The Hidden Half
It’s common for new mothers to su ffer from postnatal mental illness, but only er from postnatal mental illness, but only
half receive the treatment they need. This can be fixed with some simple and
low-cost changes to our health system.
We surveyed 1,000 women who had recently had a baby and found that half
had had a mental health or emotional problem postnatally or during pregnancy.
Fiona’s story
Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I waited for the
doctor to finish checking over my baby. The
sane part of me knew she was fine and healthy
but the crazy, dark thoughts were right there,
convincing me there would be bad news and
that I’d missed something obvious. It had been
seven weeks since she’d been born and every
day had passed in a haze of pain (me),
vomit (her) and tears (both of us). But that’s
just what having a baby was like, right?
But she was fine. Phew. “And everything’s ok
with you?” the doctor asked. My mind raced.
Was that a rhetorical question? Was this part
of the postnatal procedure or did I look so worn
out that he was concerned? What was he
actually asking about – was it an awkward medical
question about my ruined insides or
did he really want to know if I was ok?
So, I slapped on that same smile I’d been giving to everyone who’d flippantly asked and
said, “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a criticism of my doctor, who is a lovely man and very
kind and professional. This isn’t a criticism of the many friends and family members who
came for tea and biscuits to coo over the baby and tell me how amazing I was at coping
as a single parent with a newborn. This isn’t even a criticism of my ex-partner who hadn’t
offered any sort of emotional support. (Well, maybe him, a little bit!) The horrible and
strange thing about suffering from postnatal depression is that, if you don’t want anyone to
know about it, it’s very, very easy to hide.
My experience of postnatal depression wasn’t endless sobbing, or hating my baby, or not
being able to get out of bed. I was able to function most days, and get out of the house to
meet friends and my NCT group. My depression was a constant weight in my heart, my
brain and my stomach.It was a quiet acceptance that anything could go wrong and if it did,
it would be my fault. If I took the baby in the car, I might have a crash and she would die. If
I didn’t watch her while she slept, she might stop breathing and she would die. If I didn’t
stop feeling like this, I would be punished and somehow, she would be taken from me. And
if/when that happened, I had a plan in place for myself because I would want to die, too.
If you have a problem with your foot or elbow, you go to the doctor and get it fixed. You
don’t worry that someone is going to pity you and think you’re pathetic. You don’t worry
that someone is going to think it’s your fault.