Postpartum Memoir

Early motherhood is supposed to be joyous, but for Aaisha Alvi those early days were ruined by terrifying thoughts about her baby and family. Her experience was the antithesis of everything she had ever been told about motherhood, far beyond the trials of breastfeeding or putting her baby to sleep. Aaisha did recover and began to enjoy motherhood. She was thrilled when she fell pregnant again. Sadly, that pregnancy ended in a miscarriage, and the psychosis returned. This time, however, she was blindsided by the unimaginable: voices urged her to stab her daughter and to harm innocent people.

Raising a seven-year-old daughter and caring for a newborn, single mother Stephanie Land tries her best to persevere through fatigue, hunger, a depleted food stamp balance, and a bank account hovering around ten dollars. Not to mention postpartum hormones, anxiety over finding suitable housing, and the fear of defeat in the battle of fulfilling her children’s needs and forging her own identity as a writer. With the help of a community of friends and her own steely will, Stephanie is determined to find a way forward to a life that can afford her family hope and joy.

A harrowing memoir about a woman's struggle with postpartum depression. Nine days after the birth of her daughter, Amanda was involuntarily admitted to a Toronto psychiatric ward for postpartum depression (PPD). The typical hold-and-release process in Ontario is seventy-two hours. She stayed eighteen days.

Inferno is the riveting memoir of a young mother who is separated from her newborn son and husband when she's involuntarily committed to a psychiatric ward in New Jersey after a harrowing bout of postpartum psychosis. This program is read by the author. When Catherine Cho and her husband set off...

A stunning memoir by writer and mental health advocate about motherhood, postpartum mental health, and finding ground when you lose all control. When writer and blogger Ayana Lage became pregnant, she prepared as any parent would: voraciously researching, Redditing, preparing for anything. And...

If I could make it to the bridge, the pain would stop. I just had to make it to the bridge, and the hopelessness would end. It became a refrain, running over and over in my head as I raced down the highway. Make it to the bridge, and the pain will end. It's hopeless. Just wanna die. Make it to the bridge.