Writing With Postpartum Anxiety & Depression--How My Writing Life Actually Helped With Postpartum Anxiety & Depression

“It's going to be ok, it's totally normal to get the baby blues!”

Except they weren’t just the baby blues. It’s a nice sentiment—and while true—it isn’t always what’s going on. It’s when the mind goes beyond being overwhelmed to generating intrusive thoughts that kick us awake in the night—or interrupt our day as a whole—that things start to feel…colossal. Don’t worry, this won’t be a post of vagaries and sloppy metaphors. Postpartum depression (PPD) and anxiety’s a tough topic to start—whether in conversation or writing. The struggle for me was real. It was confusing, disorienting, frightening, heartbreaking and triggering. Oh so very triggering.

And yet my case, as pointed out by my counselor armed with a big heart and great sense of humor, that my case was a mild one. All of that tribulation after months of unrelenting excitement and eagerness to meet the baby I’d been carrying for months dashed by a mental illness I didn’t expect to catch. Almost three years later, here I am finally writing about it less than profoundly as I would have hoped. I suppose that’s reality for you.

Here’s the blog post I put off for a while, mostly because I’m still working through postpartum depression (PPD) with my team of doctors, therapists and loved ones. The other reason, that anyone reading this post who’s been through it would know, is because PPD is difficult to talk about—and that’s putting it mildly. The current running average of how long PPD can last for a mother ranges from about two to three years. Am I writing now because I’ve been cured? Have I defeated PPD and my anxiety because the perfect life as a mom has officially begun? No to either.

I’m going on almost three years here with continued treatment, well-prescribed medication by my fabulous psychiatrist and have perfect attendance to my ever advocating counselor on a monthly basis to check in on how I’m fairing. It’s been rough, but things have gotten better—all because in my overwhelming vulnerability I managed to get a team of professionals and beyond necessary support to do so. So am I cured of my PPD and anxiety by this point? No. Am I an expert on such a topic now that I write with the confidence and wisdom to discuss the topic? Nope!

What I do have is the confidence to share my experience with PPD and anxiety to share with anyone curious enough to go looking. Especially when it comes to being an author and finding catharsis in writing about my PPD as I went along.

Also, here’s my shameless plug for a short story I entered in a contest that depicts my experience with postpartum depression and anxiety. I Am The Monster In The Closet was published back in September 2025 along with many other incredibly written stories curated by the Houston Writers Guild’s anthology, Journey Into Hope.

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Shameless plug in, I know, but going through a tough time relatable to other mothers doesn’t mean I’ve stepped onto the path of sainthood. Also I need to get my writing out there as an up and coming writer, so, thank you for your acknowledgement and consideration. Also, also, when first going through my PPD I googled fictional (and nonfictional) stories on the topic for hours. I couldn’t find a single one. As an author I’m pretty good at internet research and finding some pretty niche topics when I set my mind to it, but nothing on PPD. So that’s why I wrote my story, to get at least one out there another struggling mother can find if they’re looking.

If you have some stories covering postpartum depression to share, please make use of the comment section below. This is a pretty serious condition and I’d love nothing more than to spread the word to anyone else wanting to read something that makes them feel less alone.

“This isn't how it was supposed to feel.”

My words exactly. Yes, this is a direct quote from me. The despair that anchored me to my bed, frustrated and quivering while I held onto my son for dear life is probably one of the worst recent memories I’ve ever made.

And that’s saying something.

By some miracle, I never experienced a need to disassociate from my baby in the slightest—a terrible symptom that can manifest from PPD. What I did suffer on the other hand, were some of the worst intrusive thoughts regarding my baby’s safety and my own. I promised no vagaries but this’ll be the one time I go back on my word. It seems even in a blog post on the topic, there are just some things I can’t bring myself to completely delve into. I learned very quickly from these particular symptoms that PPD is devilishly effective in reactivating old impulses and emotional pains one thought they’d outgrown. In my case, self-harming was one of these impulses I hadn’t acted on since my high school years.

I’m much better now.

