‘Navigating new motherhood while grieving your own mother, and struggling with postpartum anxiety, is an impossible task’
Although maternal mental health matters every.single.day, the conversations we’ve seen on social media this week for Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week seem to be missing the piece of motherlessness and how deeply this can gnaw away at you as a mother yourself.
As a way of making our perspectives better known, we reached out to our community and asked what motherless does to their mental health.
Aisling Willighan, a member of The Motherless Mothers community, came forward and asked to share her experience.
Thank you to Aisling for her raw, honest account of how her mental health has been impacted since becoming a mother to her son Finn earlier this year, and since losing her mum in June 2020.
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I’ve always struggled with my mental health since I was a teenager.
When my mum passed away in June 2020 from pancreatic cancer (she was only diagnosed two weeks before she died, it was all very quick and in the middle of Covid lockdowns), I hit an all time low with my depression. I was only 22, in the middle of my second year at university, and all of a sudden I found myself trying to find somewhere to live, figuring out how to finish my studies and work full time. My dad left when I was a teenager, and I have no brothers or sisters, so overnight I had to go from typical uni student to financially independent grown up.
Thankfully, my then boyfriend (now husband) and my small extended family and in laws were very supportive. I worked very hard for years to improve my mental health, undertaking private psychotherapy, CBT therapy, medication, meditation, and everything in between. Six months after she passed away, I got engaged, and had the realisation that she wouldn’t be there to see her only daughter get married. I came to accept the big moments my mum would miss out on, and in February 2022, I included her as much as I could on my wedding day. By then, I was off medication, had finished therapy, and would not have considered myself mentally unwell anymore. I had made it through huge moments without her, like buying my first home, getting married and graduating university, and while she was so missed at every occasion, I didn’t turn into a blubbering mess every time her name was mentioned.
In July 2024 I found out I was expecting my son. For the first time in a long time, I found myself reaching for my phone to call her. For a second, I forgot. Anyone who’s lost someone knows how easy it is to forget for a second, and when you remember, it hits you like a tonne of bricks. Telling my friends and family was met with resounding choruses of “your mum would be so proud”, “a wee grandson for her”, and “she would just love him”. I struggled with anxiety throughout my pregnancy, which I wasn’t expecting. I knew I was at risk for my depression coming back due to my previous struggles - but I’d never felt paralysing anxiety like this before. I felt like my son wasn’t safe inside my body, that I couldn’t check on him to make sure he was okay. I terrorised myself constantly by thinking he had died any time his kicks slowed down or changed patterns. Night times were spent lying awake in bed from 2am to 6am counting kicks religiously. I didn’t know if this was normal, I had no one to turn to other than my husband, who also didn’t know if this was normal. I didn’t want him to tell his family how anxious I was. I didn’t want them to think there was something wrong with me. I told myself that once the baby was born, my anxiety would go away, as there would be other people to look after him, I’d be able to see him breathing, and know that he was okay. I would have given anything to be able to pick up the phone or go for a cup of tea with my mum, to talk through with her how I was feeling.
Finn came into the world on 11th February 2025 at 7.17pm following an emergency c-section. For the first day, my theory was right - Finn was here, and I wasn’t anxious any more. But something else was wrong. Someone was missing. Adam’s family came to visit at the hospital, and Adam and his dad and Finn took a beautiful photograph of the three of them, and I immediately fell apart. I had to ask my aunt not to mention my mum at all because I knew I couldn’t handle it. I was too freshly postpartum to deal with the emotions of becoming a mother without my mother to guide me. I was wrong about my anxiety. It didn’t go away once Finn was born. Instead, it’s gone into overdrive. I’m still awake for hours between 2am and 6am but instead of counting kicks, I’m counting breaths. My fuse has never been shorter, and anything can set me off literally screaming and crying. I don’t feel like myself, and I don’t like the person I’ve become.
My husband is so patient and kind and understanding, but I know it’s frustrating for him having to reassure me that he isn’t upset at me, that I’m not the worlds worst mother because Finn will only contact nap, and talk me down from another panic attack in the middle of the night when we’re all exhausted or the middle of the day when he’s trying to work. I still won’t let him speak to his family about how tough I’ve been finding things, as I constantly feel like I’ll be judged and that I’m “letting them down” by finding the transition to motherhood less than smooth sailing. They constantly offer their help, guidance and support, but I feel like accepting that means accepting that I have failed at motherhood. Logically I know this is insane, and that it takes a village. I have been that village to the other mums who have come before me on both sides of the family. Really all I want is to talk to my mum, to let her hold her grandson while I catch up on sleep, to tell me I’m not going insane, to sit with me in the doctors while I try and advocate that this doesn’t feel like “normal new mum anxiety”. To answer the phone at 4am when I’m in the middle of a panic attack about being a horrible mother because of some insane reason that doesn’t mean I’m a horrible mother at all. To know she always has my back, that she won’t judge me, she will always love me.
Navigating new motherhood is hard. Navigating new motherhood while grieving your own mother is exceptionally hard. Navigating new motherhood while grieving your own mother and struggling with postpartum anxiety is an impossible task. I thought that I handled my grief well, that I was “over it”, or as over it as you can ever be. Instead, I’m right back where I was the day she died - a blubbering mess when her name is mentioned, missing her more and more each day. I’m sure as time goes on, I’ll find it easier to cope. I just wasn’t ready or prepared to be back at square one in my grief whilst also fighting my way through the newborn trenches with a colicy reflux baby. Unfortunately for me, and fortunately for them, no one I know is in the same boat.
The motherless mothers community is so small, and while I’m thankful that it is, that so few people have to go through what we go through, it’s also difficult for others to relate, and for me to feel like others around me truly understand what I’m going through. I’ve recovered from mental ill health before, and I know I will again. What keeps me going is looking at my beautiful son, and feeling how much I love him - and knowing that my mum looked at me the same way.