
Motherhood the first time around felt like a breeze. I returned to work with energy, ambition and a sense that I could handle anything. So when I welcomed my second child, I expected a similar experience. But this time, 18 months in, I was at sea and I was sinking.
I remember the moment clearly: a health visitor gently asked how I was doing, and I brushed it off with a smile. “Just the baby blues,” I said. “I know this phase passes.”
But it didn’t.
Instead, I found myself crying in my parked car with two sleeping babies in the back, “Dancing on My Own” by Calum Scott pouring from the speakers like it was the soundtrack to a film I never intended to star in.
Postnatal depression (PND) doesn’t always come crashing in. For me, it was a slow erosion, a constant background hum of sadness, guilt and isolation made worse by the belief that I had no right to feel this way. After all, I had everything I’d ever wanted.
I didn’t ask for help. I had a new boss. I wanted to slot back in, to impress, to prove that nothing had changed. But everything had changed and I found it difficult to admit.
Looking back now, I don’t feel shame. But I do feel regret for not speaking up, for not asking for help and for not trusting that I could have. I now understand that my silence was implying survival and it didn’t have to be that way.
Postnatal depression affects around 1 in 10 women within a year of giving birth. And that’s just the reported cases. Many more go unnoticed, unsupported, or misunderstood. The workplace can play a pivotal role in how that story unfolds.