It was Tuesday, our weekly date night. A cold winter night in the Midwest felt on par with the season I was in as a nine month postpartum mother of two. Exhausted, over-touched, and certain that my own body wasn’t mine anymore—you can imagine that I wasn’t feeling cute. I craved convenience and casual. I wanted to eat, be basically invisible to the general public, and enjoy maybe twenty minutes of letting my nervous system take a breath from the relentless demands of keeping tiny humans alive.
So naturally, we went to Subway. Don’t judge.
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He ordered an Italian club. I grabbed a turkey and cheese. And I slithered into that green vinyl booth next to the window like a chameleon hoping to blend into the furniture and just be for a minute.
This was my moment to come up for air, and I needed it to be peaceful and uneventful. My nervous system had found a new baseline—what I now recognize as high-functioning stress—and I needed a recalibration. Sleep deprivation combined with constant stimulation from motherhood, left my entire being in some kind of altered state. These brief moments were my solace. Or at least I tried to make them that.
Here is the kicker though—trying to relax when you’re in survival mode feels nearly impossible. When you’re operating at such an intense frequency, you can’t just flip a switch and suddenly feel 100% yourself again. The very fibers of your soul are tethered to the well-being of your children. You can physically leave the house, but energetically? You’re still there, monitoring every potential danger, running through mental checklists, wondering if the baby’s eating enough or if you remembered to tell the babysitter where the extra diapers are.
Feeling this way, makes it nearly impossible to “just relax”.
But I tried. I slouched in that green booth and slowly ate my sandwich, savoring each bite and noticing the way Subway always smells.
Time feels different during these brief moments. You feel every minute ticking by, desperately trying to soak it up while simultaneously feeling anxious as it slips away. You’re balancing the luxury of rest with the pressure of building up enough energy to walk back into the demands waiting at home. It’s a weird emotional tug-of-war that doesn’t make any logical sense.
My phone rings.
It’s the babysitter.
Oh no…
My heart drops right into my turkey and cheese filled stomach.
I answer the phone, concerned.
“Hey, Brittany. I just wanted to call to tell you that the power went out at the house. The kids are are doing well. We have a flashlight and we are snuggled up reading a book. I just wanted you to be aware.”
I can’t breathe.
My chest tightened. My heart started racing, beating hard out of my chest. Even though I trusted our babysitter like family, even though she literally just said the kids were fine, and even though the power outage was a fluke and there wasn’t any dangerous weather happening—I hung up the phone on the verge of tears.
My babies were experiencing something out-of-the-ordinary, borderline possibly scary, and I wasn’t there.
The guilt crashed over me like a wave. I felt responsible for making sure their experiences in life didn’t traumatize them. My gut ached. I couldn’t eat another bite of that sandwich. I needed to be there for my babies. They needed to know they were safe, loved, protected—by their mom.
What was I even doing at Subway? I needed to get out of there. Now.
I looked up at my husband, my eyes probably wild, and said, “I think I am feeling anxiety, but I don’t understand why. I know the kids are safe, but I feel like I’m freaking out inside.”
This happened over a decade ago.
No one told me that the racing heart, the tightness in my chest, the constant knot in my stomach weren’t just part of becoming a mom—they were symptoms of postpartum anxiety. I had no idea that as many as 1 in 5 new mothers struggle with maternal mental health symptoms after birth, or that even partners and non‑birthing parents can experience anxiety too.
There were actual names, screenings, and treatments for what I was going through. But I didn’t understand what I was experiencing, let alone that there were resources to help me. At the time, I thought if I just powered through, slept more, or finally got “organized,” the dread and intrusive thoughts would disappear on their own.
Now nearly 12 years later, I am opening up about my story, so more mothers can access honest conversations about the postpartum experience. Along with many maternal mental health advocates, we are working to move the mindset from “put your big girl panties on and tough it out” to a more supportive and informed narrative —“This is real, it’s common, and you deserve help.”
