“It will be love at first sight.”

When I found out I was pregnant, my husband was working away. I called him, and we were both overjoyed. I was in good health and had a very happy pregnancy. Everything felt smooth and straightforward, and I was prepared for a simple birth. I never imagined anything could go wrong.

But what came next changed everything.

My baby arrived safely, but within seconds of his birth, I began to bleed heavily. The team couldn’t control it, and within minutes, I had lost a significant amount of blood. I could hear my husband shouting, “We’re losing her! Something’s not right!” I ended up with multi-organ failure, sepsis, and was placed on a ventilator in intensive care for a week.

When I came round, the first thing I asked was, “Where’s my baby?” It was instinctive. He was on the other side of the hospital. When we were reunited, I knew I needed to feed him but emotionally, I was numb. I wasn’t processing what had happened. I was swollen, in pain, and mentally shattered. I didn’t know who I was or how to be a mum.

As the days passed, I began to realise that more than just my physical body had been broken. I was going through the motions, but I felt disconnected. I hadn’t bonded with my son in the way I had imagined. I kept asking myself, 'Why am I not feeling the love I fantasised about?' I wanted to breastfeed - it felt like the one thing I could control - but even that wasn’t working.

I was deeply afraid of being judged. I didn’t recognise myself. And slowly, postnatal depression crept in.

Over several months, my family encouraged me to speak to someone so I booked a GP appointment. As an NHS GP myself I was hopeful this would be the first step in my journey to feeling better, but it wasn’t. The appointment lasted about four and a half minutes. I shared that I’d had a traumatic birth and was sent away with a prescription for an antidepressant. I sat in the car park and cried. I felt so unseen.

I needed that GP to truly see me - to understand that I was drowning in postnatal PTSD, depression, and a deep grief for the birth and postnatal experience I never got to have. I was mourning the loss of the moment I had dreamed of - the connection, the joy, the calm - none of it matched the hopes and expectations I had carried with me into motherhood.

Despite the setback, something began to shift in the weeks that followed. At first, I was just surviving - trying to function, trying to be a mum. But slowly, my son became part of my healing. As a doctor, I had always known that mindfulness could help people. I’d recommended it to patients countless times. But I had never practiced it myself, and I certainly never imagined how profoundly it could help me too.

My son loved looking at trees and leaves, and I began to join him in those quiet moments. We would sit together, watching the wind move through the branches, noticing the colours and shapes. It became our shared practice - a way to be present, to breathe, to feel something other than fear or sadness.

Through these small, mindful moments, we began to build a world that only we understood because only we had been through that journey together. It wasn’t a quick fix, but it was a gentle, grounding way to reconnect with myself and with him. And in that space, healing slowly began.

In 2019, I found out I was pregnant again. Like so many people who have experienced birth trauma, that’s when everything came flooding back. I was overwhelmed by fear and convinced I was going to die. But this time, I had support. I worked with a trauma psychologist who held my hand and helped me unpack what had happened. She guided me toward a birth I never imagined possible.

Anyone who’s experienced trauma and depression knows how dark it can feel. The fear is real and you think you’ll never overcome it. But through therapy and healing, I went on to have the most mystical, spiritual, beautiful birth. In that moment, I realised the problem wasn’t me. It is possible to heal from deeply harmful experiences.

My little girl came into the world healthy, and I was well too. Her cry was the most beautiful sound and all the things I missed the first time around were gifted back to me. I got to rewrite the story.

My wish to anyone who has suffered with postnatal depression or PTSD is to remember: it wasn’t your fault. You can learn to accept the past, find forgiveness and closure, and discover hope in places you never expected.