My Journey Through Postnatal Depression: From Struggle to the Light of The Tamar Valley Candle Company

For most of my 20s and 30s, I dreamed of becoming a mother. But over the years, I slowly came to terms with the idea that it wasn’t meant to be. I had learned to live with it. I was planning my life with Iain, just the two of us, building a future without children. Then, unexpectedly, I found out I was 27 weeks pregnant. I was already in my third trimester before I knew. I had finally accepted that motherhood wouldn’t happen for me, and I was adjusting to a life without children. But suddenly, everything changed.

My son, Theo, was born 11 weeks later, and I had everything I thought I ever wanted. A wonderful home, a loving and supportive partner, and the child I had always dreamed of. But I wasn’t happy. In fact, I spent most of my days in tears.

At first, I thought my struggles were just the result of typical new-parent exhaustion. The sleepless nights, the endless demands of caring for a newborn - that’s what I thought was getting to me. But then, I realised it was something more. I was struggling to leave the house. I didn’t want to see anyone, not even my closest friends. The only thing that seemed to matter was looking after Theo. If it wasn’t about him, I didn’t care.

I felt a crushing weight of guilt. I had dreamed for so long about being a mother, and now I was struggling with it. I had everything I wanted, but I couldn’t feel joy. I was ashamed to admit how hard I was finding it. I spent months fighting this feeling in silence, but Iain knew. He could tell just by looking at my face how I was feeling. If I looked okay (which, honestly, I rarely did!), he’d go and take care of the household chores without a word. But if I looked bad - exhausted, overwhelmed - he’d come in, take Theo off me, and give me the space I needed. He understood exactly what I needed.

It took months for me to admit the truth, but with Iain’s gentle encouragement, I finally confided in my two best friends. I didn’t have the strength to call them. I couldn’t face seeing anyone or admitting how bad things had gotten. So, I texted them. And their responses? They were nothing short of life-changing.

One friend laughed and said, “Of course you’re struggling! I’d be surprised if you weren’t!” She understood. I had gone from struggling with infertility to suddenly holding my baby in my arms, and of course, it was overwhelming. The other friend reminded me that sleep deprivation is a type of torture, something outlawed by the Geneva Convention! That hit home. I wasn’t failing as a mother. I was human, experiencing something incredibly difficult.

Suddenly, the fog started to lift. I was still struggling, but I realised that it wasn’t something I needed to feel guilty about. I didn’t love my son any less; I was just struggling, and that was okay.

I started small. I booked a baby class, just one a week for 45 minutes. I needed to leave the house for Theo, but it worked. I went, and I met another mum who gently encouraged me to step back into the world. And then one evening, after Theo went down easily, Iain said, “Why don’t you get that candle kit out?” And that was it.

Those first candles I made? They were horrible! But the next day, when Theo was napping on me, I googled candle-making. I ordered a better kit, and I fell into it. I started reading everything I could about scent, its effects, its ability to trigger memories, its benefits. It was something just for me. Not for Theo, not for the house. Just for me.

I realised I needed something new for this new chapter of my life. A hobby that was mine, not something I could go back to from my pre-baby days. Candle-making gave me that. It gave me a sense of purpose outside of being a mother and housekeeper. It gave me a moment of calm in the chaos.

I didn’t plan to start a business. I was simply making candles because I loved it. But by Christmas, I had candles I was proud of. Iain designed the first labels, in honesty, his design was so good that it’s barely changed! I gave the candles as Christmas gifts to the women at Theo’s nursery, and they loved them. They told me to sell them. And that’s how it all started.

Starting The Tamar Valley Candle Company was not something I had planned, but it’s become the most meaningful thing I’ve ever done. Candle-making pulled me out of the darkness, and now, through every candle I make, I try to bring a little light and peace to others. It’s not just about creating beautiful candles; it’s about creating something that resonates with people on a deeper level. Candles with soul, made to soothe and ground us, just like they soothed me.

Through everything, I’ve learned that it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to struggle, even when it seems like everything is as it should be. It’s okay to not be okay. And I’ll never forget that I’m not alone in this. That’s why I donate 5% of all profits to the PANDAS Foundation, supporting parents facing postnatal depression. No one should have to go through it alone.

I still struggle to tell my story, even now. Writing this, I’m crying and reliving those painful memories, but I believe we must talk about it. We must make postnatal depression part of the mainstream conversation so that those suffering in the dark don’t feel shame and can get the help they need sooner. It shouldn’t have taken me as long as it did to admit it, not even to the two people I’ve known for over 20 years, who I trust implicitly. But now, I’m speaking out because I know there are others out there who need to hear that it’s okay to not be okay.

It’s okay to not be okay.

If you're struggling, you're not alone. My inbox/DMs are always open, and please reach out for help. For more information or support, visit PANDAS Foundation.