Here’s what postpartum anxiety can look like:
Physical Symptoms:
Racing heart or heart palpitations
Difficulty breathing or feeling like you can’t catch your breath
Chest tightness
Dizziness or feeling lightheaded
Nausea or stomach issues
Trouble sleeping (even when the baby is sleeping)
Feeling shaky or on edge
Mental & Emotional Symptoms:
Constant worry about your baby’s health or safety
Racing thoughts you can’t turn off
Intrusive thoughts or disturbing images (often about harm coming to your baby)
Feeling like something terrible is going to happen
Difficulty concentrating or making decisions
Feeling restless or unable to relax
Irritability or feeling on edge
Excessive guilt about not being a “good enough” parent
Behavioral Signs:
Constantly checking on your baby
Avoiding situations that trigger anxiety (like leaving the house or letting others hold the baby)
Seeking constant reassurance from doctors, partners, or Google
Difficulty delegating childcare to others
Needing to control everything related to your baby’s care
There is a fine line between being an engaged, present parent, and then operating with high-functioning anxiety. Sometimes it’s difficult to really know which side of that line you’re on. That’s why I’ve come to see maternal mental health as a spectrum. Regardless of where you land on that spectrum, we’re all experiencing an incredibly stressful season of life.
We don’t need research to tell us that motherhood comes with multiple stressors—we’re living it. But the research does show us something important: mental overload is the #1 stressor that leads to depression and anxiety, peaking around 9 to 12 months postpartum.
Over a decade ago when I was sitting in that Subway booth, “mental overload” wasn’t a common term. When something was felt this intensely without a clear understanding of what it was, it just got lumped into the catch-all category of “overwhelm.” That’s why I wrote Tap In Not Out: How Overwhelmed Moms Can Reclaim Peace—because back then, that was the only language we had for what we were experiencing.
The good news? Research, media, and culture are finally bringing clarity to this experience and calling it what it is: mental load—the invisible, boundaryless, constant cognitive and emotional overload that all parents feel.
So what can we do about it?
Before I jump into that, please hear this: I am not diagnosing or acting as a health practitioner. I’m an advocate offering awareness and sharing what I wish someone had told me.
Here’s what I want you to know:
You are not alone. This is felt across the globe.
There are resources to help. Getting help is the best thing you can do for yourself and your family. And the help you need may be different than what another person may need.
Parents hold the key to unraveling the stigma around parental mental health. Every time we share our stories and every time we open up about how we are proactively taking care of our mental health, we make it easier for the next person to do the same.
Getting help should be normalized. Here are concrete steps you can take today.
1. Talk to Your Healthcare Provider Start with your OB-GYN, midwife, or primary care doctor. They can screen you for postpartum depression or anxiety and connect you with appropriate resources. Don’t downplay what you’re feeling—be honest about your symptoms.
2. Find a Therapist Who Specializes in Perinatal Mental Health Look for therapists trained in postpartum mood and anxiety disorders. Postpartum Support International (postpartum.net) has a provider directory you can search by location.
3. Call the Postpartum Support International Helpline Call or text 1-800-944-4773 (in English or Spanish). You can also text “HELP” to 800-944-4773. They offer free, confidential support.
4. Join a Support Group Postpartum Support International also offers free online support groups where you can connect with other parents going through similar experiences. Sometimes just knowing you’re not alone makes all the difference.
5. Consider Medication Therapy is incredibly helpful, but sometimes medication is also necessary—and that’s okay. Talk to your doctor about whether medication might be right for you. Many medications are safe during breastfeeding.
6. Tell Someone You Trust Whether it’s your partner, a friend, a family member, or someone from your faith community—don’t suffer in silence. Letting someone know what you’re experiencing can be the first step toward getting help.
Final thought: You Deserve Support
Looking back at that night at Subway, I wish someone had told me that what I was experiencing was postpartum anxiety. I wish I had known that help was available. I wish I hadn’t spent months thinking I
just “wasn’t good enough” or that I needed to toughen up.
You don’t need to toughen up. You need support. You need information. You need someone to tell you that this is real, it’s common, and there are solutions.
If you’re curious on how to feel better, please reach out to someone you trust. You absolutely deserve help.