'How postpartum OCD affected my every waking moment.'

By the time my baby was three months old, I couldn't drive alone with her in the car for more than five minutes without pulling over to check she was still breathing.

I kept compulsive records of how much she drank, how long she slept and how many grams she put on each week.

I googled everything, obsessively.

I had a panic attack because I read that too many nights sleeping in a portacot can affect a baby's spine. I checked and double-checked the instructions on the baby carrier, terrified I was doing it wrong.

Watch: Dr Golly explaining how parenting changes the brain. Post continues below.

In short, I had an onset of postpartum obsessive-compulsive disorder.

After a couple of rough years of infertility struggles, health complications, multiple miscarriages, a difficult pregnancy and less than ideal birth experience, I started my postpartum period already exhausted and already scared.

Everything felt like a danger to the fragile baby we brought home. I would hold her in my arms and cry, not wanting to put her to bed because I was so scared she would stop breathing in the night.

I thought this was just a normal reaction to finally having the precious thing I had wanted for so long. It made sense I was afraid to lose her. But these fears quickly took over my life and changed my behaviour.

The difficulty was that from the outside, a lot of these behaviours looked normal.

A new mum being teary and emotionally fragile? Very normal.

Tracking baby's intake and output? Actively encouraged.

Being worried when baby wasn't gaining as much, as fast as the expected 'normal' amount? A reasonable reaction.

But my reactions were not reasonably sized. They were all-consuming.

But I had my baby. I thought I should just be grateful for the gift we had been given and push through the fears. So, I pushed through the exhaustion and sleep deprivation, the pain of breastfeeding, and the aching muscles still recovering from the caesarean I had ended up having. I thought I could tough it out.

As you can probably guess, this didn't last very long. Just before my baby was four months old, we made the decision to stop breastfeeding. She had never really gotten the hang of latching, even after multiple midwives and lactation consultants had offered (sometimes conflicting) advice. She gained weight faster when we supplemented with formula, and with my exhaustion, it made sense to switch over completely so my husband and others could do more feeds.

Suddenly, all the fears and anxieties I had been holding at bay (with extreme effort), came crashing down like a huge wave. The drop in my hormones when I stopped feeding brought my ability to cope to a halt and I promptly fell apart.

The fears that I had for my baby started to manifest into horrific, visual images. I wouldn't just worry about something bad happening — I would see in my mind the traumatic event, as real as if it was happening. I started practicing practice what I would say to the paramedics when I had to call because my baby stopped breathing: in my mind it wasn't a matter of if, but when. I lived in a state of constant terror, constantly being on guard to jump in and avert danger. I always knew, wherever we were, how far the closest hospital was. I wasn't eating during the day, because I was too afraid that something would happen to my baby during the time I took to prepare and consume food.

It became apparent to my husband and those around me that I needed help. My husband took unpaid leave from his job. Friends and family offered support. I saw my GP, and the psychiatrist I had seen previously for other issues. She quickly took in the situation and referred me to a perinatal mental health ward.

After a week or so of waiting that I mostly don't remember, we were seen for an appointment. After pouring out my struggles, my fears, how impossible my life now felt, one of the intake nurses gently said, "I think we can help you."

So, my daughter and I ended up spending over three weeks in a mother-and-baby unit.

The wonderful pediatrician helped me set my daughter on some better eating and sleeping routines. The nurses made sure I ate three meals a day and gave me a couple of nights of undisturbed sleep. The physiotherapist gave me gentle exercises to do, to rebuild my strength and energy after all my body had been thorough. The psychologists ran wonderful group sessions about understanding our emotions and self-care amid life with a baby. And the peer support workers were a constant, reliable, supportive presence who just listened and let us know we weren't alone in our struggles.

Eating better inside the perinatal mental health ward. Image: Rebecca Sharley.

With these supports in place, some medication and better routines, I was able to go back to my life. I wasn't cured, but I was on the way to recovery and knew how to ask for help when I needed it again. I also knew how to place my fears into context and keep a more realistic view of what I could and couldn't control as a parent.

My mantra these days is often: my baby is as safe as I can reasonably make her. This is helpful because it acknowledges my limitations and that things will happen outside of my control. But it also speaks the truth that I have done everything in my power to protect her, and now we must simply live life, with all the hurts and bruises and scary parenting moments.

Listen to The Diary of a Birth episode, Michelle Battersby And the Baby Who Got Stuck. Post continues below.

In my recovery, there have been bumps along the way. My daughter starting solids was a scary time for me, as I was constantly afraid of her choking. But I took the recommended precautions, read about what to do if she did gag on something, and helped her learn how to chew and process more complex food, as was age-appropriate.

Did I check the solid starts app almost every meal? Yes. Was I hesitant about introducing some foods? Yes. But it was a matter of finding a balance between what was a reasonable precaution and what was my fear stopping me and my baby from experiencing new things and learning new skills.

I never again want to be so afraid of losing my daughter that I don't have the capacity to enjoy her in the here and now. I don't want to live a life directed by fear of things going wrong. Rather, I am grateful to be in a place where my mental health can soak in the joys of parenting, and when I have bad days or start to struggle, I have strategies and supports in place to help me reset and refocus on what is important to me.

Feature Image: Supplied.