Loving Deeply, Fearing Deeply: My Postpartum Anxiety Story
I remember lying in bed one night, my newborn finally asleep, the room wrapped in that eerie, exhausted quiet that only comes after you’ve given every last bit of yourself to the day. My husband was next to me, the weight of his hand resting on mine, anchoring me to the present.
But my mind wasn’t in the present. It was far away—spiraling. I had just read a heartbreaking story about a child who had gotten incredibly sick, completely unexpectedly. And suddenly, it was like a floodgate opened. My chest tightened. My heart pounded. I felt it all so strongly - the pain of the child, the heartbreak of her parents and family members. My husband, immediately sensing my mood shift, looked at me questioningly. I turned to him and whispered, “How am I supposed to be happy in a world where innocent children suffer from terrible illnesses, or die too young?”
My husband frowned, his brain clearly searching for something that would calm my anxious mind. Then he sighed, and gently said something I’ll never forget:
“Longevity is not the measure of a happy life.”
That sentence struck something deep in me. But in that moment, I didn’t feel peace. I felt panic. I felt grief for children I didn’t know. I felt fear for the child I held in my arms every day. I felt a deep, almost primal ache for a world that felt too harsh, too fragile, and too unsafe for this innocent little soul I had just brought into it.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was experiencing postpartum anxiety—a condition that doesn’t always look like the tearful, textbook version of postpartum depression. Mine looked like fear. Like a never-ending mental slideshow of worst-case scenarios. Like an inability to hear a story about another child’s suffering without feeling physically ill.
No one warned me about this part. About the way your heart expands and becomes raw and exposed to everything. About the way your brain tries to “prepare” you for danger that may never come, convincing you that you’re being a good mom by constantly scanning the horizon for storms.
It’s exhausting. It’s lonely. And it’s common.
Here’s what I want every postpartum woman to know:
1. You are not crazy. You are not broken. You are adjusting to a world that suddenly feels a lot riskier now that your heart lives outside your body.
The heightened sensitivity, the panic, the existential dread—it all makes sense when you realize your nervous system is in overdrive trying to protect what you love most.
2. Postpartum anxiety is real, and it deserves support and treatment.
It’s not something you “tough out.” Whether it’s therapy, medication, peer support, or simply naming what you’re going through—it matters. You matter. Your healing matters.
3. Sensitivity is not weakness—it’s evidence of your deep love.
You care because you’re connected. Your soul knows what matters. Let’s not confuse our sensitivity with fragility. Let’s see it for what it is: a mark of motherhood’s power and depth.
4. Peace doesn’t come from pretending the world is safe. It comes from knowing you’re not alone in it.
When my husband reminded me that longevity isn’t the measure of a happy life, he gave me something to hold onto: the idea that presence, connection, and love—now—are what truly matter.
We can’t control the world. But we can choose to meet it with presence. We can choose to love fiercely in the face of uncertainty. We can cry together, laugh together, and share the weight of these worries so no one has to carry them alone.
If you’re reading this and nodding through tears—please know I see you. You’re not alone. And there is light on the other side of this.
With you always,
Katie
Your postpartum emotional support bestie 💛
