Parenting in the time of Covid-19: Did 2020 cause a Postnatal Depression pandemic?

Katie Brown
6 min readJun 3, 2021

Over the past few months, there have been predictions made in countless news outlets regarding an emerging pandemic of mental health issues, a concerning hangover caused by months of restricted living. With isolation taking its toll on billions across the globe, it’s no surprise to hear that the World Health Organisation predicted a rise in “levels of loneliness, depression, harmful alcohol and drug use, and self-harm or suicidal behaviour.”

As we slowly start to return to a life that somewhat resembles normal, the cause may alleviate, but the damage will still remain. And there is one group above any other that I still worry about because I know what it’s like to be a part of it, and that group is new parents.

Almost exactly two years ago, when Corona was just a beer, and quarantine was just a word for something your cat had to do if you wanted to take it outside the continent, me and my husband were delighted to learn that we were expecting our first child. We felt — as most first time parents do — excited, but incredibly anxious. Having already struggled with a few mental health issues in the past, I quickly became very aware of the issues I might face as a new parent. I tackled this by reading as much as I possibly could. Some people find comfort in a more spiritual approach, but for me, my security blanket was statistics — cold, hard numbers that I could not argue with or “what-if?” my way out of.

My labour was long but after a few hiccups, we both came out of the other side healthy. Still, I knew something wasn’t right with me. I was having terrifying intrusive thoughts and, on a couple of occasions, hallucinations that still haunt me today. I became delusional and suspicious of the people around me — convinced that my loved ones wanted to do me harm. And, heartbreakingly, I was struggling to bond with my new daughter. I knew that I loved her fiercely and certainly didn’t dislike her, but I didn’t enjoy being around her. I didn’t want to be left on my own with her because I didn’t know what to do with her, and thought if I tried to do anything that I would get it wrong.

I was looking forward to the six-week check with our GP, reassuring myself that I would be able to offload this weight that I was carrying around, and then she would help me. When it came to the check, I tried to bring up my concerns. My GP dismissed them as normal and quickly turned the conversation to contraception. I was heartbroken and alone.

A couple of weeks after that, on 23rd March 2020, Prime Minister Boris Johnson addressed the nation to announce a set of strict rules implemented upon every household in the country in order to slow the spread of Covid-19. Amid the growing public concern surrounding the virus, I had already started to feel anxious about both visitors to our home and the prospect of venturing out too much. I’d also been feeling self-conscious when people came to the house because I felt like they would witness my failures as a new mother. So to begin with, I felt a little relieved. There was a certain appeal to living in a little bubble of “just us” for a while. It meant I would have some time to get used to our new life in my own time, and I didn’t have to justify not wanting many visitors, because they legally weren’t allowed to visit. And anyway, it was only going to be for a couple of weeks, right?

For a while, it was great. My husband was permanently working from home and so was almost always on hand for any “hold the baby whilst I pop to the loo/chug this cuppa/change my sick-stained top” emergencies. My girl had a cheerful, laid back nature and slept well from an early age. Lockdown was affording us the space to lean into our new life on our own terms. But still, after a while, the relentlessness of 24/7 childcare began to catch up with us, and it took its toll. No visitors also meant no help. No help meant very little respite for either of us. I desperately needed some downtime to deal with my mental state. I know that my husband would have benefited from the same.

I self-referred myself for counselling and for a few weeks I saw a therapist once a week over a video call. But because it was NHS provided, there was a limited amount of sessions, and in that short time I never worked up the courage to explain my thoughts in their entirety. My therapist was brilliant, but I gave her a very watered-down version of the truth, terrified of what might happen if I left it undiluted.

Thank God my mental state didn’t manage to quash my instinct to be the sort of mother who takes 200 photos of their kid per day. Because I spent so much of those early months as a depressed auto-pilot zombie that I don’t think I would be able to remember them without the ability to scroll through my phone and revisit them.

Postnatal depression affects more than 1 in 10 women within a year of giving birth. It can also affect partners. One survey found, that amongst women with babies between 0–12 weeks in the first lockdown, this rose to 43% meeting the criteria for clinically relevant depression. 61% met the criteria for anxiety.

The first few weeks and months of a baby’s life are a time of raw vulnerability for both parents. There has never been a time in my life that I have needed more support. And in a cruel twist of fate upon me and the millions of new parents across the world at the time, there has never been a time when it’s been so inaccessible. I am lucky that my daughter was born before the restrictions were put in place because I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for those who had to labour alone. I’ve read stories of labouring mothers who were forced to keep a mask on their face throughout active labour and my stomach turns for how distressing that must have been.

These were unprecedented times, and the NHS was operating under incredible strain. Mental health services became harder to access, or operated with a reduced capability. And now, as restrictions ease, and these services get back to normal, the people that need them will be able to access them.

But what about the people who needed them a year ago? I worry about the lasting effects this experience had on so many new mothers. I think about us all the time. I’m angry at Fate for robbing so many of the experiences they should have had. The family they should have been able to lean on. The baby groups they should have been able to go to. The swimming lessons. The birthday parties. The parent friends they should have been able to make. People are still struggling, and more needs to be done about it.

As for me, I have been on the road to recovery for a while. I’m finding it easier to talk to my nearest and dearest, I’m reading a lot, taking a lot of walks, and I’ve stopped giving myself such a hard time. I found that meditating with the Headspace app is a huge help in keeping my brain from entering crisis mode. I also take comfort in the fact my daughter won’t actually remember 2020. Our bond as a little family of 3 (plus cat) is iron-clad. It’s us against the world and we can do anything as a team. My girl is quickly getting to know the family that for the longest time she could only see on a WhatsApp video call. She’s happy, loud, and assertive, and it gives me great pleasure now to watch her catch up with all the experiences she missed out on last year. I can’t say for certain whether 2020 made us better or worse parents, but it changed us and bound us forever.

If you are struggling, you are not alone. Speak to someone you trust, and if you think you may have signs of PND, speak to your GP. PANDAS (PND Awareness and Support) are a UK charity where you can access a free helpline, social media groups, local support groups, or you can email them drectly. They can also give you advice on things like how to approach your GP.

For urgent help call 111, and in a mental health emergency, always call 999.

Twitter: @heyitskatieuk

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