The Dark Room Nobody Prepares You For As A Mother.

Last Updated on July 23, 2025 by Grace Oluchi

Nobody tells you that after giving birth, you might feel like you’re grieving the person you used to be.

Not because you miss your body or your sleep, but because you miss feeling like a person.

You don’t feel like a mom. You feel like a ghost holding a baby.

The Key Takeaway. 

This isn’t about sadness. It’s about feeling like you’re slowly drowning in a room full of people clapping for you to smile and “enjoy the moment.” This is real. And if you’re feeling it? You’re not broken. You’re not dramatic. You’re not ungrateful. You’re human.

What is Postpartum Depression (PPD)?

Postpartum depression is a heavy, dark, mental and emotional crash that hits some women after giving birth.

It’s not just about “feeling sad” or “missing your old life.” It’s deeper. Scarier. Lonelier. It’s like your mind is stuck underwater while the world expects you to float, smile, and act like you’re in a Pampers commercial.

But isn’t it just hormones?

Nope. That’s lazy talk.

Yes, hormones are part of it. After you give birth, your hormone levels drop hard and fast like someone yanked the floor from under you. Estrogen and progesterone? They crash. Cortisol? All over the place. Sleep? Gone. Pain? Everywhere.

So yeah, your body is on fire. But postpartum depression goes beyond hormones.

It affects your:

• Mood (you feel sad, empty, numb, or even angry for no clear reason).
• Thoughts (you might think you’re not a good mom, or even wish you could run away).
• Energy (you’re tired even after sleeping, if you’re even sleeping).
• Connection to your baby (you love them but you feel… disconnected, guilty, or not bonded at all).
• Self-worth (you feel useless, invisible, and like you’re failing everyone).

How Do You Know It’s Postpartum Depression?

Honestly, it just sneaks up on you.

At first, you might think it’s just “baby blues” (which happens to many moms in the first 2 weeks). You cry more. You’re emotional. That’s normal.

But postpartum depression sticks around longer, weeks, sometimes months. And it gets heavier, not lighter.

If you’re:

• Crying every day and don’t know why.
• Feeling hopeless or like life has no joy anymore.
• Getting irritated or angry over tiny things.
• Avoiding people or feeling alone even when you’re surrounded.
• Feeling like your baby deserves a better mom.
• Thinking dark thoughts you can’t say out loud.

Then, that might be postpartum depression. And you’re not crazy or ungrateful. You’re not being dramatic. You’re just going through something real.

And What About Postpartum Anxiety?

Another silent beast. Some moms don’t feel sad, they feel panicked. All the time.

Postpartum anxiety looks like:

• Constantly worrying your baby will stop breathing.
• Feeling like you need to “do everything right” or disaster will strike.
• Having racing thoughts and worst-case scenarios on loop.
• Feeling tense, shaky, or like you can’t relax—even when the baby’s asleep.
• Checking on your baby every 2 minutes because something feels “off.”

You might not be crying. You might be hyper-aware, over-functioning, on edge 24/7. And people around you may think you’re “just a good mom.” Nah. You’re drowning.

Why Does this Happen?

Because motherhood is a whole identity crisis wrapped in blood, hormones, and expectations.

You’re healing from labor or surgery. You’re sleep-deprived. Your body’s not yours. Your mind is spiraling. And everyone keeps saying, “Enjoy every moment!” like that fixes anything.

And society? Society doesn’t prepare you for the mental breakdown that can follow the baby shower.

Is it curable? YES. But first… you need to say it out loud.

You need to stop pretending you’re fine.

Tell someone. A friend. A doctor. Your partner. Your journal. Anybody.

There’s therapy. There’s support. There’s medication (if needed). There are women who’ve crawled out of this darkness and you will too.

But silence, shame and pretending makes it worse.

Postpartum Depression and Anxiety in New Mothers.

I want to start with the part that nobody talks about:

Sometimes, you look at your baby… and feel nothing.

Not hate. Not love. Just… blank.

And then, shame floods in. Because aren’t you supposed to be obsessed with this baby? Isn’t this supposed to be “the best time of your life”? People say that like it’s automatic. Like love just magically shows up and heals your ripped body and scrambled mind. But it doesn’t.

• There are days when you cry because the baby won’t stop crying.
• Nights when you sit in the shower, breastfeeding while crying, because you’re too tired to stand.
• There are mornings when the thought of doing another 24 hours like this makes you physically sick.

It’s not even weakness. It’s reality.

Motherhood is a miracle, yeah. But it’s also a demolition.

You are torn open, physically, mentally, spiritually.

And the world? The world just claps and says “Congratulations!”

As if your whole identity didn’t just get buried under breast pads, poop explosions, and the sound of a newborn crying at 3:47 AM for the 6th time that night.

How to Deal with Postpartum Depression.

Step 1: SAY IT OUT LOUD. TO SOMEONE. ANYONE.

Yeah, I know. This feels like the biggest issue. Because how do you even begin to say…

• “I’m not okay.”
• “I feel like I’m failing.”
• “I love my baby but I don’t feel connected.”
• “I think I made a mistake.”
• “Sometimes, I just want to vanish.”

It feels selfish. Ungrateful. Wrong. But listen, it’s human.

