“The Dark Side of Motherhood”: Why We Need to Talk About Postpartum Depression
“The Dark Side of Motherhood”: Why We Need to Talk About Postpartum Depression
By Asnat, Doula & Mother of five
💬 Why Start My Blog with a Story Like This?
You might be asking yourself: Why begin a blog about motherhood and birth with such a heavy topic? Why begin with something so dark?
Shouldn’t a doula talk about joy, new life, and beautiful beginnings?
Isn’t motherhood supposed to be filled with joy, light, and love?
Yes, it is. But it’s also complex, and sometimes shadowed by pain we don’t talk about enough.
Too often, mothers are expected to be happy simply because they have a healthy baby, a supportive partner, and a beautiful home. They're told to be grateful—and they are. But there’s rarely space or permission to say, “I’m struggling.” When sadness creeps in, it brings guilt and shame—guilt for not feeling what others expect and shame for believing that struggling means you're somehow failing.
I want to say this clearly:
All your feelings are valid. Every one of them is legitimate and worthy of compassion.
There is no one “right” way to feel after giving birth. And no mother should suffer in silence.
If we only speak about the light, we leave too many women suffering alone in the dark.
🧠 A Memory That Shaped Me
When I was a child, I had a neighbour who shared my name. To me, she was magic—graceful, warm, always wearing a smile that made you feel safe. She had a daughter first, then a few years later, a healthy baby boy. I was eleven at the time.
One ordinary afternoon, my parents sat me down with unusually serious expressions. What they told me would become one of the most haunting memories of my childhood:
Her baby was gone.
She had drowned him in the bathtub.
The words didn’t make sense. I remember feeling like the world had shifted beneath me. How could someone like her—so gentle, so joyful—do something like that? The neighbourhood was stunned. Whispers filled the air, but no one had answers. Just disbelief. Just sorrow.
The next time I saw her, it was as though her spirit had been taken. The vibrant woman I once looked up to had become a shadow. The spark in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a hollow, unrecognizable stare. It terrified me. Not just because of what had happened—but because no one had seen it coming.
Back then—in the 1980s—people didn’t talk about postpartum depression. It wasn’t on the radar. There was no language for it, no support, no safe space to say, “I’m not okay.” That silence, that absence of understanding, cost her everything.
That moment, that unspoken tragedy, planted something in me.
It shaped the way I see mothers. It shaped the way I listen.
And it’s one of the deepest reasons I became a doula.
Because no woman should ever be left alone in that kind of darkness.
🌫️ My Own Battle—And I Didn’t Even See It
Fast-forward 20 years, I found myself in her shoes in a way I never expected.
I had just given birth to my third baby. He was beautiful and healthy. I wore him close to my chest in a carrier, breastfed him on demand, did everything "right." On the outside, I was the picture of motherhood. But on the inside, I was unravelling.
Three months had passed, and I was moving through each day on autopilot—feeding, changing, soothing. I ignored the signs: the rising panic that hit me every evening, the shortness of breath, the bone-deep fatigue, the way the night seemed to swallow me in fear. I cried in the dark when no one could see. I couldn’t enjoy my baby. I couldn’t enjoy anything.
I told myself to be strong. I was raised that way—get through it, push it down, don’t complain. And with three kids under five, who had time to fall apart? I had a supportive husband and healthy children. What right did I have to feel so broken?
But depression doesn’t care how strong you are. It doesn’t care how much you know. I had been a doula for six years. I could see postpartum depression in my clients, I could name it, offer help. But I couldn’t see it in myself.
It wasn’t me who noticed it.
It took someone else—someone standing outside my storm—to truly see what I couldn’t.
We were at a professional workshop for doulas, a day filled with deep conversations, hands-on techniques, and the kind of emotional energy that usually lights me up. But that day, I felt like I was moving through fog—smiling when I should, nodding at the right moments, but not really there.
During a break, one of my coworkers came over and gently pulled me aside. She didn’t ease into it, ask how I was doing, or make small talk. She just looked at me, long and deep, and said,
I let out a short laugh, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been feeling a little off lately. Just tired, you know?”
I forced a smile, hoping she’d let it go.
But she didn’t.
She placed her hand on mine, held my gaze, and said it again—but this time, slower, softer, and with a kind of quiet urgency that cracked something open in me:
“No, Asnat. You’re very depressed.”
Not like a lightning bolt—but like a curtain slowly being pulled back from a dark, quiet room, I hadn’t even realized I was trapped inside.
I wasn’t just tired. I wasn’t just overwhelmed.
I was drowning. And I hadn’t even noticed.
That moment- the look in her eyes, the truth in her voice—was the beginning of my return.
That moment cracked something open. The truth hit me. I was clinically depressed. The thing I had tried to protect others from had quietly stolen into my own life like a thief in the night. It had wrapped itself around me, dimmed the colours of my world, and left me hollow.
The thing about depression is, you often can’t see it from the inside. You need someone on the outside to hold up a mirror.
The good news is that recognizing it is the first and most powerful step toward healing.
🛤️ The Road Back
There are many paths to recovery. Some women choose antidepressants prescribed by their doctors, and many find great relief that way. The medication can help lift the fog, allowing women to function, to feel again, and to return to themselves. Often, with medical guidance, these treatments are temporary, and they are highly effective.
I chose a different path—one that worked for me.
I started with movement. Every morning, I forced myself to walk. At first, just a few minutes. Then longer. The fresh air, the rhythm of my feet on the ground, the physical movement shifted something. I cleaned up my diet: no more processed food, more whole, nourishing meals. I made sure to eat foods rich in Omega-3s, drank more water, and took magnesium supplements. I opened up. I started to talk about it. To my surprise, people didn’t judge. They listened. They cared.
And slowly, life returned. I smiled a real smile. I laughed. I played with my kids. I came back to myself.
There are many ways to treat postpartum depression. What matters most is that you find your way. And that you don’t try to walk it alone.
📋 What Is Postpartum Depression?
Postpartum Depression (PPD) is a serious condition that affects 1 in 7 mothers, yet many suffer in silence. It can develop at any time during the first year after birth.
Common Symptoms:
Persistent sadness or emptiness
Panic attacks or overwhelming anxiety
Difficulty bonding with the baby
Sleep or appetite changes
Feeling hopeless, guilty, or numb
Thoughts of harm (to self or baby)
Loss of joy in life
🛑 If you or someone you know is having suicidal thoughts or thoughts of harming a child, seek emergency help immediately.
🔍 How Is PPD Diagnosed?
A healthcare provider will evaluate symptoms, duration, and severity. They may use screening tools like the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale to assess risk.
🧩 Stages & Progression
Baby Blues (first 2 weeks postpartum) – common and temporary
Postpartum Depression – develops within the first few months but can appear up to a year later.
Postpartum Psychosis – rare, but severe and requires urgent medical care
🛠️ Treatment Options
There is no one-size-fits-all approach. Here are some common treatments:
Medication: Antidepressants can help regulate mood and often lead to recovery within months
Therapy: Individual counselling or group therapy provides emotional tools and support
Lifestyle changes: Movement, nutrition, rest, and connection are powerful aids
Natural approaches: Some women choose herbal supplements, acupuncture, or mindfulness (under medical supervision)
💞 Final Words: You Are Not Alone
If you see yourself in these words—or recognize someone you care about—know this: you are not weak, and you are not alone. Depression is not a failure of motherhood. It is a medical condition, and it is treatable.
Your healing matters.
Your story matters.
And you deserve light, even in the shadows.
With love and truth,
Osnat
Certified Doula, Mother of Five, Mental Health Advocate
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