I forgot my daughter’s face: The hidden reality of postnatal depression
By: Sharon Tanganyika
When I became a mother, I expected sleepless nights. I expected the exhaustion, the endless nappy changes, and the overwhelming responsibility of caring for a newborn.
What I never expected was to look at my baby daughter one day and, for a terrifying brief moment struggle to recognize her face. I knew she was my child. I knew I loved her. But a thick fog had settled over my mind, leaving me in a state of profound, haunting confusion. I looked at her, desperate to feel what I thought every mother was supposed to feel, and all I could feel was numbness.
For years, I kept that memory to myself. I was afraid that if I told anyone, they would think I was a terrible mother. Today, I know I was not a bad mother. I was a mother living with postnatal depression.
When Motherhood Doesn’t Feel Like the Fairytale
We often speak about childbirth as though it always begins with joy. We celebrate healthy babies, smiling mothers, and happy families. Those stories deserve to be told, but they are not every woman’s story.
Sometimes motherhood begins with overwhelming sadness. Sometimes it begins with crippling anxiety or an emotional numbness that makes a woman question everything she thought she knew about herself.
Postnatal depression is a serious mental health condition that affects mothers after childbirth. It is not a lack of love. It is not a weakness. It is not a failure. Yet many women continue to suffer in silence because they fear being misunderstood. I understand that silence, because I lived it.
A Mind That No Longer Felt Like My Own
Long before my daughter was born, my life had already been marked by trauma, rejection, and uncertainty. I thought becoming a mother would somehow heal those wounds. Instead, I found myself sinking into a darkness I could not explain. The sadness became constant; the exhaustion went beyond sleepless nights. Even simple decisions felt impossible.
Then came the moment that has remained with me for years: I looked at my daughter and, through the fog of depression, I struggled to recognize the little face I loved more than life itself. It is difficult to describe something that feels so irrational. My daughter had not changed, I had. Depression had quietly altered the way I experienced the world.
The Silence Around Maternal Mental Health
In many parts of Africa, we are making strides in discussing mental health, yet maternal wellbeing remains a hushed subject. We burden new mothers with the weight of expectation: they must be grateful, they must smile, they must “just cope.” When a mother admits she is drowning, she is often told to pray harder or “be strong.”
While faith was a vital part of my own recovery, I learned that it is not a substitute for seeking professional help. Faith did not ask me to pretend I was well; it met me in my brokenness and guided me toward healing. Maternal health clinics are our first line of defense; we must encourage mothers to seek medical support without shame.
Ultimately, I learned that compassion saves lives. Sometimes, what a struggling mother needs most is not advice. She needs someone to notice. She needs someone to listen. She needs someone to say, “You are not alone.”
Breaking the Silence
Today, my daughter is grown, and when I look at her, I no longer see the fog that once clouded my mind. I see the grace that carried us both through a season neither of us chose.
For years, I carried the shame of that moment in silence. Now, I understand that silence is one of the greatest burdens women with postnatal depression carry. I share these stories to dismantle the shame that keeps so many women in the dark. If sharing my story encourages one mother to seek help, one husband to notice the signs, one family to respond with compassion instead of judgment, or one healthcare worker to recognize a woman who is silently struggling, then every difficult word has been worth writing.
Motherhood does not make us immune to mental illness; it reminds us that we are human. Healing begins when we stop asking mothers to hide their pain and start giving them permission to speak it. No woman should have to walk through postnatal depression alone.
Sharon Tanganyika is a writer, speaker, and author of the forthcoming memoir Grace Beyond Scars, a story of faith, resilience, healing, and hope. She writes regularly on trauma, belonging, motherhood, and restoration at Grace Beyond Scars on Substack https://gracebeyondscars5.substack.com
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