Saying it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you real. And real people heal.

So text a friend. Whisper it to your partner. Say it to a doctor.

Or even start by saying it to yourself in the mirror. Just say it. Break the silence. That’s where healing begins.

Step 2: GO TO A DOCTOR. NOT A WHATSAPP GROUP.

I get it. 

• Family will tell you to “just pray it away.”
• Church sisters will say “you need to be grateful.”
• WhatsApp family groups will drop Bible quotes, ginger tea remedies, and unsolicited parenting advice.

But listen, postpartum depression is medical. It needs a medical response. Go see a mental health professional. That could be:

• A psychiatrist (for diagnosis or meds if necessary).
• A psychologist or therapist (for talk therapy).
• Even your OB/GYN or midwife can help connect you.

They won’t judge you. They won’t take your baby away. They’ll help you get your mind back.

And yes, there might be meds.

Antidepressants don’t make you a zombie or a drug addict. They stabilize your brain chemicals long enough to give you a fighting chance. Think of it like crutches for a broken leg.

Step 3: STOP TRYING TO BE A “STRONG MOTHER.”

That title will kill you.

Who even started this obsession with “strong woman”?

Strong = never cries, never complains, handles it all, always looks good, never asks for help?

Kill that version of motherhood. She’s not real.

You’re a human. You’re allowed to feel fragile. You’re allowed to say, “I need help.” And you’re allowed to say, “I can’t do it all today.”

• Strong mothers cry in the bathroom and still show up anyway.
• Strong mothers ask for help.
• Strong mothers let people in.
• Strong mothers know when to rest.

So give yourself that permission. You don’t need to impress anybody. You need to survive.

Step 4: GET YOUR BODY INVOLVED.

Your brain is tired. It’s misfiring. It’s foggy. So let your body step in. Do small things that tell your nervous system:

“We are safe. We are still alive. We are healing.”

• Take walks. Even if it’s just around your compound barefoot. That sunlight resets your brain’s clock.

• Stretch your body. Not to get abs. Just to move the sadness out of your bones.

• Eat actual food. Not leftovers. Not baby puree. Eat what you love, even if it’s just noodles and egg.

• Drink water. Not because it’ll fix everything, but because a dry brain is an anxious brain.

It won’t “cure” PPD. But it helps you build a rhythm again. And rhythm is what depression hates.

Step 5: LET PEOPLE HELP YOU (EVEN IF IT FEELS WEIRD).

You don’t have to be the only one changing diapers, cooking, doing laundry, holding the crying baby, and trying to stay sane.

• Let someone wash the dishes.
• Let someone rock the baby while you nap.
• Let someone send you food.

And if there’s no one around? Make your life as stupidly simple as possible.

• Frozen food? Use it.
• Paper plates? Use them.
• TV on for hours while you sleep beside the baby? Let it play.

This is not the season to prove anything. This is survival mode. If it gets you through the day without crying on the toilet, do it.

Step 6: DON’T WAIT TO FEEL LIKE IT. DO ONE THING A DAY.

Depression makes everything feel like too much. Even brushing your teeth.So don’t try to do all the healing at once. Just one thing.

• Shower today.
• Journal tomorrow.
• Open the window the next day.
• Text a friend.
• Watch something stupid and laugh.
• Lie in the sun like a tired plant.

Momentum matters. One small thing a day adds up. You’re not failing if you’re not “doing it all.” You’re winning if you’re still here.

Step 7: REMEMBER YOU’RE STILL YOU. YOU’RE JUST REBUILDING.

You didn’t disappear. You’re just underneath everything right now. Under the diapers, under the spit-up, under the exhaustion, under the fog.

But you’re still there.

• The girl who used to dance in front of mirrors.
• The girl who used to feel pretty, and soft, and funny.
• The girl who had dreams beyond burp cloths and baby bottles.

She’s not gone.

She’s just waiting.

And when the fog lifts and it will, you’ll find her again. Wiser. Softer. Stronger. Realer.

What You Need Isn’t a Pep Talk. It’s Permission.

• Permission to say you’re not okay.
• Permission to ask for help without the shame.
• Permission to take a nap, scream into a pillow, or hand the baby to someone else and just breathe.
• Permission to say, “This is harder than I ever imagined.”
• And not feel bad about it.

Because real motherhood is not picture-perfect. It’s messy. Loud. Lonely. And sometimes, it’s one long silent scream behind a forced smile.

• But it’s also the moment your baby locks eyes with you and something flickers.
• It’s also the time you finally take a deep breath without crying.
• It’s also the tiny signs that you’re slowly coming back to life on your own terms.

A Quick Note for Partners & Family.

If you’re reading this and your wife, sister, friend, or cousin is going through this, show up. Not with advice. Not with judgment. With presence.

• Sit with her in silence.
• Take the baby so she can rest.
• Don’t force her to “cheer up.”
• Remind her that she’s still valuable even when she’s quiet, tired, and messy.

Just say: “I see you. I’m here. You’re doing great.”

If no one else has told you lately… You’re doing a damn good job. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Motherhood doesn’t need to be generic. Sometimes, it looks like duct-taping your sanity together with baby wipes and leftover formula. And guess what? That counts.