Let’s be clear about that fact, but the worst part of reliving some old traumas too recently for my liking was that this kind of symptom is common. Normal. In cases worse than my own, expected. More frustrations manifested themselves in ugly little ways as I trudged through treatment and learning how to be a new mother along the way. Recovering from a cesarian surgery kept me anchored to a bed for two and a half months with very little activity expected of me. Regaining control in my life (getting up to use the restroom, being able to walk around the house, being cleared by the doctor to drive a car), was slow and mind numbing. Nursing my child round the clock and forgetting to eat, let alone shower, put a damper on the concept of balance for weeks. Eventually formulating a routine that allowed me to regain a semblance of sanity awakened yet another unattended frustration.

I hadn’t been writing.

So many ideas stuck in my head begging for release. So many outlined scenes desperate to make it onto the word document. A kick-off novel for a series that’s been itching beneath my skin for more than a decade. All of it a collectively flooding damn that’s desperate to give up and simply flood the entire valley. Thank you for allowing me my one sloppy metaphor. I had the perfect justification. I’d just had a baby for God’s sakes. We expected an interruption from our writing routine no matter how dedicatedly we’d kept it up throughout our pregnancy. Even authors take maternity leave! So why did we feel like we were permanently losing something important?

“Kids are more important. Moms give up their dreams all the time!”

Oh yeah, that’s why—you who shall not be named but quoted. Amazing how deeply something said carelessly can affect a hormone-crazed, PPD affected cranium. Spoiler alert for anyone reading this suffering the same fear I was: it’s not true. I’ve published several more stories since receiving my diagnosis and giving birth to my first child. The dream’s still going strong, though I won’t deny there have been obvious delays to my current work in progress. I swear that novel series of mine is coming out, I’ve just had to rebalance life a little here and there. Also I’m pregnant again—eagerly awaiting our next child and accomplishing another dream I’ve had percolating alongside publishing my writing.

It’s a choice whether or not you’re going to give up a dream because you’ve become a mom and putting something on hold doesn’t equate to giving up. A sentiment I’ve finally come to accept through talking with trusted loved ones and, oh yeah, proving to myself it can be done by publishing more writing. So don’t give up on that dream. Talk about it in therapy with your talk therapist, psychiatrist, your family—the list goes on. You’ll get back to the writing. You’ll get back to the publishing. The first step is to keep it present. Think about it. Talk about it.

A special thank you to my husband for entertaining my three in the morning whispered brainstorm sessions while we waited for our son to finally fall asleep.

Attending my critique group was also an essential step. At first, I had nothing to bring. Just critique and an eye to scrutinize someone else’s writing. Keeping myself surrounded with writing helped with the despair of what I thought I’d certainly lose without practice and time. Recovering and not being able to have a book or laptop on my lap were some of the roughest weeks of my life. Once I was past that early period of time and finally returning to my desk things got less frustrating. Baby steps before my baby could step, but an entire month of chicken-scratch outlines were an important next step of the process.

Technically I was writing. Sure, it was a few minutes between my baby’s needs and other tasks that demanded my attention with a newborn’s brand new schedule—but I was writing again. I was back at critique group bringing half the page count anyone else was, but I was slowly coming back. I hadn’t lost a single thing! I was just…on a tighter schedule day to day.

Then came what I like to call the PPD Creative Stalemate.

My inner critic hated every word I typed. My writing time was reserved to one hour after dinner and before bed time. Tight, demanding, ever-changing schedules that came with daddy and son visiting my sessions every few minutes. Boy, I was scrounging for months trying to balance mom and writing time! Here I was with the spark of creativity finally coming back to me but the new mom guilt of hearing my son cry while my husband worked to tend to him had my hands freezing over the keyboard. How can I even think of writing right now when I hear my husband struggling with my child in there? Other perfect moms aren’t trying to sneak away from their kid. Is the baby not more important to you than your writing? The baby’s been crying for several minutes now, dad’s clearly struggling in there and you’re sitting here staring at a blank word document. Get up!

“You chose to be a mom! You're supposed to be able to handle this!”

Oh the PPD brain and biology tuning our ears to create a distress response when we hear those baby cries. It’s the worst. The literal worst advocate for punishing yourself and shaming those desires to do something for you. Dad says he’s got things under control, time to lie down or go eat. Time stretches and our guilt triples because we hear the baby crying in the next room. It’s tough being a mom, everyone says. Moms never get a break. I didn’t!

