Postpartum Depression: The Darker Corners No One Talks About

Before my son was born, I wanted to be a mum more than anything. It wasn’t just something I was going to be one day, it was the dream - my biggest prayer.

So when motherhood finally arrived, I thought - even through the hard parts - I would feel full, grateful, whole.

But the truth is, becoming a mum shattered me. And not just in the beautiful, messy, emotional ways people like to romanticise. It broke me in ways I wasn’t prepared for and almost couldn’t survive.

I loved my son instantly, fiercely. But alongside that love came countless, massive waves.

I have struggled to leave the house. Some days, I haven't even been able to leave my bed.

The idea of showering, getting dressed, opening the front door have felt impossible. I have dreaded it. Even when my rational mind knew fresh air would help, when people offered help, when I wanted so badly to not only live my life, but feel "normal" again.

There have been days when I didn’t want to be here anymore. Not because I didn’t love my life, or my baby. But because the weight of it all felt too much. I'm still not sure how to explain it or sum it up. Maybe it's the mental or physical exhaustion, the relentless mental noise, guilt? I don't know. But I know how awful it felt and that I couldn’t see a way through it. And that scared me. Because this life, this chapter of my life - motherhood - was supposed to be everything I had hoped and waited for.

Postpartum Depression, Rage, and OCD

When people hear "postpartum depression," they often picture sadness. What they don’t always talk or know about (I didn't) is postpartum rage - the explosive frustration and anger that makes you feel alien in your own skin, and act like it. Or the creeping symptoms of postpartum OCD - the endless double-checking and controlling, the “if I don’t do it right, something terrible will happen” spiral that robs you of any real peace.

It’s not just sadness. It’s irritation at the world around you; fear disguised as control; shame so thick you don’t know how to breathe through it.

And it can happen even when you have everything you ever wanted. Even when you love your child with every fibre of your being.

Finding My Way Through, Still

Healing has been slow and nonlinear.

Some of the things that helped were tiny at first:

• Instead of planning to get outside for a walk or anything more, I simply set the goal of stepping outside the front door and standing there for 5 minutes

• Instead of figuring out excuses and apologising for not texting people back, I simply replied, "I'm not okay" - saying “I’m struggling” without explaining it away.

• Taking medication without guilt.

• Letting other people help, even when it felt uncomfortable.

Some days are better now and some still feel impossibly heavy. But slowly, I've built a life that holds space for both.

If You’re In It Too

I’m not going to tell you it gets better, or "just get out for a walk", or "just take a shower." Because if you're anything like me, you know it's not that simple.

But I will tell you this:

• You are not broken because this is hard.

• You are not a failure because you feel rage, sadness, or fear.

• You are a fantastic mum.

• You are allowed to need help.

• You are allowed to stay in bed some days.

• You are allowed to want to be here and also feel like you can't handle being here at the same time.

• You are allowed to grieve the version of motherhood you thought you would have - but don't let that take up more time than making the most of what you do have.

Both things can be true. And you are not alone.

If this resonates with you, know that I’m with you, and you’re stronger than you feel right now.

— Lucy x