Mud Meltdowns and Milestones - a chapter of my story to raise awareness for maternal mental health week!!

Breaking the Silence, A Mother’s Journey through Stigma and Mental Health

Are you afraid of the stigma?

The fear of being judged can be one of the most significant obstacles that prevent individuals from reaching out for help. This reality is not just a statistic; it’s a heartbreaking truth. Many people find themselves at a breaking point, facing a mental health crisis or, tragically, contemplating taking their own lives, all because they felt they couldn’t speak up. How devastating it is that so many believe ending their lives is the only solution to their pain, simply due to the fear of judgment.

As a first-time mother, I intimately understand this struggle. At just turned 20 years old, I was determined to show the world that I was capable and that age didn’t define my ability to be a mother as a 19 year old for most of the pregnancy (I got the looks of disappointment, even though I had a ful time well paid accountancy career and owned my own house)

the truth is that when you bring a new life into the world, there is no manual, so it doesn’t matter if your 19, or 39 were all finding our way.

We don’t get a manual to the multitude of emotions that arise postpartum. The challenges can seem insurmountable, complications during birth, mastitis, colic, and the overwhelming exhaustion that follows.

In my struggle to maintain a facade of control, I ignored the signals my body and mind were sending. Eventually, this neglect led to severe migraines and complete incapacitation, leaving me feeling like a failure for not being able to care for my newborn. During this time, I was given some of the best advice I could have received: “Get outside and go for a walk.” Even though I was living in Leeds at the time, being present in the moment and allowing myself to feel the breeze on my face started to bring some relief. However, deep down, I still felt isolated.

At mother’s groups, I often felt like an outsider, struggling to find my place in cliques that seemed to exclude me. The upbringing I had instilled in me a “stiff upper lip” mentality, the notion that I should just carry on, regardless of my struggles. This mindset, while instilling resilience, also delayed my journey toward healing. Which I think think lead to the return of mental health illness with my second.

With my second pregnancy, I was determined to do things differently. I embraced prenatal workouts and made a point to stay active, which helped me cultivate a more positive mindset. Yet, anxiety still lingered. I wondered whether I could love another child as fiercely as my first. Those fears crystallised upon welcoming my second son into a chaotic household where my eldest was suddenly potty training with just 2 years and two months between them and my newborn suffered from reflux. Days spent at home felt heavy and burdensome, and again, I was hesitant to speak up during health checks. I nodded along, insisting everything was fine, afraid that admitting to struggling would invite judgment and label me an inadequate mother.

Fast forward several years to my third pregnancy, a significant seven-year gap between my middle child and my youngest. Transitioning from the chaos of juggling business responsibilities, running a farm, while being a hands-on mother to suddenly being bedridden was a harsh reality. I was unable to perform even the simplest daily tasks due to the difficulties of my pregnancy, not to mention Endometriosis, fibromyalgia and Polycystic ovaries, compounded by a traumatic birth experience that nearly cost me my life.

This harrowing experience left me with an immense sense of guilt, as I grappled with the haunting possibility that my older children could of been left without their mother, all for the sake of carrying my miracle third child. The PTSD from that trauma was crippling, and I felt completely consumed by anxiety and panic attacks, all while my newborn began to show signs of being different from her siblings. She would hold her breath till she wasn’t breathing, wouldn’t feed or settle for anyone but me, I struggled beyond my limits, caught in the turmoil of new motherhood layered with the weight of unresolved trauma.

I vividly remember sitting on the bathroom floor, water running from the taps, tears streaming down my face, and trying desperately to stifle my sobs so my boys wouldn’t hear me. I didn’t want them to witness the truth of a mother who felt utterly defeated, a mother with no fight left in her.

I had hit rock bottom, days filled with relentless crying, struggling even to meet my basic health and wellness needs. My youngest child required so much support, and I felt an overwhelming pressure to compensate for the time I spent bedridden, crippled by physical, mental, and emotional pain.

I would drag myself outside just to feed the animals, moving through each task in a daze. Yet, I believe those brief moments outside, tending to the farm, were what kept me going because there was no one else to care for them. I was the Farm-her.

When you finally muster the strength to sit on the floor of the shower, letting the warm water run over your body, which feels heavy and lifeless, you know you’ve reached a low point. You are broken, unable to see a way through the fog enveloping you.

As I tried to process my feelings, I couldn’t shake the thought that my children deserved more than I could currently offer them. I’d even convinced myself that my life insurance would provide them with a better start than a mother who was merely existing in a daze, moving through each day without clarity.

There came a moment when I planned my ending, a dark place I never thought I'd reach. Something stopped me, an unseen force that made me reluctant to take that final step. I realised I didn’t want to feel like this anymore; I desperately needed support.

When I finally found the courage to call the doctor, the poor receptionist was met with a flood of emotions as I tried to explain the overwhelming weight on my shoulders. I broke down, a puddle of tears, feeling utterly exposed. All over the phone.

However, my plea for help was met with the harsh reality of the time, the onset of the pandemic. I was told a prescription for antidepressants would be my lifeline. Desperate for relief, I thought this could be the answer.

Yet, it wasn’t. Instead of clarity, I felt more spaced out, enveloped in a fog that deepened my sense of numbness. The joy I once saw in my children felt distant, slipping through my fingers like sand.

It was during this bleak chapter that an old friend reached out, offering hope. She introduced me to mindfulness, meditation, and Reiki practices. I found myself connecting with others in circles that openly discussed mental health, learning to breathe my way through the panic attacks that would seize me in my car, making me feel like I was dying in the middle of nowhere with a baby in the backseat.

I started with one small step each day, practicing gratitude. Slowly, the fog began to lift, revealing a foundation I could build upon. I connected with people, even if virtually and nature became my refuge. Long walks with my children allowed me to bond with them while distracting my mind from the dark thoughts that threatened to engulf me.

I dedicated time to the animals, talking to them and appreciating the simple beauty of sunrises and sunsets. Whenever the heavy fog threatened to return, we would go outside, connecting with nature and the animals around us.

These moments of connection were not only therapeutic; they helped calm Mads, allowing her to settle down when we were on the farm or taking a walk. I finally had a chance to breathe and find some mindfulness in the chaos.

Reflecting on my journey, I often wonder why the necessity for better support systems for new mothers isn’t more widely discussed. Why aren’t there accessible resources at our fingertips, why isn’t this all discussed pre birth so we don’t fear the stigma? helplines, support services, and friend networks that foster a sense of community are vital to save lives!!

The need for connection and understanding during such vulnerable times is essential, and together, we can work toward creating that environment for all mothers.

In sharing my journey, I hope to emphasise that it’s okay to seek support. Understanding that you’re not alone in your struggles and that vulnerability is a form of strength can make all the difference. Let’s shift the narrative around maternal mental health and create a culture where mothers feel empowered to speak openly about their challenges.

Together, we can break down the barriers of stigma and create a supportive community for all mothers, allowing them to embrace their journeys without fear of judgment.

If you need support my inbox is open as is our support group online and in-person!!