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I’m stepping up this March to support …
This one is close to home. The Gidget Foundation helped me when I needed it the most.
The 100,000 Australian parents impacted by perinatal depression and anxiety every year. That’s 1 in 5 mums and 1 in 10 dads — and far too many suffer in silence.
Your donation to Gidget Foundation Australia helps parents access vital psychological support when they need it most — online, in-person or through telehealth.
Every dollar can bring hope and support.
Thank you!
My Updates
Postnatal Depression: When the Joy Everyone Sees Isn’t What You Feel
Saturday 24th JanHearing multiple times a day, "what a gorgeous baby, you must be so proud, congratulations.”
The words floated past me in a jumbled mess. I nodded, smiled when expected, said thank you because that’s what new mums are supposed to do. Inside, none of it landed.
I was looking at this tiny human crying in my arms and feeling… nothing like what I’d been told I should feel. No instant bond. No rush of love. No overwhelming sense of connection. Just a strange, surreal sense that this couldn’t possibly be my reality.
And that disconnect came with crushing guilt.
No one prepares you for the possibility that becoming a mother might not feel joyful. There’s a powerful narrative around motherhood — that moment you meet your baby is meant to be the happiest of your life. When that doesn’t happen, it can feel like you’re fundamentally broken.
I remember thinking, What kind of person doesn’t feel love for their baby?
I remember wondering if everyone else could see it — that something was wrong with me.
Postnatal depression doesn’t always look like constant tears. Sometimes it looks like numbness. Like going through the motions. Like feeling detached from your body, your baby, and yourself. Sometimes it looks like functioning on the outside while unraveling quietly on the inside.
For me, the world felt unreal. Days blurred together. Nights felt endless. I was exhausted beyond words, yet unable to rest. I loved my baby in theory, but emotionally I felt miles away — and the shame of that distance was suffocating.
What made it harder was how invisible it all was.
Everyone commented on how well I was doing. How settled the baby looked. How lucky I was. And each comment widened the gap between how I was perceived and how I was actually coping.
It wasn’t until I connected with The Gidget Foundation that things began to shift.
They helped me step out of that dark headspace — not by telling me to “enjoy every moment” or “be grateful,” but by validating what I was experiencing. By naming it. By reminding me that postnatal depression is not a failure, not a weakness, and certainly not a reflection of how much you love your child.
For the first time, I felt heard rather than judged.
Healing wasn’t instant. There was no magical moment where everything suddenly felt right. But slowly, with the right support, the fog began to lift. The numbness softened. The connection grew — not on a timeline dictated by others, but in its own time.
And that’s something I wish more people talked about.
Bonding doesn’t always happen at birth. Sometimes it unfolds quietly, gradually, after support, rest, and compassion are allowed in. Sometimes love grows once the weight of depression is lifted enough to let you breathe again.
If you’re reading this and recognising yourself — the detachment, the guilt, the sense that you’re failing at something everyone else seems to manage — please know this: you are not alone, and you are not broken.
Postnatal depression lies. It tells you that you’re a bad mother, that this feeling will last forever, that you should be coping better. None of that is true.
Support changes things. Talking changes things. Being believed changes things.
The Gidget Foundation helped save me from a place I didn’t know how to escape on my own. And because of that, I’m here — able to look back with compassion for the version of me who was just trying to survive.
We need to make space for honest conversations about motherhood — the messy, painful, confusing parts as well as the joyful ones. Because when we tell the truth, we make it easier for someone else to ask for help.
And asking for help is not a weakness.
It is an act of love — for yourself and for your child.
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