I was diagnosed with postpartum depression shortly after having my daughter, Aurora. I got on medication right away to help regulate my emotions, but I quickly realized healing wasn’t just about balancing brain chemistry — it was about rediscovering the version of myself I lost. And that’s something no prescription alone could do.

What helped me? Crying. Journaling. Talking to myself on paper when no one else could hold space. This is my truth, and maybe it’s yours too.

The Hormonal Storm They Don’t Warn You About

Most people don’t understand just how deep the changes go — not just during pregnancy, but long after giving birth. The hormonal crash postpartum is intense: your estrogen and progesterone levels, which skyrocket during pregnancy, plummet dramatically after birth. This sudden shift can lead to serious emotional dysregulation, and for many women — like me — that meant depression.
And it doesn’t stop there.
Studies show that it can take up to two full years for a woman’s body to physically and emotionally recover from childbirth. Your brain rewires itself in pregnancy to focus on caregiving — and while that’s beautiful, it can also make you forget who you are. Your needs, your creativity, your passions… they go quiet.
Mine did.

What Depression Looked Like for Me

For me, postpartum depression didn’t look like endless sadness or distance from my child. It looked like wearing the same sleep dress for days, changing only my socks and underwear because hygiene felt like the bare minimum. Some days, I skipped brushing my teeth. It wasn’t laziness — it genuinely felt like neglecting myself made sense. As if I didn’t deserve more.
I cried constantly. Not just sad tears — angry, overwhelmed, “I dropped a spoon” kind of tears. Crying in the shower. Crying while cleaning. Crying curled up in bed. It didn’t solve anything, but it let the emotions out. And here’s what I’ve learned:
We can suppress our emotions, but they don’t disappear.

“Pain demands to be felt.”

It’s true. And since having Aurora, I’ve had to feel every ounce of mine.

Losing Myself After Birth

I love being a mom — I truly feel like it came naturally to me. But I didn’t love how much of me got buried in the process.
Before pregnancy, I was a creative — always painting, always chasing light with my camera, traveling just to experience life from a new angle. I had spontaneity. I had art. After birth, my world slowed to a halt. I didn’t blame Aurora — she didn’t do anything wrong. But my identity still vanished.
And with that came grief. Silent, slow, and suffocating.

The Journaling That’s Saving Me

So how did I start to pull myself back together?

I cried.

I talked to myself.

And then — I started journaling.
But not the cute “dear diary” kind (though I was a diary girly). This time, I got serious. I bought a journal and created a table of contents — a roadmap of my trauma. Every memory my brain lingered on, I listed. And slowly, I began writing each one out in full detail. Not to relive it, but to release it.
Because my brain wasn’t built to carry this weight in silence.
Writing it out hurts. It cramps my hand. It brings up old wounds.
But it also heals parts of me I didn’t know I could reach.
Journaling has become my therapist when I couldn’t make it to therapy. It’s helped me unlearn ugly thought patterns, talk through hard truths, and — little by little — choose myself.

Still in the Storm, But Holding On

Here’s the honest part: I’m still going through it.
I’m sleep-deprived (my cardiologist told me that every missed 8-hour night of sleep takes 3 nights to repair — and I laughed, thinking of every all-nighter I pulled in my 20s). I’m overwhelmed. I’m constantly trying to balance calm motherhood with the emotional chaos of healing old wounds. I feel like a shaken-up Redbull — emotions fizzing in every direction.
And yet… I’m here. Still writing. Still trying.
I’ve learned that I hold myself to impossible standards. I prioritize my daughter, my partner, my home — and leave myself for last. That was my normal. But now, I’m trying to change that narrative. To give myself permission to go first, even if just for a few minutes a day. Because healing is hard when you’re buried under the weight of everyone else’s needs.
If You’re in It Too…
Thank you for reading this far into my truth. If you’re in the thick of postpartum depression, or grief, or just trying to find yourself again — I see you. And I know how ugly and non-linear this process can be.
It’s taken patience. Self-forgiveness. And a willingness to sit in my discomfort.
Journaling reminded me that I’m still here. That I can still speak, still create, still be something more than exhausted. I’m not all the way healed. But I’m no longer hiding from the healing either.
So here’s to the slow climb back to ourselves — one messy page at a time.
And honestly, this post only scratches the surface. I’ve probably only shared 15% of what postpartum depression really feels like. There’s so much more I hope to bring to light — not just for me, but for anyone else going through it and feeling alone.