And yet if therapy has taught me anything, it’s that you have to set a boundary even with your child. Strange how that works, huh? In the infantile stage, it turns out you really should be leaning on dad to take over. You need to rest, you need to eat. You need to come up for air and do things you enjoy. Nursing or not, if mom goes down from burn out and starvation, baby goes down with her. In the toddler stage, a stage I’m still quite new at but rapidly beginning to comprehend, tot needs to be introduced to boundaries. One of those boundaries being mommy gets alone time. Daddy gets alone time. Little one starts to explore play time by themselves. You, author mom, start finding writing time again. You get to retrain your brain to prioritize what makes you happy.

I’m an artist. A creative mind. Depression settles in when I don’t create. When I don’t make time to write. My mood darkens when I see my untouched journals or sit at a blank word document that I’ve attempted to sit in front of at least seven times in a row to write. Writing is important to me. It’s not just a dream, it’s a necessity. It greatly affects my mood. My sense of fulfillment. The time to write and work on my WIP’s matters. Writing is apart of my health regimen.

Writing is apart of my life.

So if it’s so important to my very soul, why am I tricking myself into thinking I have to leave it behind? Yeah, I’m a mom now. Yeah, I’m still an author too. You don’t have to stop being one versus the other. It’s just going to take dedication, effort and a stubbornness to give up on something so important. Did I have to get creative with my schedule to get myself into a writing routine? Yes. Am I still sometimes struggling to find the time with my child’s ever changing schedule? Absolutely. Did I give up because it was hard?

Hell. No.

Being an author is what I am. I’m just also a mom, too, and there’s room for both. If you feel the same way mama, good. Great. Keep at it. You will find the time. It does get easier as they get older.

Particularly if you’re able to manage daycare, mom’s day out programs or school.

My husband and I were mercifully able to manage enrolling my son for half-days in school. Eighteen months into his life and I went through the emotional rollercoaster of trusting big-hearted professionals with caring and guiding my son while I went home and got back to work—both professionally and personally. Another hurdle, another completely different schedule, but the semblance of a writing routine returned. Starting next month, my son will be starting full days and I’ll have even more time coming my way.

At least, until the new baby is here.

So I’ll have several more months of blissful writing time before I probably rinse and repeat the same struggles with the added layer of having two children. Do I expect it to be challenging? Or course. This time around do I feel like my writing career is under threat?

No. Not at all.

Through my first son I proved a lot to myself. I proved that despite my PPD diagnosis, my love for him wasn’t under any threat. My writing career was also secure. I overcame the struggles and very real fear of losing things that I didn’t have to lose. It took time, patience, a whole lot of therapy and retraining my brain.

“Motherhood isn't getting stuck, it's evolving.”

Thank you doc for your meaningful words. It’s true. As a mom who’s still working through her PPD, I’m not stuck. I’m not lost. I’m going through an evolution. One that came with a degree of mental illness. A changing state with an added inconvenience that needs tending to. It’s a crazy, emotional messy change with the grace of a bucket toppling down a staircase—but it’s a change nonetheless. One that can and will be overcome. PPD is the mind’s trickster trying desperately to get you to eat away at yourself, give up and take the blame for things beyond your control.

I’m an author and a mama. My little mental trickster had a good running trying to convince me otherwise. Here I am having published several short stories in the last couple of years, still working my novel and hoping to publish more. The struggles aren’t over but they certainly aren’t in control.

So if you’re an author mom skimming over this out of desperation for another perspective, you’re not alone. I’m going through the exact same struggle. You’re not wrong for letting dad take the baby so you can scribble your chicken-scratch list. Don’t feel guilty for running to your favorite café on the weekend to get some serious writing done. They’ll both be all smiles when you walk back in the door, anyway. You’ll feel so much better coming back in that door knowing you got work done. You’re evolving, author mom. Stick the landing when you can, flop over in defeat when you can’t and get ready to dust yourself off to try again later!

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Until next time, from the Writing Nook!