Anxiety isn’t new to me. It has shaped much of my life, and at times it has left me feeling completely unable to cope. But even with that history, nothing prepared me for the depth and intensity of the battle that followed my son’s birth.

With hindsight, I can see that the months leading up to his arrival were laying the groundwork for what followed. Challenges that would have been manageable in isolation seemed to hit us non-stop and slowly eroded my sense of control.

My pregnancy began in 2020, in the early days of COVID. My husband was central to the public health response, working day and night. Being my first pregnancy, I would have been particularly careful anyway, but COVID made me hypervigilant about keeping myself safe. The news ran constantly in the background. COVID tests became routine. It felt all-consuming. For both of us – and for many others at the time – anxiety felt like a totally rational response.

Around halfway through my pregnancy my ulcerative colitis symptoms flared. Treatment involved steroids, which came with side effects for me, including increased anxiety, as well as potential implications for my son. We wouldn’t know whether he was affected until his arrival.

As the birth drew closer, my anxiety intensified and I began to hyperfocus on what childbirth would do to my body. My professional background means I’m very conscious of the ways the health system can fail women, particularly in childbirth. I didn’t trust that anyone truly had my best interests at heart.

Thankfully I wasn’t oblivious to what was happening, and neither were the people around me. I was working regularly with a Gidget Clinician. A pre-screening phone call with the hospital also connected me with a social worker – a connection that would prove vital in the months ahead.

A few months before the birth we took a trip in the hope of unwinding before life changed forever. The reality couldn’t have been more different. We raced across borders before they closed, my husband was coordinating responses to major COVID outbreaks, and the trip ended with a hospital stay for me due to food poisoning. Rather than restoring calm, it only reinforced the feeling that everything was spiralling beyond our control.

By the final weeks of pregnancy I was a shell of a human. On paper we were ready, but emotionally I was not coping at all. There was a temporary sense of relief when my obstetrician recommended a caesarean due to the ulcerative colitis flare. I was grateful that the decision didn’t feel entirely like mine, even though it was what I wanted.

Three weeks before my due date we went for routine scans. Out of the blue, one of the readings was unusual and resulted in close monitoring during the final weeks of pregnancy. Was our baby okay? No one knew. We were devastated.

I have never been more terrified than the day I was wheeled into theatre. I cried the entire time. It still devastates me that the primary emotion I felt in that moment – the moment I was about to meet my child – was fear.

To everyone’s surprise, our hospital stay was as smooth as we could have hoped for. Despite the risks, our son was perfect – healthy and delightful. He was feeding and sleeping well, and I was recovering. For a brief moment, it felt like all the fear had been unnecessary. We were coping brilliantly as a family.

Ten days later, everything changed.

Despite everyone’s best efforts and plenty of expert advice, breastfeeding was incredibly challenging. I would lie awake at night worrying about the crippling pain I would face at the next feed. Before long this turned into total insomnia, and I became reliant on medication to help me sleep. The spiral had begun.

During my waking hours I focused on pumping to maintain my milk supply. Everything else felt unattainable. I became convinced that I would never be able to cope as a mother. I spent most days in tears, wondering what the future held. I withdrew from my husband and felt completely inept whenever I was left alone with our son. I was physically present, but I wasn’t really there.

Just as it felt like things couldn’t get any more overwhelming, our son was rushed to hospital and underwent surgery at five weeks old for an inguinal hernia repair. While this is a common and routine procedure, at the time it felt like our world was ending.

I’ve seen my social worker described previously as an “angel on Earth,” and I wholeheartedly agree. Over the following months she helped to guide us out of the depths of despair, connecting us with support across the system. Having an established trusting relationship with the Gidget Clinician – was also incredibly important during this time. I don’t like to think about how much worse things could have been without that support, and I know how fortunate I was to have access to it.

My husband has always been my rock when things get challenging, and this time was no different. Almost overnight he became our son’s primary caregiver and my carer as well. Everything fell to him – it had to – and he carried our family through those months with patience, love and quiet strength. Watching him step into that role deepened my appreciation for him as a partner in a way that’s hard to fully put into words. Despite the circumstances, he looks back on that time fondly, knowing how close he and our son became.

And then, almost as quickly as it had begun, the storm lifted. Finding the right medication was life-changing. Sessions with my specialists quickly shifted from crisis management to navigating the ordinary challenges of being a new parent. Life slowly returned to normal.

Many people in my life were completely unaware of what had unfolded during those months. At times it was hard for me to believe it myself.

Of course, the lingering question was always there: would it happen again?

We prepared ourselves for the worst ahead of our second child’s birth but thankfully there was no repeat. This time there was no fear in theatre, only excitement - just as I had hoped.

In so many ways, our daughter’s birth was healing. The first few months of her life felt like closing a circle. The storm we experienced after our son did not define us as parents. Instead, it became one chapter in a much longer journey – one that also includes resilience, our strength together, and the quiet joy of watching our family grow.

Looking back, I’m deeply grateful for the support that helped guide us through those darkest months, and I hope that sharing my story encourages other parents to seek help when they need it.