Everyone tells you this is the most magical time of your life. But sometimes? It’s not.
Sometimes it’s crying into a pillow at 2AM, wondering if you made a mistake.
Postnatal depression (PND) isn’t a bad mood or a rough week. It’s a heavy, confusing fog that settles in and refuses to lift. It can feel like grief for your old life, your freedom, your identity. It can feel like rage. It can feel like nothing at all.
And it’s real. It’s chemical. It’s disturbingly common, especially here in the UAE, where research shows that up to 1 in 3 mothers may experience symptoms of PND within the first year postpartum.
Nearly half of cases go undiagnosed, meaning many mothers suffer in silence. This invisible struggle can severely impact mother–baby bonding, partner support and overall family well-being.
It’s not just emotional. It’s physical. It’s hormonal and chemical. And it doesn’t make you a bad mum.
The baby blues are like a thunderstorm. They come and go within a few days. Postnatal depression is a monsoon that overstays its welcome.
You feel disconnected, overwhelmed, maybe even numb. You question every decision and second-guess every instinct.
You wonder why you don’t feel joy when everyone says you should be beaming. It can start right after birth or sneak in months later. Sometimes just when you think you’re doing okay, it knocks you sideways.
Here in the UAE, postnatal depression is more common than anyone’s letting on. And yet we barely whisper about it. Most mums are too afraid of being seen as dramatic, ungrateful, or unstable.
But let’s be honest, the pressure to be perfect here? To have the right pram, the matching swaddles, the bounce-back body? It’s suffocating.
You’re not weak. You’re not failing. You’re carrying an invisible load no one warned you about.
There’s a performative pressure in motherhood. Smile for the photo, even if you cried on the bathroom floor 20 minutes ago. Post the milestone, not the meltdown.
We curate our chaos until even we start to believe it. So when you feel like you’re breaking, it’s easy to think you’re the only one who’s not coping. You’re not.
That instant bond? The glowing skin? The divine breastfeeding experience? That’s not every mum’s reality. Some of us feel overwhelmed by our babies. Some of us grieve our old selves. Some of us feel deep ambivalence. None of that makes you broken. It makes you honest. It makes you brave.
It crept in quietly. I didn’t know I was ill. Not during my first pregnancy, not even for the two years that followed. I only realised something was deeply wrong when I was pregnant again, and everything shattered.
PND didn’t just make me sad. It hollowed me out. It locked me inside my own mind, cut me off from the people I loved, and left me scared of what my own brain was capable of. I felt like I was failing at life, motherhood, and being human.
The scariest part? I didn’t feel like myself anymore. Not even close. I couldn’t trust my thoughts. I felt like I was floating above my own life, just watching it happen. And sometimes, I didn’t even want to be in it at all.
I was functioning—feeding kids, showing up—but inside, I was falling apart. Intrusive thoughts ran wild. I couldn’t connect. I couldn’t explain it. And because I wasn’t sobbing all day or visibly struggling, no one really noticed. But I was screaming on the inside.
If this is you, if you feel like you’re disappearing, I need you to hear this: you’re not making it up. You’re not overreacting. And you’re definitely not alone.
You’re not lazy. You’re not dramatic. You’re exhausted, dysregulated and possibly drowning in hormones and sleep deprivation.
Telling a stranger the truth was terrifying. And for me? It didn’t work. Not in the way I hoped. I didn’t feel seen. I didn’t feel better. But that doesn’t mean therapy isn’t powerful – it just means it isn’t one-size-fits-all.
For some people, therapy is a lifeline. It can be a safe space to say the unsayable, to feel less alone, to make sense of the chaos. It just wasn’t my path to healing – and that’s okay too.
If it works for you? That’s incredible. If it doesn’t? You’re not broken. You’re allowed to keep searching for what helps.
Look, no one wants to feel like they ‘need’ meds. But I did. And they helped. Not in a fairy-tale way, but in a tangible, chemical, stabilising way. I could eat again. Laugh again. Remember who I was.
If your partner has just had a baby and she seems… different – more withdrawn, more tired than usual, emotionally flat, angry, or anxious – she might be dealing with postnatal depression. Or anxiety. Or both.
She might not ask for help. Not because she doesn’t need it – but because she’s too tired, too overwhelmed or too unsure of what’s even happening to her.
By the time she says it out loud, she’s probably been struggling for weeks, maybe months.
Common signs of postnatal depression:
Signs of postnatal anxiety or intrusive thoughts:
Important: Intrusive thoughts are common and treatable. They don’t make her dangerous. They make her scared – and she needs support, not judgment.
Would you expect someone with a broken leg to stand all day holding a baby and making dinner?
Exactly.
Postnatal depression is a real, diagnosable illness. It’s not about mindset. It’s not because she’s ungrateful. It’s not because she’s ‘not trying hard enough’.
You can’t fix this. But you can help her feel less alone. And sometimes, that’s what saves her.
We’re Not Here to Gloss Over It
This isn’t about pretty quotes and pastel reels. This is about meeting you where you are – mascara-smudged, messy-bunned, holding it together with dry shampoo and a whisper of hope. We built this community because we needed it too.
Here’s What We’ve Got:
If you’re here and this hit a nerve, please don’t keep it to yourself. You are not failing. You are in the middle of something hard. And you don’t have to do it alone.
This community? We’ve cried in the car. We’ve Googled ‘why do I feel nothing after having a baby’. We’ve wiped away tears before guests arrived. And we’re still here.
We built Eklektik Mama for the 2AM scrollers. The new mums pretending they’re fine. The ones who haven’t said it out loud yet – but know something isn’t right.
We built it for you.
Because maybe the most rebellious thing we can do as mums? Tell the truth.
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