

Thinking about driving the car off the road with the baby and I in it, bad. 

Just acknowledging that makes me feel sad and sick to my stomach as I sit here happy and healthy with my beautiful, smiley baby boy. 

But it also makes me proud. 

It makes me proud of myself for pulling over, calling my partner and asking him to come home, and reaching out for help. 

That was the first step. 

To me admitting I wasn’t okay. 

To me acknowledging I needed to accept a little more help. 

To me getting better. 

To moving towards loving motherhood, myself, and my baby. 

It all happened quite rapidly. While I had small signs that I wasn’t quite myself, I hadn’t forecast that I’d hit rock bottom so quickly and heavily, and to be honest, that thought scared the fucking shit out of me and it wasn’t a place I ever wanted to visit again. 

My experience of dealing with and recovering from mental distress and depression in my teen years really helped me take a step back and recognise what was going on, and how to tackle the next steps. 

Postnatal depression was a whole ‘nother level up from my previous experiences. You live between deeper lows and higher highs, dreaming of running away and disappearing, but you’ve got a small human who completely depends on you and you simply just can’t escape. I found this a crutch and a blessing all in one. 

The crutch – while your aching body struggles to maintain any energy, another little body depletes it through your sore gigantic nipples and allowing you next to no replenishing sleep or down time (…no wonder your head and heart are no longer doing so well, right?!).

The blessing – it kinda means you can’t just sit in your hole and let yourself fall deeper because it’s not just yourself falling.  

Teen me would just let myself go with not a lot of effort to get better, to get help, or to help myself. Wiser, older, mumma me knows that that approach just doesn’t work this time around. 

While it’s harder, I have to step up for my family, for my baby, and for myself. If I can’t look after me, I am not all I can be for the little human relying on me to help them navigate their new life here on earth (especially when you stop and think about how much harder this all must be for them, huh?!?).

It’s all really interesting now I’m in a very different and much better place. 

I didn’t speak up quite soon enough, but when I did, I found the biggest most loving abundance of support from my family and friends, and especially fellow mums. 

This shit is hard, and while I was prepared to be more susceptible to PND, I didn’t think it would catch me… but I caught it right back, and I kicked its ass. 

This shit is so common, and I found solace in knowing I wasn’t alone in it. 

Here’s to all the mums. 

To my mum friends who sat with me at 3am while wondering what the fuck I was doing, thank you. 

To the mums who sat with me and shared stories of breastfeeding challenges while I struggled to feed, thank you. 

To the mums who opened their hearts with care and wisdom while I wiped more tears than spew on muslins, thank you. 

To the mums who kindly and selflessly offered my baby their milk, THANK YOU. 

To the mums who are now where I once was – no one has their shit together, even when it looks like it from the outside. You’ve got this. 

To my loving partner and my beautiful baby boy, thank you. I love you.