“I was terrified it would happen again”: One mum shares the tools she used to survive postnatal depression second-time around

I was actually glad to be feeling these things – or at least recognising them. This was a monumental improvement on my first experience of PND, seven years earlier.

I have two daughters, who are now 10 and 3 years old. It’s a fairly significant age gap, partly due to the trauma, subsequent PTSD and PND from the birth of my eldest.

Looking back, it’s clear what I was going through; but at the time it was anything but. New motherhood felt like a fever dream. I was sleep-deprived, didn’t know what I was doing (do any of us?), terrified and powerless to help myself or my screaming new boss.

I recognise now that I was fearful of the birth. I spent a long time ignoring the fact that I was pregnant. I went through the motions of birth preparation, but largely ignored the prospect of childbirth itself.

This contributed to a long, exhausting, labour – because it was the first time my body had ever done this, and I didn’t want to surrender control. The baby wasn’t descending and, with heart rate erratic, I was administered first ventouse and then forceps to deliver her.

The umbilical cord had been around her neck, making pushing difficult, and when the obstetrician unravelled her, the cord snapped, she lost blood and was rushed off to NICU after resuscitation.

Ultimately, she was healthy, but I left hospital without my baby whilst she stayed for four days in intensive care. After she came home, I pushed myself to get on. I’m a practical and capable woman, and I felt like I “should” be coping. Plus I had a baby to look after.

It wasn’t until years later that I recognised how dark those first few months, and years, were.

I saw health professionals, but none of them picked up on my depression, because I hid it so well. And because they didn’t really ask.

Being publicly high-functioning is something many of us can relate to. Behind the scenes there was screaming, arguments, near-divorce, a very nearly fractured relationship with my daughter, self-loathing and more.

I was in denial, and only able to work my way out when my husband pushed me to finally seek therapy. With time and self-education (I’m now a women’s health advocate and author), I grew to understand and process what I’d been through, but it had got very bad before it got better.

When it came to my second birth, seven years later, I was terrified it would happen again.

The silver lining of my first PND experience is that I was able to advocate for myself a lot more throughout my pregnancy, despite crying in every midwife appointment.

I finally got a birth debrief and even managed to speak to the matron of the maternity ward where I’d had my first birth, helping me understand what happened and offering closure.

I asked for therapy, and was given 12 sessions with a psychologist from the perinatal mental health team; she was kind, understanding, and offered practical homework and strategies. She encouraged me to be open and forgiving of myself – postnatal depression wasn’t my fault – and to know that if it happened again I’d be able to work my way through it.

I lowered my expectations of what I needed to do post-birth.

Beatific motherhood on social media, think perfect nurseries and cherubic babies, hugely influences what we think we should be achieving in motherhood.

Even your NCT friends sharing the one calm moment in their day on WhatsApp can lead you to believe that everyone is doing better than you. They’re not.

I said no to visits, or asked them to come when I was ready. When people did arrive, I asked them to do things for me, rather than feeling obliged to make tea, cake and small talk.

I found strength in courage to do it my way. If we were all still alive, that was good enough. Even if we were both covered in baby sick and the house was a tip.

Most importantly, know that there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you think you might have PND. Not everyone will get it, though most of us will understand the simpler lows of the baby blues. Whatever you’re going through, you deserve compassion (from yourself as much as from others) and you deserve support, so don’t be afraid to advocate for yourself.

Clio Wood is author of Get Your Mojo Back, Sex, Pleasure and Intimacy After Birth