In our Inside Her Mind series, we craft imagined stories based on real conversations and anonymous forum posts from women navigating the often silent battle of postpartum depression (PPD). These stories are fictionalised for privacy, but every emotion you read here is rooted in truth.
Sharon sat on the couch, cradling her newborn. The baby’s soft breath and tiny sighs should have soothed her. Instead, the silence was pierced by the loud echoes of her thoughts.
What if the geyser bursts? What if we can’t fix it? What if we go into debt? What if I lose my job? What if my child grows up in scarcity?
She glanced at the sink. The dishes from last night still sat there, like stubborn reminders of failure. The washing machine beeped a passive-aggressive note that the load was done…again.
Her husband, Jason, had just left for work. Before he did, he kissed her lightly on the forehead and whispered, “You’ve got this, babe.” His cologne still lingered in the hallway.
She felt guilty for resenting that smell.
She didn’t “have this.” And that comment? It just made her feel more alone.
Sharon was in the thick of what many call postpartum depression, also known as postnatal depression, though she hadn’t yet given it a name. She just knew something was wrong. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing. Her chest felt tight all the time. And every day brought new waves of guilt and exhaustion.
Later that day, while rocking the baby to sleep, Sharon scrolled through Facebook. A post from a mom’s group caught her eye.
“My husband took over night duty for the whole week. I’m finally getting rest!”
She didn’t comment. Instead, she stared at the screen, her stomach turning. She looked over at the baby, then at the space beside her. Jason wouldn’t be home for another six hours.
Why isn’t he doing more?
The “what if” thoughts tightened like vines around her chest. The images in her feed… The tidy homes, smiling babies and attentive husbands. It all sharpened her discontent. She typed out a message to a friend.
“Jason isn’t taking on enough of the household anxiety. I feel like I’m the only one holding things together.”
Her friend replied gently: “Anxiety isn’t something you divide up. It’s not like dishes or chores.”
Sharon stared at the message, blinking. You don’t understand, she thought. Someone needs to be on high alert. Someone has to think of everything that could go wrong.
She closed the chat and opened another moms’ group. Post after post confirmed her worst fears. Mould in homes, job losses and medical emergencies. It wasn’t comfort she was finding. It was confirmation. Her fears were real. Her anxiety was just preparation. Right?
When Jason got home, she didn’t look up.
“Hey, love. How was your day?” he asked, dropping his keys in the bowl.
She shrugged. “Same.”
He walked over, kissed the baby on the forehead. “You okay?”
Her voice cracked. “Are you even worried? About anything? Or is it just me holding all this?”
Jason looked confused. “Of course I’m worried, Shar. But I’m also trying to keep us calm. If both of us spiral, what then?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “So I’m just supposed to carry the fear alone?”
He sat beside her. “No. You’re not. But maybe it’s time we ask for help.”
It took Sharon five months to book her first therapy session.
In that quiet room, she unpacked not only her fears about the future but her own childhood patterns, the pressure to be perfect, the guilt she carried like a second diaper bag. Her therapist gently pointed to her social media habits and said something that stuck:
“Facebook can normalise pathological thoughts. Finding others who are suffering might feel comforting, but it doesn’t replace professional help.”
Sharon eventually left those groups. She started journaling instead. She began to share her thoughts with Jason, not as accusations but as raw, vulnerable truths.
Slowly, they started rebuilding; not just the routines but the trust, the understanding, the team.
To Families and Friends:
If someone in your circle has just had a baby and seems distant, moody, or overwhelmed — don’t rush to fix it. Don’t judge. Just ask: “Would it help to talk?” Be present. Postnatal depression doesn’t always look like sadness. Sometimes it looks like fear, withdrawal, or irritability.
To Corporates, NGOs, and Faith-Based Communities:
Postpartum depression can silently dismantle families. It doesn’t just affect mothers. It changes marriages, communities, and workplaces. We need more than congratulatory flowers and baby baskets. We need awareness, empathy, and support systems that go beyond the six-week postnatal check-up.
If you are an organisation looking to support your employees, volunteers, or community members, consider hosting a talk or workshop that creates safe spaces for these crucial conversations.
Kim Vermaak, a survivor of postnatal depression, offers heartfelt, practical workshops and talks that help teams and families build real coping structures. Her story is not just one of survival, but of building strong, supportive environments that promote healing.
👉 Reach out today to invite Kim to speak at your next wellness event, corporate training, or community program.
Because healing starts with understanding. No mother should have to walk through postnatal depression alone.
Kim Vermaak is a survivor of postnatal depression, author, and speaker who helps families, NGOs, faith-based communities, and corporates build practical support systems for new parents. With a compassionate, relatable approach, she shares her personal journey and proven strategies to promote emotional wellbeing during the postpartum period. Through talks and workshops, Kim empowers communities to understand the hidden struggles of motherhood and create environments where both parents and children can thrive.
