Iqra's story - I kept pushing myself like I had a superpower

When a mental health professional told me that I was really poorly - but that I could be treated - I stopped running away from it. I finally knew that there was something wrong with me, that it wasn’t my fault and, with the right help I could get better. It was the most reassuring thing anyone had said to me since I gave birth to my twins.

It was 2023 when I became unwell with postpartum psychosis (PP). I didn’t actually realise I was unwell at the time, but now I can reflect on it, I can pinpoint when it all started. And I believe I started to become unwell almost straight after giving birth.

I already had three children when I was pregnant with twins. My husband and I were both really excited. We’d recently moved house and had it renovated, and I was due a c-section, so everything felt a bit more planned. But we certainly didn’t plan for me becoming so unwell. In fact, neither me nor my husband had ever heard of PP before it affected us.

After giving birth, I didn’t really feel a connection to my new babies. My husband was obviously busy trying to look after our other three children, one of who has special needs, and I just felt a bit overwhelmed. I was struggling to feed the twins and I was really low on iron, which meant I found it hard to stay awake and I kept losing consciousness.

I just couldn’t admit that I needed help and I needed to slow down.

After having a blood transfusion I was able to go home to be with my family. I was excited to be back at home but I found it really difficult. I’d be up in the night with my newborns, and my husband would be up in the night with our son who is autistic. The workload of running a home and looking after five children just became too much – but every day I kept telling myself that I was fine – I could handle it. I just couldn’t admit that I needed help and I needed to slow down.

As exhaustion started to get the better of me, I started to believe some strange and supernatural ideas. The house we live in is my husband’s late grandad’s, and I started to believe that his spirit was around me and that I could hear his voice. I didn’t feel scared at first – in fact I felt quite positive about the experience. But as time went on, I started becoming agitated as well, snapping at everyone and yet I still refused to admit that I was struggling and needed help.

I set myself really high standards, trying to breastfeed both my twins and trying not to give them dummies which was really tough. Then, when they were eight weeks old, I broke down, feeling defeated. I gave them dummies and felt really disappointed in myself.

I was losing control of my own mind.

From that point on I wasn’t sleeping at night, even when the twins were asleep and I had that time and space to myself. I remember that I would look at their faces and feel scared. My mind was playing tricks on me and, when I looked at them, their faces looked disfigured. I was losing control of my own mind.

I definitely still had some kind of grasp on reality, however, because I knew that if I said out loud what I believed and what I was thinking people would assume I was crazy. So I kept everything to myself.

My delusions and hallucinations started becoming more intense at this point. I created some kind of male figure in my mind who was telling me that I wasn’t attractive and that my hands and my hair were awful. I became obsessed with these thoughts, spending all night brushing my hair and washing my hands over and over. Then the delusion started to spiral out of control, telling me to take my own life, and that my family would be better off without me.

As a Muslim woman in the Asian community, I’d heard people talking about black magic and I started wondering if somebody had performed black magic on me. I had no understanding of maternal mental health problems, and I’d certainly never heard of PP. I was so burnt out and exhausted by this point that I did eventually take an overdose to try to end it all.

My husband found me after I fainted and called an ambulance. The paramedics took me to hospital, but I was so out of it I kept trying to run away, to run back home. Eventually, someone from the mental health team came to speak to me and that was the big turning point for me.

That’s when they told me I was unwell, that I needed help, and that I could get better. Because I had tried to take my own life, I was admitted to an MBU (Mother and Baby Unit) but at this point nobody knew about my hallucinations and delusions as I kept it all to myself – so nobody knew I had PP.

After admitting to the hallucinations and delusions and getting the antipsychotic medication the psychosis started to recede really quickly.

As soon as I was admitted I was given sleeping pills and they worked wonders. However, they certainly didn’t cure me and it wasn’t until I finally admitted to the staff about my psychotic symptoms that I was given the right medication to get me on the road to recovery.

Still, it took a while to get fully better. I took so many medications, at one point I was taking 14 pills every day! My anxiety was sky high and I felt really overwhelmed and panicky and was unable to control the amount of oxygen I needed so I kept passing out.

But after admitting to the hallucinations and delusions and getting the antipsychotic medication the psychosis started to recede really quickly.

You hold back because you think your children will be taken away or you’ll be locked up forever, but for me, being honest was the turning point. Letting the health professionals in on what was really going on was the only way to get me well.

Now I’m recovered I want to share my story because I know how reassuring it is to meet others who have been through what you have. Motherhood is really hard anyway, but adding maternal mental illness into the mix makes things incredibly difficult. One thing I have learnt, however, is that your mind is really important and, if it needs rest, you need to let it rest. Plus, if you are becoming mentally unwell, the only real way out is by being honest about it and asking for help.

Before I was able to open up, I didn’t really socialise in the MBU, where I would stay for three months in total. But when I started speaking to the other mums in there and realising I wasn’t alone and I certainly wasn’t crazy, I started to feel so much better – speaking to others definitely helped me in my recovery. Now, I hope I can play a part in helping other women and families too.