Ten Months On: A Return, A Reflection, A Renewal

This week marks ten months since I was admitted to hospital with postpartum psychosis—and ten months since I stepped away from my role as a GP. In many ways, that chapter feels like a lifetime ago. Yet the memory of being on a mental health ward remains vivid, and some of the trauma still lingers. It’s surreal to reflect on how unwell I had become, all while appearing to function normally to the outside world.

Now, I’m returning to work. And I’m proud—truly proud—of how far I’ve come. There were moments when I feared I might never make it back, so easing into work again feels monumental. I’ve questioned whether my mental health would limit my career, but I’m beginning to believe the opposite. Patients who sit across from me now see someone who’s lived through it. It’s no longer just clinical knowledge—it’s empathy rooted in experience.

This year has taught me how deeply our sense of purpose is tied to our work. While the time off was essential for healing, it often felt aimless. I’ve come to realise how much of my identity is woven into my career, and how grounding that can be.

There are many fresh starts this week. My husband and I are beginning therapy together, hoping to draw a line under the trauma of the past year and move forward with clarity and strength. You might wonder why psychological support is only starting now, nearly a year after my diagnosis. The reasons are layered—my recovery needed time to stabilise before therapy could begin, and resources within the NHS are stretched, with just one part-time psychologist on our perinatal team. Still, I have high hopes for these sessions and the healing they might bring to our little family.

Amidst these big shifts, life’s everyday battles continue. My current challenge? Navigating the emotional rollercoaster of parenting a beautiful, spirited toddler. Motherhood is both the greatest gift and the greatest test. We’re deep in the trenches of tantrums and picky eating. In fact, I’m writing this as she gleefully smears ketchup across her face and hurls sausages at the dog. I chuckle now at the advice I used to give parents of fussy eaters—I had no idea how real the daily mealtime struggle could be.

So here I am, taking each day as it comes, leaning more than ever on God’s grace to carry me through.

I hope these blog posts resonate. They come from a place of truth, with the hope that someone out there might feel a little less alone in their own journey.